#and then they told me this job would pay even less than the last one i decided i would settle for

[lamplightjuniper]

not even 12 noon EST yet but that’s enough for today. i’m going back to bed, good night

#i brought a taco home from a party and dreamed about it all night but it turned out to have a flour tortilla instead of corn #so i made a delicious cold breakfast plate instead but somehow didn’t want more than a few bites #and i got dressed for a video interview that turned out to be a phone call #and then they told me this job would pay even less than the last one i decided i would settle for #and all this after a bunch of hyper realistic and immersive dreams that really fucked me up #so now i’m all tapped out ✌️

[pers1st]

let down - leah williamson x reader

pairing: barca!reader x leah williamson

warnings: barça being broke

In truth, you shouldn't be nervous.

This conversation had been going on for months - it was no secret that Barça had many financial problems, and paying you, Alexia and Aitana as their midfield would always have been difficult. You had had countless conversations like these before - negotiating your new contract, negotiating your new wage, which you knew would be significantly lower. It didn't bother you, though. You would've picked up a second job if it meant playing for your childhood club, even if they refused to pay you.

This setting, however, seemed a lot more official than it should've, in your opinion.

You were still dressed in your clothes from training, and so was Jona, but the rest of Barça's management was dressed properly - in suits and leather shoes. They shouldn't have even been there yet. This conversation was meant to simply verbalize your new contract, not to sign it yet. You were in no conditions to take the usual photos and sit in front of the camera for an interview after the contract extension. It confused you.

"Y/N, we are so sorry."

That was how Jona started, and in that particular moment, your heart stopped. No, this couldn't- they wouldn't dare-

"We can't renew your contract."

Silence followed. Then, your shaky voice. Barely above a whisper.

"What?"

This whole situation seemed too surreal to be true. Maybe in a few seconds, your eyes would open and you would find out that this was just a horrible dream. If it hadn't been for your manager's piercing gaze on you, you might've pinched yourself under the table.

"We don't have the financial means to pay you enough to stay. I know it's not what you want to hear, but-"

"No, Jona, we talked about this. You can cut my wage, I don't mind. I'll stay here, whatever it takes. Alexia said she would-"

But the man in front of you didn't let you finish.

"You are right, we talked about this. And I told you that you deserve more than what we can give you, and that you cannot let us undermine you. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to all the women who are-"

This time, you were the one to interrupt him.

"But this? This isn't fair to me!"

That was how the argument unfolded, and only after your voice was hoarse from crying and pleading, your cheeks stained with tears and your manager stained with guilt, did you leave the office to fall into Alexia's arms, who had been listening in from the other side of the door for God knew how long.

It was January currently, which meant that as soon as you silently agreed with them to sign you to whatever club payed the most, you were out.

Just like that, the chance to play in front of the Culers for one last time was ripped away from you. They received a half-hearted announcement via Instagram, you received twenty women in your apartment, ready to pack your things. In all honesty, you had wished for no one to see as you organized your life into moving boxes and shipped them over the sea for whoever from Arsenal to receive, mostly because it would've felt even less real. Mostly because then, the goodbye wouldn't have hit you as hard. Ona tried to offer you advice on how to get by in England, telling you all about her experience abroad. Mapi tried to lift the spirits by joking around. Ingrid held you as you allowed tears to fall, and Alexia made sure you didn't forget anything, offering to take care of the things you would leave behind in Barcelona.

It was only you and Alexia at the airport. Your best friend, since the day you had been selected to play for the senior team of Barcelona, had shared many angry words with the management, and at one point even threatened to leave if you really had to. But the papers were signed, and the boxes were packed, and there was nothing left to do for Alexia besides holding your shaky frame as tears clouded your vision for what felt like the millionth time.

"You'll be okay, bebita. You'll enjoy London, and then you'll come back. I promise, you'll come back."

The both of you knew that there was no way she could ever promise that - Barça's financial difficulties were far too severe to sign you back soon - the most expensive player in the world, currently. When, or if the smoke would clear up, neither of you could know. Still, her words soothed you the tiniest as you held onto the glimpse of hope your best friend gave you as if it was a lifeline.

"Enjoy London, okay?"

You nodded, although you knew that you wouldn't. What good was London compared to Barcelona? What good was the capital of England compared to your lifelong home?

"Vamos, carino", Alexia huffed as she let go of you, gently pushing you towards your gate.

"Call me, okay? ¡Te amo!", she yelled after you as you turned away from her, and the hurt in her voice made a new layer of tears stream down on your cheeks, but you knew that if you looked back at her now, you would never board that plane. If leaving to England was what it took for your club to keep functioning, you would. If playing for Arsenal meant that you would be back in blaugrana one day, you would wear that ugly red shirt and call yourself a Gunner. You wouldn't do it happily, though.

London looked ugly when you flew over it, and London looked ugly when you landed in Heathrow Airport. You had expected people from the club to be there to pick you up, wearing Arsenal clothes and a sign with your name on it. It was apparently standard procedure, as Alexia had told you, though neither of you could really know because neither of you had never left the country to play football if it wasn't with the Spanish national team. What you hadn't expected, however, was Laia waving at you excitedly from across the hall, with two women dressed in the same hoodie as her, one significantly smaller (you guessed she was Kim) and one Leah Williamson.

You had never followed English football much, likely why you hadn't recognized Kim when you'd first searched up your new team on the internet, but Leah was the kind of footballer everyone was just.. aware of.

Admittedly, she was even prettier in real life.

"¡Hola, guapa!", Laia shrieked as you strolled over to your new teammates (the word 'teammate' along with 'new' still left a bitter taste in your mouth), dragging your suitcase behind you tiredly. The plain ride had worn you out - in all honesty, the entire past week had worn you out. Ever since you'd been told that you would leave the club that you had bled for, you hadn't been able to close half an eye.

Still, Laia's excitement was unmatched as she pulled you into a tight hug, allowing your face to sag against her shoulder. You didn't allow yourself to cry anymore, and so you could see Leah and Kim smile at you softly from a few steps behind the other Spanish woman without tears clouding your vision.

Laia continued to speak in Spanish, asking you about the flight, about how the Barça girls were, about how excited she was that you were finally here and she wasn't the only Spaniard at the Arsenal.

If Kim and Leah thought it was rude that they were left out of the conversation entirely, they didn't say so. Still, you pushed Laia off gently, mustering the smallest of smiles you could.

"Hello."

Your English wasn't very good, but even you winced ever so slightly at the realization of how truly cold you sounded. You didn't want to be here, didn't want any of them to show you your new apartment, didn't want them to show you the club, to bring you to training, to give you a red jersey and call you a Gunner.

But you needed to suck it up. Life wasn't fair. And if Alexia's words held any truth, this would merely be a temporal situation.

"Hey", Kim smiled at you. Her English sounded funny, but her smile was more genuine than yours as she introduced herself and Leah. You hadn't needed her to, but it was a nice gesture anyways.

"It's good to have you here", Leah smiled as she gently lay her arm across your shoulder.

"Wanna see your new flat?", you nodded as Leah guided you out of the hall, your luggage left with Laia who strolled behind you alongside Kim.

Leah's confidence and her proximity to you, your side pressed against hers, was making your head spin ever so slightly. You had, admittedly, hoped that Leah, as co-captain and being about to return to the pitch, would understand how badly you didn't want to be at Arsenal, seeing as she bled for the club the way you did for Barcelona. Maybe she could grasp the idea of being forced out of her home, and sympathize with you in the slightest. And it seemed she did, as she pointed towards what you guessed was Kim's car, leaving you and Laia in the backseats as you drove through the city. London was different from Barcelona.

It was slightly less ugly now, with impressive buildings and a few bits of nature sprawled around as Kim maneuvered the car through the streets. It was cold, though, and as you were shivering slightly, Kim put the heat just a bit higher. It was grey, as well. Not a single ray of sunshine was able to break through the barrier of clouds in the sky, and it reminded you a lot of your current mood, though you were hesitant to show it.

Leah and Kim seemed genuine in their efforts to make this transition as easy for you as possible, given the fact that your apprehension to leave Barcelona was a very well known fact. You had dedicated an Instagram post with a very heartfelt caption to your departure, which made it very clear that you did not leave on your own accord.

Their dedication to welcome you, though, made you feel the tiniest bit of unfair. The women were genuinely trying, and they promised you during the car ride, when asking whether or not you were nervous, that the whole team was excited to meet you. Maybe you could try a little bit. Maybe you could enjoy this for the time being.

"Here we are."

You could see Kim's smile through the rearview mirror as she parked her car in front of an old building which you guessed was your new apartment complex. The car had left the central of London around twenty minutes ago, and at your confused expression, Laia had huffed that the club was in North London, not Central London.

"¿Es un poco feo, no?", (It's a bit ugly) you asked Laia as you stared at the shabby building. The walls were grey, and the parking lot was grey, and it seemed like everything in London was just.. grey. Plain.

"¡No, Y/N! Leah vida aquí también", (Leah lives here too) Laia huffed at your comment, shaking her head while chuckling at your statement. You shrugged, ignoring the way Leah and Kim furrowed their brows at your Spanish conversation while climbing out of your seat to retrieve your luggage.

You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the small flight of stairs as well, though Laia offered to do it for you. The two of you hadn't been super close when she'd still played at Barcelona, but you had been quite good friends, and having at least one familiar face soothed you.

"This is it", Leah smiled softly as the four of you stepped into the hallway, following your curious steps into the flat. It was plain as well, of course it was. For the first time since calming down on the plane, you had to fight tears again. The flat was nice, sure. The club had organized a quite spacious place, with lots of room and comfortable-looking furniture. But it was bare. You knew that shopping for furniture would be a hassle in the middle of the season, so you had rented it furnitured.

You missed your green couch, the thrifted, quite antique sideboard, the golden-framed mirror. You missed the framed shirts on your wall, the clothing rack with all of the shirts you had swapped with other players. All of those things were now packed away in a storage room somewhere in Barcelona. You missed Barcelona.

"Es pretty", you mumbled, dropping your keys on the white coffee table and turning around to look at Leah, who was still holding on to your large bag, the Barcelona badge imprinted on it. The look she gave you, eyebrows slightly raised, eyes looking somewhat defeated, told you that you hadn't been able to fool her.

Laia and Kim left quickly, with the excuse of having early training tomorrow and needing to run whatever errands, but Leah stayed.

"I live in the same building, so I could help you unpack if you want?"

In truth, you didn't want her to help. You didn't want her to swoop through your things, eyeing all of your personal belongings, all of the tokens of your previous home that you had left so promptly, but you didn't have the heart to tell her no. So, the two of you got to work, after a small tour through the whole unit, finding the bedroom, the bathroom and another room that you guessed you would use for storage. Your kitchen was small, after all, and it was filled with things you didn't know how to use.

"What's this?", you asked as you held up a scoop of some sort, that you had found while rummaging through your cupboards.

"It's a tea scoop, for making loose tea", Leah explained with a chuckle, taking the utensil from your hand to showcase how one scoops.

"I don't drink tea", you huffed, taking the scoop back and shoving it into the back of the cupboard before closing it a little harsher than you would have expected.

"You're in England now, you're gonna drink tea."

You decided to ignore her comment, instead opening the next drawer.

"I have a microwave", you pointed out, moving slightly to the side so that Leah could look. She was awfully close to you again, and it made you nervous.

"So you can make paellas", Leah snickered, nudging her hips against yours playfully. At that, you turned towards her, taking a shocked step back.

"Joder, you don't microwave paellas! What is wrong with you? Mujer loca", (crazy woman) you exclaimed, nudging her back playfully before diving into the next cupboard. Maybe London wouldn't be as horrible as you thought.

notes: this is baaaaad honestly but we move

#woso imagine #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #barca femeni x reader

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 1)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8k

Part 1 / ? (Ongoing Series)

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Warnings: No Outbreak, AU but with TLoU characters, Large age gap (Reader is 29. Joel is 50). This chapter includes smut with fingering and cum eating. Dominant Joel. Eventual Angst. Drinking Alcohol. Pet names but no use of Y/N. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. 

Chapter Excerpt: He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you.

A/N: Please hang in there. This chapter has a lot of setup and is a bit of a slow burn. Its also my first fic and I am pouring my heart and soul into it.

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N

“Remember, if you need anything you can ask Joel. He knows his way around the house” your mother reminds you. 

“Thanks, I will be fine but I’ll keep that in mind.” You appease her but have no intention of bothering her neighbor.

“Love you, honey. Talk later!”

“Bye mom. Love you.” You end the call and slump back against the couch. This was going to be your home for the next few months. Your parents had gone south to avoid the brutal New England winter and had offered their summer vacation home in Kineo to you in the interim. No rent and plenty of free time to figure out what to do with your life next. All you had to do was pay the utilities and keep an eye on things.

The offer was genuine but also came from a place of concern. You had spent the last few years living a more-or-less nomadic life and poorly indulging your dreams of adventure. Your bachelors degree in Liberal Arts proving to be as useless as everyone told you it would be. It got you jobs easy enough but nothing that felt like a long term career. It all felt directionless but you also had been hell bent on proving everyone else wrong and keeping up the appearance that you were doing just fine. 

Your past relationships were nothing too exciting either. Months of casually dating someone and it not really going anywhere or random hookups that you regretted the next day. One or two guys you were getting serious with but ultimately scared you off when they started talking about a family in their big picture. You were starting to get cynical about any compatible prospects.

You are only 29 and wonder if a midlife crisis before your 30’s is normal. At least, that is what it felt like was happening. You had been treading water for too long and felt like you were too tired to keep swimming.

Your mother finally wore you down enough when your lease was up at your Boston apartment and you had no real obligations. You hated your current job, your roommates were little more than acquaintances and the busy city life scene was starting to lose its charm especially when it was astronomically expensive to live there. It was getting harder to say no so you agreed to her offer. 

You had to admit living in the country sounded like a nice change. You had a few months to figure stuff out and the thought of something new was exciting to you. Even if it meant continuing to endure the bitter winter, you had a chance to start fresh somewhere new. Something different. 

You didn’t grow up here and spent most of your life living in suburban homes with slightly warmer climates. Your parents had bought a small one bedroom vacation home in a sleepy New England town that they mostly only enjoyed in the prime summer months. The home sat mostly vacant otherwise. They would rent it out for weeks at a time but in the winter months no one from away wanted to go there. Too far from ski resorts and civilization to be of interest to a casual vacationer. It had a lake that drew much attention from outsiders only when it wasn’t frozen. The town was reduced to just the year-round locals in the coldest months.

Your new residence was outside the main populous of Kineo and nearby the lake. In fact, you could see the lake peeking through the thick pine trees out the front window if you looked hard enough. 

The closest and only neighbor in sight was the handyman your parents raved about across the street. He kept an eye on the place while they were away. You had never interacted with him on your occasional summer visits, but knew he had been kind to your folks and heard about him often enough. You occasionally saw him out in his yard from afar and he would give a lazy wave to your parents in passing. You never really got a good look at him up close but from what you could see he looked rugged and fit and always wore jeans and work boots. He had a modest waterfront cabin across the street and seemed to keep to himself.

You had arrived just a few days ago and already had a job lined up at the local coffee shop, Grind. You were getting your caffeine fix and saw a help wanted sign in their window and you had no trouble securing the job when you chatted with the owner. She hired you on the spot and seemed desperate but grateful that you actually had enthusiasm for coffee and knew your Americanos from your Lattes. Grind Coffee House was on the main drag along with some other quaint shops. It was charming enough and an easy 10 minute drive from your house. The pay was pitiful but would be enough to get by. Things seemed to be lining up perfectly.

You went to bed early that night and felt optimistic that this was going to be good for you. This was going to be the reset that you craved. A new adventure. It was like nothing you had experienced before and maybe that was exactly what you needed.

–

Shit. Your first day working at Grind and you can’t even get the car to start. 

It was freezing cold. The kind of cold that hurts when it touches your exposed skin. You turn the key in the ignition again and the engine makes a pathetic attempt to turn over. Nothing. Fuck. 

You turn the key again. Nothing. Fuck fuck fuck. You pull out your phone and realize you have no idea what to do other than call your new boss and make a horrible first impression. No, that wasn’t going to do. You look in the rearview mirror and see across the street that lights are on at your neighbors house, despite the early hour. As quickly as the thought crosses your mind you push it away. No. No way were you going to bother him at this hour. You hadn’t even officially met the guy yet.

You pull up Google on your phone and scan the first few results for “car won’t start” and narrow it down to engine troubles or dead battery. Either outcome is something you are not equipped to handle. 

A few moments pass and you reluctantly weigh the options. Would a garage even be open this early? How long would that take to get someone out there? You were wasting time and had to do something. You curse to yourself and go back inside the house.

You walk over to the fridge where a note is hanging front and center “Joel Miller” with a phone number neatly printed. Your mothers careful handwriting to contact the poor neighbor that she probably harasses all the time. You sigh and open your phone to dial the number.

It rings a few times, and then you hear a gravelly voice that catches you off guard. 

“Hello?” A deep and thick, unfamiliar accent answers. Not what you were expecting. 

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” a long pause and you stumble over your words. “I uh, I’m sorry to call you so early. I'm Rick and Linda’s daughter.” and mumble your name. Another pause. 

“Ah, right. Whatcha need, kid?” He asks with little expression in his tone. You can’t tell if he is annoyed or just sounded that way. 

“My car won’t start and I–” you pause, not too sure how to ask for help from a stranger. “I don’t know what to do...” Your voice trails off with uncertainty on how to ask for help or what you are even expecting. 

You hear a long exhale on the other end, like he is letting all the air out of his lungs while he is thinking on it. 

“Dead battery most likely… on a day like this. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up the phone before you can say another word and instead say thank you out loud to yourself and let your voice trail off. You instantly regret making the call.

You zip up your coat, pull your knit hat snug over your ears and head back outside when you see a black Ford pickup truck ease into your driveway. A tall man wearing a brown suede jacket approaches. The morning light is faint but you can make out that he is much older and has some silver streaking his hair and beard. He looks weathered and rugged but also has a warmness about him that is hard to reconcile with his rough exterior.     

“Joel Miller, I presume?” you nervously laugh and awkwardly introduce yourself for the second time. You attempt to be extra friendly and maybe penetrate his bristly wall. It seems to help when he notices you are a young woman and not some bratty teenager that your parents probably made you out to be. He takes a step forward and reaches a hand out towards you, nodding. He firmly shakes your hand and you are taken aback by how his grasp seems to engulf you.

“Pleasure to meet you, darling.” His voice is smooth and polite and has the tiniest hint of playfulness in his tone. You can’t place his accent, but you know it isn’t from around here and only someone from away would say ‘Darling’ so casually to a stranger. 

His dark brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment and he has the faintest smirk as he subtly scans your body. It sends goosebumps down your spine. You are grateful that you made an extra effort to look cute for your first day of work. You realize your hands are still embraced and nervously laugh as you pull away. He gets right down to business, but not before stealing another peek of your body when he thinks you aren’t looking.  

“Lets see what we got here.'' He climbs into the driver's seat and in no time confirms it's the battery when he hears your car's engine protest. He walks over to his tailgate and brings back some jumper cables. 

You stand there with your arms wrapped around your body trying to hold in as much warmth as possible. Your bare hands clenched in a fist and tucked in as far as they could in your jacket sleeve to shelter from the cold. Your teeth chattering as you try to stand out of the way but want to be nearby too. At least give the illusion you can be helpful if he needs something. You regret your first meeting being a clueless damsel in distress, but maybe he liked that sort of thing. His tune did seem to change once he saw you. 

Joel returns and leans over the edge of the seat leaving the door wide open, his large palm dragging up slowly from the floor to the steering column, searching for the hood release. His finger catches on the button and he pops the hood. It’s hard not to stare at him while he slides his expert hands with reckless abandon.

His eyes find yours and the corner of his mouth raises slightly. You question if you are mistaking his caught you watching me look for more than what it was. He seems to enjoy you watching him work. He steps away from the seat and pulls a pair of work gloves from his back pocket as he works to connect your car to his truck with the jumper cables. He starts his truck back up and approaches you. Your breath and his making little frozen clouds as you exhale. 

“You can sit in my truck if you want, it’s plenty warm in there.” He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “This will just be a minute.” You thank him and take him up on his offer and climb into his passenger seat. He has a classical rock station playing on the radio. A thermos sitting in the center console. You glance in the back seat and see some neatly organized tools and miscellaneous junk on the floor. It smells metallic and leathery. 

You outstretch your hands to the vents that are pouring warm air into the cabin and relish the heat.  

A few moments pass and you don’t see much of what’s going on with the hood of the truck blocking your view. You doom scroll on Instagram to keep yourself busy but your mind keeps thinking about Joel. You were in no way prepared for your neighbor to be so fucking handsome. It felt absurd to be so turned on by him.

He’s too old. You tell yourself. Don’t even think about it. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the hood slams shut and Joel opens the driver's door. He reaches his arm out to grab his thermos while he climbs into the seat with a groan. The door shuts hard behind him and a blast of cold air invades your space briefly.  

“Damn cold one today” He says it with a huff as more of an observation than a complaint. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks over to you. You nod in agreement and find yourself caught up in what to say to him. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in his backseat. He rests his arm along the back of the seat and it is nearly touching your shoulder. The way his body takes up the space makes you feel small and helpless. Then, you remember you are small and helpless compared to him. He doesn’t feel threatening towards you but you certainly does give off the aura that he could be intense in the right circumstance. You find that undeniably attractive.

“Your folks called me last week. Told me you were gonna be staying here a while.” His eyes are back focused on you. “Meant to come over this weekend and introduce myself.” he seems a little nervous and takes another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t wanna bother you, though.” 

You feel a small smile start to grow on your face. The thought that he shared the same reservations brought comfort. Joel rests his thermos between his legs while still holding it with one hand. He looks like he is hesitating to say something but does it anyway. He looks over at you with tender eyes, 

“Didn’t expect.. You know...” He makes an unreadable expression as he is searching for the words and scans your body up and down. “Someone like you.” You were not entirely sure what he meant by that, but his smoldered stare on your body made you feel hot inside and your cheeks flush. He looked at you with intrigue and it made you feel good. It made you feel wanted. It had been too long since you felt that way.  

In fact, it has been too long since you had any sort of relationship. Even a casual lay.  

“You really saved my ass this morning. Thank you.” You pause and feel yourself giving a sultry gaze back at him. “I owe you one.” Joel makes a no big deal gesture with his hand and a cocky smile as he chews the inside of his cheek. In that brief moment you feel something between the two of you. The desire to flirt; tempt a man with at least 20 years on you. An unexpected but undeniable magnetic pull. A curiosity to learn what lies beneath. A forbidden fruit that is ripe and beckoning for you to take a bite. Something different. Something exciting. Something you know you should stifle before it even begins.  

His eyes reflect the same sentiment but also harbor concern and restraint. It’s a bad idea. The brief silence between you looms loudly. The elephant in the room. 

“Where ya’ off to so early anyways?” he asks, eager to change the subject. He takes another sip of his coffee while you reply.

“Oh, first day working at Grind. You know it?” Joel's demeanor changes in a subtle way that you may not have seen if you weren’t so focused on trying to read him.  

“Oh. Yeah..” he chides and looks down, pensive in thought as he brings his hand to the back of his neck and rakes it through his hair. “I know the place.” He glances back up and avoids eye contact. The bite in his voice does not go unnoticed, but you don’t pry. 

An uncomfortable subject; noted.   

“Better coffee than this I reckon” he says as he places his thermos back in the center console. He attempts to lighten the tone and then glances at his watch.

“I gotta get to work, sweetheart. Keep your car runnin’ for a bit and you should be all set. Probably get that battery replaced.” His tone is more serious now, more business-like. You realize you had been waiting in his truck longer than necessary. You really have to get to work anyways. 

You thank him again and return to your car. He waits for you to get in and raises his fingers off his steering wheel in a lazy wave to signal he was leaving. He backs out of your driveway and heads down the road towards town.

You take a deep breath and adjust the knobs in your car. Joel had put everything on high heat and full blast for you and your car was now unbearably toasty. You tune your radio and ease into the road and on your way to work. 

All the while your mind can’t stop thinking about your charming, handyman neighbor. 

So that's Joel Miller. You smile to yourself and faintly feel butterflies in your stomach. Anxious thoughts that excite and frighten you.  

–

It took Marlene all of five minutes to become your new work bestie. She was efficient and smart and knew her way around the place. She was the only one working when you arrived and despite the line of customers she was friendly and teased you for arriving late on your first day. 

Marlene had great rapport with everyone. It was apparent that the customers were all regulars and she wasted no time introducing you to them. She had a somewhat forward style but it was well received because she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t waste time being flowery and over the top. It reminded you of the brashness of Boston.

After the morning rush things were relatively calm. You had time to chat and get to know her a little more while she was showing you the ropes. It wasn’t complicated and you were a quick study.

By mid afternoon it was time to close up shop. The hours were a perk. You were scheduled to work weekdays from open till close and would have to occasionally help out on Saturdays. Marlene worked the same shift and the weekends were mostly covered by high schoolers. 

It was just after 2 o’clock when the owner, Tess, stopped by. 

“How did it go?” she asks you both as she takes a seat and rests her bag on the counter. Marlene had no intention of telling her you were late and talked you up, pleased with your presence. Tess had a few other properties she owned so her time at the coffee shop was only as needed and Marlene you learnt was more or less the one who ran things day to day. 

You recap the day and thank her again for the job. You did genuinely enjoy the work. It was easy. Simple and straightforward. You got to know lots of town folk and everyone was curious and interested in meeting the new girl in town.

Tess seemed pleased enough and was quick to head out. She was friendly but brief and gave the impression she had other responsibilities that demanded her attention. She joins you behind the counter briefly and pours herself a black hot coffee in a to-go cup. Another perk of the job was indulging in all the free coffee. 

“Let me know if you guys need anything!” She says energetically as she collects her bag and heads out the door. She flips the sign to “closed” as she leaves. 

“Tess is cool. She doesn’t interfere too much and we only see her a few times a week, if that.” You nod to acknowledge Marlene. “Lets finish cleaning up and get out of here.”

It was nice leaving with the sun bright and warm. Winter meant shorter days, so getting out of work with a few hours of daylight felt luxurious. The bitter cold from the morning had made its departure. 

You had been so focused with work it wasn’t until you got back to your car that you allowed yourself to think about Joel again. You know you shouldn’t but can’t help feeling turned on at the thought of him. He was handsome in that brooding, mysterious way and he emanated competence. It was refreshing and welcomed. 

You decided to send him a text message. You had his number in your recent contacts after all and you were curious if he would play along. You were certain that there was something sparked between the two of you, but unsure if he would act on it. Unsure if there were too many obstacles between you.

You keep it simple and friendly.   

You: Thanks again for your help! 

Your car starts up with no issue and you head home. When you arrive you glance down to your phone to see a simple reply. 

Joel: Anytime

It was brief but you couldn’t help but read it with that low, southern drawl. His voice was so distinct. Polite but stern. You add him as a contact in your phone and wonder if he did the same. 

You take a shower, make some dinner and get comfortable in your bed. It’s early and you watch some TV when you hear your phone chime. You glance at your phone and see Joel Miller has you on his mind as he revives the conversation with you. 

Joel: So how did it go? 

You smile and recount this feeling like you were a teenager talking to your crush. You want to gush about your first day but you play it cool and brief. 

You: Went good, I think I’ll like it there

A few minutes pass. Against your better judgment you start to go into details but delete it before you hit send. You recalled his strange reaction earlier when you brought up Grind. This man has you second guessing yourself and you don’t want to blow it before it even begins. He replies instead before you elaborate.

Joel: Glad to hear. Thought you would. 

You: I’m exhausted though, getting to bed

You decide to be playful and see how he reacts. 

You: Goodnight, Mr. Miller.  

Joel: Just Joel. 

Joel: Goodnight darling

Darling. Even if it was just a typical Southern phrase it made you wild. It was uncommon to hear in the north and felt so endearing and warm. The knots in your stomach return as you struggle to fall asleep. Your mind is too excited to see where things go from here. You knew he was interested in you enough to keep talking. It would have been easy for him to end the conversation there and keep things formal and neighborly. 

Your mind wanders thinking about how truly handsome he is. How badly you want his manly, rough hands on your body. How his voice makes you melt. How his domineering  presence makes you tingle in your core. You feel yourself starting to get wet just at the thought of his body and what you wanted to do to it. What you wanted him to do to you. Sinful thoughts.

You slide your hand between your legs and feel yourself already wet and wanting. Your delicate fingers tease circles over your clit and it doesn’t take long before you get off. You feel ashamed to be lusting over an old man you barely know, but nevertheless wish it was Joel’s rough hands on you.   

You wonder if he is doing the same thing and sharing the same thoughts about you.

–

A few uneventful days go by and now it’s Friday. You haven’t seen much of Joel other than his truck occasionally driving off, but he had been stuck on your mind all week. Lonely nights accompanied by dirty thoughts of Joel that only fueled your yearning to get closer to him. Your inhibitions regarding age and disapproval of your parents were blinded by your building desire. It still weighed on you though. Your parents would be appalled and probably disown you if they knew. It would just be another tick on the disappointment list.   

Work is busy and the day flies by. Just a few hours to go. You are taking a break, sitting at one of the tables by the front window and snacking on a blueberry scone. You reason with yourself that tonight is as good as any to try to make something happen. 

You: You doing anything tonight?

An agonizing hour passes and no reply. Your message is on read. Marlene takes notice of your change in demeanor. When things finally slow down and its just the two of you waiting around to close up she presses you.

“So.. whats going on? You look distant.” 

“Just trying to… make friends here.” You pause. “A friend in particular.” Your voice trails off. Marlene catches on quick and she had suspected you were starting to fall for someone. 

“Anyone I know?” Marlene knows everyone. You don’t want her judgment on the matter so you keep it vague.

“My neighbor. He doesn’t seem the type to come to a place like this though.” Your phone chimes and you try to play down your excitement as you look down and see it’s from Joel. You can barely contain a smile. 

Joel: Just got done a job. No plans

Marlene searches your face and rolls her eyes.  

“Just go over then. Easy enough.” she was right. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

The rest of the shift goes by quickly and you are both out the door by 3 o’clock.

You sit in your car and decide to just call him already. You were craving to hear his voice again and you wanted to put him on the spot. He answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Joel. I still owe you, you know for helping me out earlier.” Joel sighs in defeat. 

“I see you aint lettin’ that go. What did ya have in mind?” 

“Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring over drinks.” Your offer was more forward than you intended, but you went with it.

“Yeah, ok. Sounds good.” He pauses and has a counter offer for you. “Come over for dinner first?” You melt at the thought and realize you haven’t responded and there is a silence while you are getting lost in your thoughts. “Grilling steaks. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You can feel your smile spilling into the phone. That sounds more than good. It sounds really fucking good.  

“Alright. Come over ‘round 7.” 

“Ok. See you tonight.” You end the call and take a deep breath. Your heart is beating out of your chest in excitement. 

–

Getting ready for the night you attempted a relaxed look. You wanted to look nice, but approachable. You had some worn jeans that tucked neatly into your Bean boots. A button down flannel that you left undone over an intentionally low cut, fitted shirt. It accented your chest just right. You wore your hair down and went light on the makeup. You threw on a light leather jacket and grabbed the six pack of beer as you head across the street. 

Joel opens the door and leans in the doorframe with a casual figure, taking you in while he bites his lip,

“Evening' sweetheart” He steps back and holds the door open for you and gestures to come in. He was definitely a gentleman. You normally are not a fan of the pet names, but he worked them into his vocabulary so smoothly it was welcomed. 

You step inside and turn around, holding up the six pack of beer.

“Sam Adams. That ok?” He shuts the door and nods in approval. “Figured I’d bring some Boston culture over.” You step further inside. His kitchen is just off the main entrance and has an island with some bar stools at it. You make your way over and take a seat and rest the case on the countertop. 

Your eyes scan the room. His kitchen is tidy, save the spot where he prepped the steaks. You see an empty whiskey glass. Evidence that he had at least one stiff drink before you came over. You panic a little and regret not doing the same.  

“That where you lived before this?” He interrupts your thought as he stands across you at the island. His crossed forearms holding him up as he leans towards you with intrigue. He is dressed plainly in a pair of worn jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt that hugs his arms just right. His biceps bulge as he is leaning forward and your mind is now preoccupied with just how broad his shoulders are. You almost forgot he asked you a question.

“Yeah, for a few years anyways.” You briefly recount, distracted when Joel takes a beer bottle from the case and effortlessly pops the cap with his large, calloused hands. A satisfying hiss escapes the bottle followed by a clink as the cap falls to the countertop. He slides it over to you and repeats the motion again for himself.

“Oh, wow.” you say out loud, without realizing it. Joel has that cocky side smirk again, well aware of his impressive party trick. He holds the bottle up and towards you and you do the same, clanking bottle necks together and taking a sip. Your eyes are locked on each other for a moment; trying to read each other's intentions.  

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna put the steaks on.” he gestures his head to the back door that leads onto the deck. He grabs his suede jacket off the back of a chair and walks towards the back entrance. You trail behind and this was the first time you really noticed just how beautiful his home was. 

His open living room and kitchen had a vaulted ceiling with massive windows lining the whole back side of the cabin. It faced the lake and you could imagine how serene it would be to watch the sunrise. The cedar walls and flooring made it feel cozy and inviting. There was a large wood stove in the center of the living room and an open loft above the back of the living room. The deck seemed to wrap along a good part of the home. 

“Your home is beautiful.” It had looked so much more discrete from the road; tucked behind some pines and a long driveway. The backyard was a short distance to the lake and sloped slightly down to a dock. Joel probably had a boat parked there in the summer. The cabin was perched perfectly with a breathtaking view; isolated and private from the world.

“Thank you. I built it myself. Me and my brother Tommy.” 

“Thats… impressive.” 

“Eh, just comes with being a contractor. Made more sense to build my own place the way I wanted.” There it was again, that feeling in your core that excites you. Joel likes to be in control, and he has the skill set to back it up making it all the more alluring. 

Its a cool night, but not uncomfortably cold to be outside for a few minutes with a jacket. In fact, you are grateful to have the crisp air to help ground you and calm you down. It was embarrassing how easily Joel could work you up. You lean over the railing and gaze out over the lake while he tends to the grill for a moment and then joins you at the railing.

“I spent a few years there myself. Boston.” This was news to you, but you were still curious about his Southern accent. 

“And… before?” 

“Texas.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Most my life.” You smile and give a slight laugh. 

“Well, that certainly explains things. You don’t exactly sound like a New Englander” you tease him. Joel laughs and looks a little distant. Something you have come to realize about Joel is that he has a lot on his mind he doesn’t say out loud. His mysterious demeanor was something you found as attractive as it was frustrating. 

“You like it here so far?” He asks.

“I do. Its simple and peaceful. Life is easy here.” you realize while saying this out loud that you mean it. You really are enjoying your time in Kineo more than you ever had expected. “And… my neighbor isn’t so bad.” You tease. Joel rolls his eyes and returns to the grill, pulling the steaks off.

“Mine is a pain in the ass.” He jokes as he closes the grill. He wasn’t wrong. You were persistent if anything. 

–

Dinner is laid back and enjoyable. He has a small dining room table but you choose to sit next to each other at the island drinking your Sam Adams and enjoying your ribeye steaks. Joel cooked them to perfection. You stay seated long after you are done eating, getting carried away with conversation. Your bodies are facing each other and knees knocking into his as you get animated with your storytelling. 

Joel mostly listens while you ramble on. The more you drink the lower your inhibitions get. You are a lightweight to begin with and it doesn’t take much. You don’t even notice that he isn’t really listening to you anymore. His focus has left your well intended words and shifted to your body. He’s looking at your low-cut shirt teasing him. The way you brush your hair out of your face when you laugh. How your neck looks so inviting when you tilt your head back to take a sip of beer, You don’t register that he is eyeing you crudely like you are a piece of meat. That he is fighting every urge inside him to just lose himself with you. 

He inches his hand along the countertop closer to yours until he is grazing your wrist with a light touch and dragging his fingers back across yours. It sends a shiver through your body as you become aware how he is looking at you and how painfully reserved his touch is. It is polite but intrusive. He watches how it makes you feel. How you start to come undone. 

Your pent up feelings are starting to overwhelm you and you excuse yourself reluctantly. Your heart starts to race and you wonder if he can hear it beating. 

You get up and bring your plate over to the sink to wash it. It is a distraction more than anything while you gather yourself. Joel watches you from behind for a moment. You can feel his gaze burning into you and brace yourself against the counter. You like the way it feels. The way he makes you feel wanted. 

That loud silence returns. The air in the room feels heavy. He joins you at the sink and you can feel his heat envelop you as he approaches you from behind. His broad body boxes you in and makes you feel small and vulnerable. 

Joel takes his hands and dances his fingers down your arms lightly. His touch starts a fire inside you and you crave a heavier hold. You need him like you need air in your lungs. He presses a gentle kiss behind your ear and another one drags to your jawline and to the soft meat of your neck. His coarse beard scrapes against your skin and makes you shudder. You press your ass into him and feel him hard against your lower back. He responds by pressing into you firmly and brings his mouth to your ear. 

“You feel what you do to me, beautiful girl?” He asks with his low, gravely voice and presses another kiss into you. His heat is searing into you. 

He agonizingly slides his hands down to your hips and turns you to face him. He pushes your body gently against the countertop and moves one of his hands up to caress your face. He presses his hips into you and holds your chin gently between his thumb and finger. He stares down at you with a thirst in his eyes. He narrows his focus to try to get a reading on you. Your mouths are just inches apart. There is a hunger he is resisting but the wolf inside is slowly starting to win over reason. 

“I want this, Joel.” You stare up at him and make sure he can see the desire in your eyes and that you are serious. You want to remove any hesitations he has on your account. You try to rock your hips into him but he has you pinned. He can feel your needy attempt.  

“We shouldn’t…” Joel pleads, but his words are empty and not speaking the same language as his body. 

Your age, your parents, your unfamiliarity with one another all should be reason enough to quelch this flame, but it just makes you want it that much more. He has wanted you since he first laid eyes on you that morning he came to your rescue. He wants to be respectful but fails, instead teasing you with how much he wants you. The hesitance is an illusion that he has kept up until that moment. Your body is trapped against his and he is looking at you like you are prey in his clutches. You had suspected and even hoped that Joel was a dominant lover with how confident he carried himself.   

You seize the opportunity to show him just what he is doing to you. 

You push your tongue into him and taste him; sweet and malty. His warm and wet mouth is inviting and intense. All reluctancy fades away as he gives in to you and takes control with his tongue. You can feel his cock is hard and straining against his jeans as he rocks into you. Your arms hang around his neck and tangle into his hair as you grind against each other. The friction of both your bodies sending each other into a frenzy.

He drags his mouth away, biting at your lower lip as he moves along your jawline to the soft skin at your neck. You stretch your head back giving him full access to your bare neck as he nips at you hungrily. His scruffy beard rubs roughly against your supple skin and feels so good. One hand roams up your shirt while his mouth traces lower and lower down to your collarbone. He thumbs and circles over your nipple. He can feel it harden through your bra and engulfs your breast with his large hand. His touch is brazen but you welcome it. You can feel just how badly he wants to devour you and it makes you moan.   

He slides his expert hand from your breast and drags it down to your jeans. He unbuttons them hastily with force and works his hand slowly inside. Your underwear is already wet from your arousal. He pulls his mouth away from you and has a devilish grin as he grabs at your pussy and narrows his eyes on you.

“You’re so wet for me.” He says breathlessly with anticipation while he has you in his grasp. 

He slides his hand inside your waistband and teases your clit as his hand slides against you. You want to reply to him but your words are trapped beneath the moans caught in your throat. He brings a finger to your opening and slowly pushes the tip inside you. The pressure from his large, calloused fingers makes you buck into him. He rubs his thumb over your clit as he slowly teases your entrance with his finger. He takes it slow and when he thinks you are ready he slips another one inside.

You can feel your walls clench around his obscenely thick fingers and he pushes deeper. Twisting and playing at your entrance and thrusting in. Your hips writhe in his grasp. While one hand is busy with your cunt the other has an iron grip on the back of your neck. His mouth messily returns to the soft skin above your collarbone and into the crook of your neck. You are completely at his mercy and can’t imagine any other place you’d want to be. 

You are so tight but he stretches you open artfully. Moans escape your lips as you gasp when his fingers dip further into you, reaching that perfect part deep inside. 

“Come for me.” He pants into you with a snarl as you convulse on him.  

He doesn’t let up and fucks you relentlessly with his fingers until you are coming and moaning his name. Incoherent expletives escape you while you soak him.   

You ride the wave of pleasure for as long as you can. It has been too long since you had fucked around with someone. However, no one had ever so masterfully gotten you off with just their fingers. The way he handled your body and worshiped you with his mouth was intoxicating. 

As you come down from your high he slides his wet fingers from inside you and pulls his mouth away with a final ravenous kiss on your swollen lips. He places a kiss on top of your head and pulls you in close for an embrace. The hard protrusion against your body makes itself painfully known.   

Joel presses his forehead against yours as he works to unzip his jeans and free himself. His fingers are wet with your slick. He smirks at you as his hand glides over his swollen cock and rubs your wetness all over his length. His breathing shallows as he strokes himself with one hand and braces his body on the countertop with the other. His swollen head grazes your belly with each thrust into his fist. 

You watch him wantonly as he palms himself with more vigor. Joel’s cock is thick and intimidating, but you crave it in the worst way. It is by far the largest you have ever seen. It glistens in your slick and the precum that was beading at the head. A desire builds inside you and you yearn for more of Joel. Want him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt.  

“Let me, please?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper. His hand slows and comes to a stop. He stretches out his arms to hold him up against the counter as he hovers above you and lets you take over. 

You reach out and grab on to him. You marvel at its size and how weighty it feels in your hands as you start to rub them up and down. His skin is hot and velvety smooth and pulled tightly. Your pace is much slower but more precise. You feel the veins bulge under your grasp as your fingers glide up and down his length.  

A moan hitches in his throat as you rub your thumb over his sensitive tip. You do it again and again. Teasing Joel Miller feels dangerous. You can feel how ragged he is and how close he is to coming. You want to make him come undone.  

“God, damn it.” Joel grunts under his breath. He peels back your hand and painfully pulls it off of him. His cock twitches at the loss of your touch. He stands up straight and towers over you as you shrink back.  

“Get on your knees.” He commands with his hand firmly on your wrist as he pulls your face closer to his. It sends a shiver through your body and you oblige. Any warmth in his eyes has been lost and he is staring at you; dark and menacing. He throws your wrist away and grips his hand along the side of your neck. His touch is rough and urgent. His fingers snake around to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer to him while you drop down. They twist into your hair and he has a hold on the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt, but his grasp is firm and might if you tried to fight it.  

He takes his cock back in his grasp with his other hand and pumps it. His movements are jerky and his breathing is labored. You can tell he is so close. He roughly pulls your head back by your hair to look up at him.

“You gonna’ finish what you started?” he asks with darkened eyes. “Then open up.” He commands you through clenched teeth. 

You respond with an uncontainable smirk. You part your mouth slowly and let your tongue hang out, never taking your eyes off his. You sit back onto your knees so that you are slightly under him and wait patiently. He widens his stance. His hand slides to the top of your head and tangles in your hair. You can feel him slowly starting to lose control and come undone before you while he strokes himself. You brace yourself, hooking your fingers into the back of his thighs and clawing at his jeans. You can smell his sex and feel his heat but he holds you just out of reach and makes you wait while your thirst grows. 

Finally he taps the head of his weighty cock against your tongue and you lick at his slit, sending him over the edge. He groans as his thick spend coats your tongue and drips messily onto your chin. You close your mouth around him as he begins to stall out and swallow, pulling the final drops of cum from him while you choke his cock with your mouth. 

“Good girl.” He rasps at you. “So fucking good.” His grip on you loosens and he tenderly drags his hand along your jawline. You relax your mouth and let him slide himself out. He groans when your tongue licks the underside of him as he pulls out. 

He thumbs over some of his mess that falls out of your mouth and curls his thumb over your bottom lip. You lick him clean and he moves to hold your face in his hands while you look up at him.

“My good girl.” His words shoot straight to your core and make you weak. He brushes your hair behind your ear and helps you up. He places another kiss on your head and wraps his arms around you. His hot and heavy body feels so good against yours. You tilt your head up and press your mouth into him one more time.

“Are we even now?” you joke. Joel smiles. Everything about him feels warmer. He peels himself away from you and steps back, leaning against the island. You adjust your clothes and zip yourself back up while he does the same.

“Actually… think I might owe you now.” Joel says with a playful tone. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and shakes his head at you like he can’t believe his predicament. You like the idea of Joel owing you. 

–

You don’t spend the night. He offers to walk you home but you opt to go alone. It felt good to get some fresh air, to clear your head and recap the night. You also wanted to leave him wanting more.

You weren’t sure what would come from this situation with Joel, but you knew you barely scratched the surface with him. He was rough around the edges but you liked that about him. You liked that a lot. 

END CHAPTER

(Part 2!)

A/N: More to come! Undecided how many chapters but I have quite a bit mapped out. Please be kind. This is my first fic and it is nerve wrecking to post! If you loved it, PLEASE let me know. I'd love to know your thoughts so far! What did you like? What do you want more of? How much angst can your heart take? I aim to test it in future chapters. Comments/Reblogs are appreciated so much. Thank you all

Also special thanks to @magpiepills for the lovely cover photo (and her mood board inspirations she helped with along the way!) and to both her and @legendary-pink-dot for reading my first draft and giving their feedback AND courage to post this.

If you wish to know when I post the next chapter, please follow @ArcaneFoxFics and turn on notifications!

If you are here for my gifs only and are like WTF I dont want to see this mature content... you can follow me over at @ArcaneFoxGifs which will ONLY be reposts of my gif sets.

Love to my friends who give me the courage and support to do all the things @magpiepillsjunior @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #the wolf you feed #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #New England Joel #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller series #fic: the wolf you feed #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic

[joannechocolat]

On Power, and on Powering Through, and Why They’re Really Not the Same

I don’t pay much attention to personal attacks in reviews. It comes as the flipside of success; an attempt by the critic to puncture what they see as too much success. But I still remember one review, just after the film of Chocolat, when two of my novels happened to be in the Top 5 at the same time, in which a (male) newspaper critic referred to me dismissively as a premenopausal woman writer. I was a little taken aback. Clearly, it was meant to disparage, but I was only 35, ten years away from the perimenopause. What exactly did he mean? It wasn’t a comment about the book (which I doubt he had even read). The obvious misogyny aside, it seemed to express resentment, not of my books, but of me, myself, my right to take up space in his world. That word – premenopausal – was at the same time a comment on my age, my looks, my value, and a strong suggestion that someone like me shouldn’t be this successful, shouldn’t be writing bestsellers, shouldn’t be so – visible.

I don’t recall the name of the man, or the paper for which he was writing. He was far from being the only journalist who felt I didn’t deserve success. I shrugged off the unpleasant comment, but he’d meant it to hurt, and it did. I still wonder why he – and his editor - thought that was appropriate. I also wonder why, 20 years on, women are still dealing with this kind of thing. It’s still not enough for a woman to be successful in her chosen field. Whatever her achievements, you can be pretty sure that at some point, some man in his 50s or 60s – maybe an Oxbridge graduate, author of an unpublished novel or two - will offer his opinion on her desirability, either in the national Press, or most likely nowadays, by means of social media. The subtext is clear: women who don’t conform to societal values of what a woman should be are asking for this kind of treatment; especially those who dare to achieve more than their detractors.

10 years after that nasty review, I finally began the journey into perimenopause. No-one told me it was happening. No-one in the media was talking about it at the time. Even my doctor never thought to mention that my symptoms – the insomnia, headaches, mood swings, anxiety, depression, sleep paralysis, hair loss, brown patches on my skin – might have a single origin. I began to feel I was losing my mind: as if I were starting to disappear. I started to doubt my own senses. I blamed it all on the stress from my job. My mother had powered through menopause – or so she led me to believe – and made no secret of her contempt for modern women who complained, or treated the symptoms as anything more than a minor inconvenience.

And so I did the same. I powered through; and when at last I began to experience the classic symptoms of menopause - irregular bleeding, hot flushes, exhaustion, night sweats so bad that I would awake in sheets that were wringing wet – it did not occur to me to seek help. After over a year of this, I finally went to my doctor, who took a few tests, cheerfully announced I was menopausal, and when I inquired after HRT, advised me to power through – that phrase again - and let Mother Nature take her course. The internet was slightly more helpful. I took up running, lost weight, cut down on alcohol, downed supplements and sleeping pills and vitamin D, and felt a little better. Then, breast cancer came to call, and by the time my treatment was done, the symptoms had more or less disappeared, or at least had been superseded by the symptoms of chemo. I congratulated myself at having powered through cancer as well as surviving menopause.

But two years later, I feel old. I look that way, too. I’ve aged ten years. Some of that’s the cancer, of course. I was quite open about my treatment when I was powering through it – partly in order to pre-empt any questions about my hair loss or any of the all-too visible effects of three courses of chemo. Not that it stopped the comments, though. Even at my lowest ebb, a sector of social media made it clear that my only concern should be to look young and feminine to anonymous men on Twitter.

Right now, I don’t feel either. My hair has gone grey and very thin. My skin, too, seems thinner; both physically and mentally. At a recent publishing event, several acquaintances failed to recognize me; others just looked through me as if I had become invisible. Invisibility would be a relief; I find myself dressing for camouflage. I tend to wear baggy black outfits. I got my OBE last week. Photographs in the Press show me talking to Prince William. I’m wearing a boxy black trouser suit, flat shoes and a red fedora. I think I look nice. Not glamorous, but comfortable; quirky; unpretentious.

On a thread of largely supportive messages, one Twitter user pops up to say: Jesus, who’d accept an honour looking like that middle-aged disaster? @Joannechocolat thought she’d make an impact? She needs a stylist. If you look in the dictionary for the definition of “dowdy”, it features this photo.

It’s not the same man who belittled me over 20 years ago. But the sentiment hasn’t changed. Regardless of your achievements, as a woman, you’ll always be judged on your age and fuckability. I ought to be used to this by now. But somehow, that comment got to me. Going through menopause isn’t just a series of physical symptoms. It’s how other people make you feel; old, unattractive, and strangely ashamed.

I think of the Glass Delusion, a mental disorder common between the 14th and 17th centuries, characterized by the belief that the sufferer was made of glass. King Charles VI of France famously suffered from this delusion, and so did Princess Alexandra Amélie, daughter of Ludwig 1st of Bavaria. The condition affected mostly high-profile individuals; writers, royals, intellectuals. The physician to Philip II of Spain writes of an unnamed royal who believed he was a glass vase, which made him terribly fragile, and able to disappear at will. It seems to have been a reaction to feelings of social anxiety, fear of change and the unknown, a feeling both of vulnerability and invisibility.

I can relate. Since the menopause, I’ve felt increasingly broken. I don’t believe I’m a glass vase, and yet I know what it feels like to want to be wrapped in a protective duvet all day. I’ve started buying cushions. I feel both transparent, and under the lens, as if the light might consume me. On social media, I’ve learnt to block the people who make mean comments. To make myself invisible. To hide myself in plain sight. I power through, but sometimes I think: why do women power through? And who told them that powering through meant suffering in silence?

Fortunately, some things have changed since I went through the menopause. Over the past few years, we’ve seen more people talking about their experiences. Menopause is likely to affect half the population. We should be talking about it. If men experienced half these symptoms, you bet they’d be discussing it. Because power isn’t silence. You’d think that, as writer, I would have worked that out sooner. Words are power. Sharing is strength. Communication breaks down barriers. And sometimes, power means speaking up for those less able to speak for themselves.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see my mother’s mouth; my father’s eyes. I see the woman I used to be; the woman I will one day become. I see the woman my husband loves, a woman he still finds attractive. A woman with a grown-up child who makes her proud every single day. A menopausal woman. A cancer survivor. A woman who writes books that make other people sit up and think. A woman who doesn’t need the approval of some man she’s never met to be happy. She can be happy now. I can. And finally, I understand.  Powering through isn’t about learning to be invisible. It isn’t about acceptance, or shame, or letting Nature take its course, or lying about feeling broken. It’s looking beyond your reflection. It’s seeing yourself, not through the lens of other people’s expectations, but as yourself. The sum of everything you’ve been; of everyone who loves you. Of claiming your right to be more than glass, or your reflection in it. The right to be valued. The right to shine, regardless of age or reproductive status. Men seldom question their own right to these things. But women have to fight for them. That’s why it’s so exhausting.

This morning, instead of putting on my usual baggy black sweatshirt, I chose a bright yellow pullover. I looked at myself in the mirror. It’s not a great colour on me now, but it feels like dressing in sunshine. My husband came into the bathroom. You look –

My husband rarely gives compliments. I can’t remember the last time he commented on how I was dressed. I wondered what he was going to say. Dowdy, perhaps? Inappropriate? Like a menopausal woman in dire need of a stylist?

At last, he said: When you smile like that, you look like a friendly assassin.

A friendly assassin. I’ll take that.  

Shining like the sun. That’s me.

#menopause #cancer

[karliahs]

i often see people say they can't go to the library because they lost/never returned/dropped some library books in a bath or something, and now view themselves as heinous library criminals who would be yelled at and/or hit with a huge bill if they ever went back

and obvs i can't make promises unless you came into my specific library and were served by me but here are 10 reasons i think if you went in and politely explained the situation to a member of staff it'd probably be fine:

consider this from the library's perspective. those books are probably never coming back regardless. that value (having the books back), which is probably the reason the library has a fines system to begin with, is not gonna happen. the value of retaining you as a customer though is right there in front of them

if you explain that a fine is too high for you to pay and that that is keeping you from coming back to the library, what you've basically said is that there is an impediment to your library access. part of the job of anyone who works in a library is to remove that impediment

library computer systems will vary hugely and if it's been a long time there is a significant chance there isn't even a record of your lost books anymore

the pandemic affected library access significantly and a lot of libraries will have had amnesties once they reopened to get people over the hump of oh god oh god i've had these books FOREVER i can never show my face again. even if that amnesty is officially over, the fact that there was one helps the person in front of you justify waiving the fee (which, if they're like me and you aren't being cruel, they are probably looking for a reason to do!)

a lot of libraries have reduced or no fines for children, so if you lost books as a kid there's even more of a chance there won't be a fine

the person you speak to at the front desk at a library is probably not an accredited Librarian TM but a nice underpaid person who has to deal with a lot of difficult customers going off on them for no reason (also accredited librarian tms are also pretty nice usually). i would take 100 people politely explaining that they've lost books and are very embarrassed over one person whose purpose that day is to belittle me, a captive audience who has to be nice no matter what. library assistant jobs are often not that different from customer service jobs! a lot of library assistant jobs now explicitly are customer service jobs! it is so so likely that that person wants nothing less than to have an adversarial conversation with you

if you haven't been to a library since you were a lot younger, it is almost certainly no longer what you're picturing. most modern libraries are actively trying to move away from the image of severe quiet building where you will be shhhhed and sternly told to look after your books or else. we're trying to be vibrant community hubs full of friendly people who will do their best to help you

library employees, bizarrely enough, probably don't think of each individual book as being that valuable compared to other readers. if you own a book and keep it forever and read it maybe twice, barring any crazy accidents it'll probably last decades. if a book is on the shelves of a public library and is regularly borrowed, it'll last...3-5 years, maybe. a busy library will discard large volumes of stock every year because that's just how it works. you lose that sense of the sanctity of every copy of every book pretty fast in these kinds of jobs

libraries need people to use them! a huge huge part of getting library funding is demonstrating how many people use and value your service. you and the library staff are on the same side: they also want you to be able to use the library again

a public library has witnessed behaviours the likes of which you cannot imagine. people have shoved books down our toilets. people have looked at porn on library computers in full view of everyone around them. people have thrown chairs out of the window. losing books happens all the time and is so unlikely to phase staff who are probs a little bit dead inside

tldr: come back to the library, we need you visiting and using the service more than we need the books you accidentally lost, also if the person you talk to is anything like me they're probably just glad you aren't yelling at them

#like so many situations in life if you are polite and reasonable you will be a blessing to customer service workers #people are so fucking rude and dehumanising i do not care if you lost one of our books when you moved house 5 hears ago #talking

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [BEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN] ❞

request by lovely detailing anon pairing: spencer reid x reader. summary: a date for your brother's wedding brings you more than you could ever hope for. content warnings: i think none, but feel free to tell me! very fluffy stuff ahead though. word count: 1,1k+

the first thing you told your mother when she began yapping about how you needed a date for the wedding was that she didn't need to worry, you got your girls! surely one of them would have an eligible bachelor to accompany you. you had the girls from work, two from college and even your sister-in-law could definitely help you out without the obnoxious interference of your mother.

sadly enough, as the ceremony got closer and closer the more spectacularly did the blind dates fail you. you insisted with the bau girls you did not want anyone from the bureau, emily tried with an old friend who worked in politics. completely boring and in severe need of a model trophy wife his parents approved of.

pen tried to set you up with some guy she met doing theater, he was fascinated by your job. too fascinated, like you were some character of a play that he needed to analyze, and if that wasn't bad enough, the ones you were set up by your civilian girls weren't any better, they were in fact worse. trembling the moment you told them you were an agent.

"i'm going alone, won't tell my mom that though." you finish the conversation leaving the reports from the last case on your desk. i'ts saturday morning and fortunately, you were back in time for your brother's wedding, no chance to skip it and blame it on work for this and already running back to the elevator, asking spencer to hold the doors for you.

"i can be your date, for the wedding, i mean." his voice sounds almost nonchalant, if not for a bit higher in pitch. you feel your face warm up at the idea, surely if you had enough courage in your personal life as you showed in the field, you would've asked him months before, but apparently fate was on your side.

"really? i don't want to disturb you, i—" you shake your head softly, trying to be less avoidant, you wanted him to go, he offered to go. "i would really like that, actually."

"i'm happy to. this way you're at least guaranteed someone who isn't afraid of fbi female agents." the way his shoulders shrug up and his nose moves in a soft crunch makes your heart swell. "historically bridesmaids were to dress the same as the bride to deceive evil spirits—" he's interrupted by the elevator doors opening, but you both keep the same pace as you leave the building, wanting to keep talking to each other. "though surely you won't be dressing in white, what color are you wearing should i match my tie to it?"

"that's very thoughtful, spen." too thoughtful even, you might just swoon if you don't control yourself. "it's black tie required for bridal party dates actually, is that okay?"

"i can arrange that." even if he didn't have a black tie attire at home already, which he did, spencer would rent one if he had to, he wouldn't be happy about it, but he would do whatever necessary.

his eyes glance from your dress to your fidgeting fingers a few times before speaking up. "you're nervous." he knows that's not the first thing he should be saying after seeing you all dressed up, but he can't help it.

"oh—sorry, i'm just worried about my family meeting you." you didn't even think about your choice of words, not paying attention to the way it made spencer flinch, his smile falling instantly.

"do you want me to be less... me? i can try." eyes widened up, you shake your head quickly, hands going to his chest in what you believed was a comforting manner.

"i want them to be less... them. you're great, perfect even. they can be kind of rude, that's all." perfect even. his smile quickly comes back to his face, placing his own hands over yours with a squeeze.

"unrelated but, you look great, perfect even." his repeating of your words makes you laugh, spinning around to show him the full look before thanking him. he looks stunning, dashing even, but you feel like the way your eyes can't look away from him for long might show him that.

you were right to be worried about your family, a bunch of drunk alpha males who didn't believe the work you did in the fbi weren't the most friendly bunch to spencer, but he had his fun responding to their jabs with knowledge and sarcasm, checking your reactions every time and always getting a laugh in response.

your mother seemed to like him though, saying you two were a great match, which you tried to deny, shrug it off since you two were just friends and you somehow knew your mom would like anyone you took as long as you didn't show up alone again to a family event.

as he held you close to dance, spinning you around and making you dizzy from all the champagne, and as his hands stopped at your hips to look at you, you wished to yourself you truly were a great match, and that he felt it as much as you, and the saw it as much your family saw it.

by the end of the night he was the one holding your heels, your bag and your scarf while calling a taxi to the venue to pick you both up. happily laying your head on his shoulder the whole way back to your apartment.

spencer had to accompany you back into your place, he wasn't about to leave you by the building's entrance or the elevator, it was only reasonable to help you all the way through.

for you, it was only reasonable to ask him to spend the night, your couch was comfortable enough especially after a whole night of dancing and walking around trying to keep up with you. it was only reasonable for him to accept it.

"hey spen..." you had gone to your bedroom to find anything comfortable for him to wear, coming back only minutes later, still dressed up. "thanks for today, i had a great time." you say handing him the pijama bottoms you thought could fit him.

"i always have a great time with you." his hands brush lightly against yours and you feel a shiver down your spine, gluing your eyes to his in hopes he felt it too.

in a second he's placing his hands on your neck, kissing you with lust of at least months of yearning, taking your breath away and making you enjoy the lack of oxygen and control. you don't even have to think about reciprocating it, no hesitance, like you have been always at the ready for it and you bite his lower lip the second he tries to pull away.

"i always have a great time with you too." you whisper waiting to have an even greater time with him, the smirk on his lips showing you he hoped for the same.

#lari writes sometimes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer x reader #reid x reader #reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #reid imagine #reid scenario #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff

[eiightysixbaby]

i’ll be home for christmas

PART TWO: Run Run Rudolph

previous part || series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.1k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie isn’t enjoying life in chicago, but he’s been too stubborn to admit it. when he's at his breaking point, what comes next?

cw: switches between past and present tense, mentions of food/eating, lots of angst, eddie is an idiot but we love him, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’

author’s note: just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on part one! i’m so excited to be sharing more of this story. part three is in the works and should be out in the next couple of weeks :) thank you again for giving my story a chance, it means so much to me.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The droning, repetitive sound of the cash register’s scanner is giving Eddie a migraine. Beep. A sweater is thrown into a bag. Beep. Some cooking utensils. Beep. A toy truck and a Barbie doll.

The impatient face of the woman who stands before him only makes him want to move slower, and she scowls when he “accidentally” purposefully drops one of her items to the floor.

“Oops!” he says, giving her a fake innocent grin, shrugging dramatically before he bends down to pick it up. He debates how feasible it would be to fake a stroke or a heart attack or something while he’s down here, but ultimately decides against it and stands straight again.

Beep. He scans a tie with green and red stripes on it, presumably for the less-than-amused husband who stands at the woman's side, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

He can hear the woman’s foot tapping on the waxy floors beneath them, her arms crossed over her chest and her checkbook clutched in one hand. He gives her her final total, watching as she scrawls her pristine cursive writing onto the thin piece of paper before handing it to him. He hands her several bags once the transaction is finished, pressing his lips into a tight line when she yanks them from his grip in a less-than-pleasant manner. The husband follows absentmindedly like a puppy on a leash, paying absolutely no mind to Eddie whatsoever. He might as well not have even been there.

“Happy Holidays to you, too,” he says, perhaps a bit too loud as they walk away.

Sighing, he leans onto the countertop in front of him, pressing his face into his open palms. The store’s speakers play a consistent loop of popular Christmas music, and Eddie thinks he’s heard The Chipmunk Song enough times today to last him the rest of his life. The squeaky voices of the fictional rodents ring out through the decorated space, eliciting laughter from children who can’t help but sing along.

There’s been a non-stop wave of shoppers over the past couple of weeks, and it only seems to be getting worse the closer it gets to the holiday. People in Chicago aren’t friendly about it, either. Everyone seems to be going about their lives transactionally, angry and frustrated that they have to be picking up gifts and baking cookies and wrapping boxes in the first place. Eddie isn’t used to it.

Back in Hawkins, everyone was cheerful around Christmas. The otherwise quiet town seemed to light up in December, bringing even the grumpiest of residents out of the woodwork to celebrate. The funny thing is, he never thought he'd miss it. Never imagined he'd yearn for that town, for that community. But there's a lot of things that hadn't gone according to his plan, so what's one more on that list?

Eddie can feel his name tag poking his skin through his shirt, his argyle sweater that was so impossibly opposite to his taste in fashion but that was strongly recommended by his boss; "to look put-together", he'd been told. And so he'd picked out a few "nice" outfits, for nothing if not to keep his damn job. But the material of the sweater makes his skin itch, and paired with the too-bright lights and the too-repetitive music, this job was a sensory hellhole. The smell of over-priced perfume is engrained into his nostrils at this point, and Eddie literally winces as he catches a customer spray a cloud of the fragrance out of a sample bottle.

He rolls his eyes as Donna, head of the fragrance department, dishes out her usual sales-pitch to the clueless man that stands before her, utterly and devastatingly unsure of what to get the lady in his life for Christmas. I could never be that clueless, Eddie thinks to himself, I know how to get a good gift.

And then, his heart aches as he stares blankly at the man holding two different perfume bottles in each hand. Because he remembers that the last real gift he'd bought was for you.

December 5th, 1988.

The mall was packed full of holiday shoppers, everyone in a mad rush to find the perfect gifts for each person on their lists. Eddie typically wasn't much of a shopper himself, really only coming to the mall to bother Dustin and Will at Scoops, but today was different. You wanted to start getting your shopping out of the way, and didn’t want to go alone, so of course Eddie was going to tag along. He’d been spending every possible second he could with you, running errands or getting food or seeing a movie. Even just hanging out at your apartment or his trailer. With you, everything seemed magical. Every item you picked up and marveled at in each store, every Christmas song you sang along to, it was all shiny and wonderful because it was associated with you.

You currently have him at a jewelry store, looking into a glass case filled with glittering gold and silver accessories. Some of which probably cost, individually, more than all of his possessions combined. A low whistle leaves his mouth before he hears you chirp beside him.

“Eddie! Look at this one!” you coo, pointing eagerly at a flashy necklace that sits in the case.

He’s at your side in an instant, looking where your finger directs him. His eyes land on a dazzling pendant, adorned with jewels that sparkle glamorously.

“Oh, Nancy would love this,” you muse, taking a closer look at the price tag. “I could get this for her… or I could tell Robin about it so she could get it for her. I don’t know, is it too much if I get Nancy a necklace?” you debate out loud, making Eddie smile at how flat-out adorable you are.

He loves your heart, the way you always think about your friends. You truly aren’t looking for a thing for yourself, you just want to get your friends the best gifts possible, physical objects that remind them of your gratitude for them.

“I don’t think it’s too much. Or, why don’t you give Robin a call so you can ask her straight up? Here, use the pay phone,” he offers, pulling some quarters from his pocket and handing them to you.

“You’re right, that’s the easiest idea,” you say with a cute little relieved laugh. “Wait here, I’ll be back in like, fifteen.”

He gives you a little salute with two fingers, continuing to glance around at the selection once you’ve left. His feet stop him instantly when his eyes catch a delicate gold necklace with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s engraved with the letter M, and a card sits beside it that informs potential buyers that you can get it customized with any initial. It’s simple, exactly how you’d want it to be, but it’s far from ugly or bland.

Eddie knows immediately that he wants to get it for you, eyeing the price tag nervously before breathing a sigh of pure relief at the fact that it’s far more affordable than he’d have suspected. You’re the most special thing in his life, and it feels right to give you a piece of him. His initial, to wear on your neck, so you can keep him close at all times. His stomach does a little flip of excitement at his idea, and he’s grateful you’ve left him alone so he can keep this a surprise.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says to the worker after you’ve left. “I’d like to get this one, please. Engraved with an E.”

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

He's pulled from his melancholy daze by another customer snapping their fingers in his face, polished nails standing out at the tips of slender fingers.

"Hello? Anybody home?" the woman asks, chewing her gum too exaggeratedly for Eddie to be able to take her seriously. "Are you too stupid to understand me or what?"

Yeah. It's going to be a long rest of his shift.

•

Cars roll past on the busy streets as Eddie makes his commute home, the holiday chaos evidently in full-swing on the outside of the department store, too. He winces as a car’s tires slosh through the slushy mixture collecting on the sides of the road, sending it splattering all over his coat. He sighs, moving off to the side of the sidewalk that’s furthest from the road, brushing half-melted snow off of himself.

His body is frigid with the cold, his eyes heavy with his incredible lack of sleep and his fatigue from the most draining shift at the world's most boring job. He trudges inside of his apartment building, the tall structure looming over the Chicago streets. The large Christmas tree in the lobby makes Eddie frown to himself, resurfacing that ache he’d felt at work. The ache that really hasn’t fully gone away since last Christmas. It’s always in the back of his mind, always tapping away at his heart, a dull soreness like a bruise that won’t heal.

“Oh shit, what’s goin’ on, Edwardio?” Eddie’s neighbor, Argyle, greets him as he climbs the stairs to his floor.

“Hey, man,” Eddie responds, feeling guilty at the monotony of his voice compared to cheerfulness of his acquaintance.

“You wanna come in for a smoke sesh? Just picked up some new stuff,” Argyle offers, sticking his thumb in the direction of his door as he grabs his keys from his pocket.

“Nah, man, not tonight. Some other time,” and then Eddie’s slinking into his apartment, shutting his door promptly behind him.

Eddie never turns down a smoke sesh.

Once fully inside, he throws his things haphazardly onto the ground. He couldn’t be bothered to care about where they land — his whole place is a mess. A reflection of his mental state. Soft wool fabric of his sweater is tossed onto his bed, traded for a t-shirt so well-loved it has holes in the neckline. He goes to his dining table as he tugs the shirt fully over his head, grabbing the phone off of the wall and anxiously curling the cord around his fingers as he dials a familiar number. It rings a few times before there’s an answer, each droning dial tone making him anxious.

“Hello?” he hears Robin’s voice ring out on the other end.

“Rob, hey, it’s me.”

“Eddie!” she says excitedly. “Guys, Eddie’s on the phone!” her voice sounds further away, and he knows she’s holding the phone away from her face as she calls out to whoever else is there.

Steve shouts his name and he smiles, hearing the commotion on the other end as other people shuffle towards Robin to try and grab the phone.

“How is everything? How are you?” Robin asks him, shushing Dustin as he begs her to let him say hi.

“I, uh, I’m alright. I miss you guys,” he says, resting his forehead on the heel of his palm. “How’s everything there?”

“We miss you too. Things are….” Robin pauses, and it makes Eddie’s stomach drop. “—They’re okay,” she finishes, but she sounds unsure; like there’s something she isn’t telling him.

“Who’s there with you right now? I know I heard Henderson and Steve,” he says, trying to force some happiness into his voice.

“Eddie! You’ll never believe how the D&D campaign is going!” Dustin says excitedly into the receiver, and he can hear Robin’s voice telling him to give it back.

“I bet it’s great, you’ll have to call me on your own sometime and tell me everything.”

“I definitely wi— HEY!” Dustin says, yelling as the phone is seemingly snatched from him.

“Give me the phone back, you turd! Okay, to answer your question…” Robin’s voice is back again. “It’s me, Nance, Jonathan, of course Steve and Dustin, and then, uh… Sunny,” she trails off, getting quieter at the end.

It hurts Eddie’s heart, the way she says your name softly like she doesn’t want you or him to hear it.

“Can I… can you put her on?” he tries, wanting so desperately to hear your voice.

You haven’t talked to him since Christmas Eve. Since the night he told you he was leaving. Every time he’d call home he couldn’t manage to get ahold of you. The one time he called your personal number, the second you’d said hello and he’d announced his presence, you’d hung up. Sometimes, when Eddie happens to call Steve or Robin or Nancy during a group hangout, they’ll tell him you aren’t there, but he knows it’s a lie. Not that it matters much anyway, because even the times they’re honest with him he’ll ask to speak to you and you’ll refuse.

It hurts him, how much you’ve distanced yourself. He obviously wanted you to move forward, but he’d hoped you could at least catch up every once in a while. How stupid he’d been to think that this was a fair thing to ask of you. How stupid he’d been to think the right decision was to leave you behind, the one person who he adored, who was right for him.

“Eddie…” Robin says on the other end, her voice wavering.

“Forget it. It’s okay,” he says, immediately looking to change the subject. “Look, I just wanted to check in and see how you guys were doing. I can let you go.”

“We miss you, Eddie. We’re always thinking of you,” Robin says, and he hears Nancy say a quick “love you!”

“Tell Wheeler I love her, too. I love all of you guys, okay? We’ll talk later.”

And then the call is over. The phone clicks into its place on the wall, and Eddie is alone again. Deafening silence rings in his ears, taunting him as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him.

If he’s honest, truly honest, nothing has been right since he left Hawkins. He tries to grin and bear it, to pretend like his shitty dead-end job is making him happy and that he made the correct decision moving here. But deep down, nearly this whole time, he’s known it was wrong.

Last December, he’d been at a breaking point, feeling like he was unwanted in Hawkins and like he was just a burden to you and everyone else. He’d genuinely convinced himself that you’d be better off without him, had it in his head that you’d move on with time and that you’d be okay in his absence.

He couldn’t be more wrong, but he wasn’t aware of how much you missed him. He didn’t think he was something worth missing.

December 16th, 1988.

Steaming hot plates of scrambled eggs and bacon are placed in front of you and Eddie, followed by two sides of toast with extra butter. Taking a tentative sip of his scalding coffee, Eddie’s eyes meet yours over the rim of his mug. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat, more than content to have a meal after your drinking session at Nancy’s the previous night. Eddie’s stomach was begging for food, and he knows you must be feeling the same way.

You waste no time digging in, and he watches you with a cute smile on his face as you raise your fork to your mouth, groaning when you take your first bite of eggs. You look ethereal, with your hair unbrushed and your mascara messy around your eyes, one of his big t-shirts on your frame beneath your winter coat. His smile falters, then, as he considers how perfect you are. How you’re effortlessly flawless, and how he doesn’t come close to deserving you.

You catch him staring, poking his wrist with the dull end of your fork and breaking him out of his thoughts.

“You can’t absorb my food just by watching me eat, you know that right?” you joke, smirking around your mouthful of toast.

“I can sure as hell try,” Eddie says, pressing his index and middle fingers to either side of his head, humming while he does it as if summoning the food to him.

You laugh, the brightest little sound, before you go back to eating as normal. You don’t see his smile fade yet again as he starts to pick at the food on his plate, his appetite suddenly dwindling.

The last week had taken its toll on Eddie, to say the least. This time of year always tended to be a bit hard on him, making him reminisce on the days when his mom was still alive and reminding him that his dead-beat father couldn’t be bothered to spend the holidays with his only son. Christmas was a time for family gatherings, and Eddie didn’t have family to gather with. He had you, and the rest of the friend group, and Wayne, but it just isn’t the same as having a complete and loving family. He found himself wishing for the Christmas-card picturesque familial comfort, and his heart ached at the lack of it.

Then, to bring his mood down even more, there was the incident at the grocery store. Just last night he’d been at the store with you, picking up some alcohol for the get together at Nancy’s. You’d been following close behind him as he’d roamed the aisles, your hand wrapped around his arm. Soft laughter and warm smiles were exchanged as you waited in the checkout line, inviting the eyes and judgments of onlookers.

“What a shame that poor girl got roped in with the Munson boy,” an older woman had said to her friend as they walked by. “She could do so much better than that…” she remarked, looking Eddie up and down in a way that could only be displeased. He met their eyes, only to have them turn up their noses in response and walk away.

You hadn’t heard the comments, had been too busy selecting a candy bar to snack on, your fingers sifting over crinkly paper before deciding on a Kit-Kat. Eddie tried to shake the stranger’s comment off, really he did, but he found his brain clouded with it. Sometimes he was so good at letting things roll off of his shoulders, but he’s felt it getting harder and harder. The whole night at Nancy’s, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the woman had said; couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked at you like she pitied you, simply for being near him. The worst part is, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed people judging you and him together. Not even close. Everywhere he goes with you, he feels like he catches dirty looks.

It makes him feel like even more of a screw-up than he already does, simply adding to the emptiness that resides within his body. In his head, he feels like that woman at the supermarket was right. You could do better than him. Why did you bother with the town freak when you could have anyone?

“Hey,” you say now, blinking at him from across the sticky tabletop. Your voice is like a shining flashlight through the fog of his thoughts, bringing him out of the murkiness. “Are you alright? I thought you were starving,” you worry, concern etched into your facial features.

He looks down at his plate, realizing he’d been dancing his fork around the porcelain and stabbing mindlessly at the now-room-temperature eggs. He’d taken a single bite of his toast and nothing more.

“Did those eggs do something to you?” you ask, playing tough, trying to get a smile from him. “Do I need to teach them a lesson?”

“Yeah, actually, they called me some pretty mean names,” he joins in, rolling his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. You notice this, able to read him like a book, but you don’t press the issue.

Instead, you simply reach across the table, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Squeezing yours in return, he tries to brush away the depressing thoughts that had berated him, and he eats his bacon and the rest of his toast before you both get up to leave. He knows he shouldn’t torture himself like this, but it’s hard not to when his whole life he’s felt like he wasn’t quite good enough.

When you arrive at your place, he walks you to the door of your building, ever the gentleman. Trying desperately to savor these moments with you without letting the town’s collective opinion of him ruin them. His heart flutters when your pretty eyes look up at him, your gentle fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat.

“I don’t really want you to go,” you say, laughing a little but turning away as you do it, like you don’t quite want him to see.

“I don’t wanna go either. Hate leaving you,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he gives you a tiny pout.

You stand in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. The tension hangs thick in the air, and Eddie swears he could reach out and slice it with his fingernail. His heart thumps in his chest, he wonders if you can hear it from where you stand. And then, before he can truly even process it, you’re leaning in and he’s leaning in and then his lips are on yours and oh, god.

He’s never felt lips softer than yours, never felt sparks like the ones he feels right now. The kiss doesn’t last long, but in his mind it felt like he’d been frozen in that moment for hours. He can feel his cheeks flush when you’ve pulled away, but as he looks at you his heart just sinks.

You could do better than him. This is a mistake. He can’t let you do this to yourself.

He suddenly wants to sprint as far as he can away from you, he wants to curl up into a ball and hide away for eternity. He feels unstable, like the earth beneath him could crumble at any minute. His gut is telling him to leave, to go home and shut himself in to think. But at the same time, the way you look at him makes it so hard to go. You chew on your lip, giggling as he gives you a soft look and decisively tells you he has to get home. His breathing is a little shaky, and he hopes you didn’t notice.

“I’ll see you soon?” you ask, holding onto his arm.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

Your smile is persistent as you open the door to your building, waving at him through the small glass window. He offers a wave in return, before he turns heel and all but books it back to his van. He feels like he could collapse, like everything is crashing down around him.

To this town, he’s a fuck up, and maybe they’re all right. Maybe he needs to get out, to go somewhere where he can start fresh. Be someone new, not just a Munson.

His mental spiral only worsens as he drives to the trailer park, his thoughts racing in his mind. He hears principal Higgins from a few years back, he hears his neighbors, he hears the PTA moms all calling him a failure, a freak, a weirdo. A burden.

By the time he gets home, he feels like the answer to his problems is already decided. It’s been a slow boil over the course of the last week, a nagging thought that fades in and out of his brain. Now it’s finally coming to a head. There’s too many bad memories in this town, too many people that want him gone.

He needs to leave Hawkins. He needs to leave you.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

Initially, right after he’d left, the gang had tried reasoning with him, begging him over grueling phone calls to just come home. He’d felt horrible about it, but he said no every time. He truly wanted to make something of himself, something that he felt Hawkins could never give him.

But then, getting his foot in the door in the music industry like he had hoped was not as easy as it was made out to be. The guy at the local recording studio had laughed at him when he’d inquired about booking a session to record a demo-tape. He’d laughed harder when Eddie had asked if the recording studio itself was hiring. He couldn’t even land a job at the local record store, and he felt like his failures were just piling up. His first job in the city had been at a small book store, but they ended up letting him go due to their lack of need for his help. Not enough foot traffic, the owner had said. Not worth keeping Eddie around for one shift a week, he’d grumbled.

He’d had several failed job interviews after, growing more and more frustrated after each one. Bills and other expenses were piling up with each passing day he spent jobless, and he guiltily accepted the little bit of money Wayne insisted on sending him to help him get by. He struggled along until he finally scored a job at the big department store down the street from his place. It wasn’t glamorous, by any means, but it paid the bills… barely.

That was another thing. His rent raised unexpectedly a couple months after his move, and he’s been living essentially paycheck to paycheck ever since.

He finds himself missing Hawkins more than he ever thought he would, and it kills him every day. More than anything, he misses you. Every day he thinks about you, yearns for you, wonders what you’re up to. Most of all, he thinks about that kiss. That single, stupid kiss that you’d shared. It had been earth shattering, and looking back he isn’t sure why that wasn’t his reason to stay. Instead, it pushed him further away.

His pride had gotten the best of him, not letting him admit defeat and move back to Indiana because he wanted to seem like he had everything figured out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning after a couple short months and looking like a failure to everyone. Frequent phone calls home to Wayne helped him stay sane, and he tried to keep his tone upbeat for his uncle but he should’ve known all along that the man knows him too well to buy it.

That’s why, when Eddie picks up the phone for the second time tonight and dials Wayne’s number, the man on the other end isn’t surprised to hear the way Eddie’s voice cracks or the sniffles that he tries to hide. It’s why he instantly requests that Eddie tell him what’s going on, because he just knows.

And Eddie pours his heart out.

“I can’t do it, Wayne. I can’t fucking do it,” he sniffs.

“Don’t talk like that, boy, what’s got you worked up?”

“I’m miserable here. I thought this was the right choice, but it couldn’t have been further from it.”

Wayne is silent on the other end, but Eddie can hear his steady, calm breathing. He keeps going.

“Sunny won’t talk to me, and— and I deserve that, but I miss her. I miss you, I miss my friends, I fucked up, Wayne,” Eddie’s voice is raw as he talks, frustrated tears streaming down his face. “Chicago is not what I wanted it to be. It didn’t create some magical new life for me. I have virtually nobody here that gives a shit.”

There’s silence again. In this moment Eddie is so wound up he almost snaps at his uncle, but then he doesn’t need to, because his voice comes through the line.

“So come home,” Wayne replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“What?”

“Come home. Book a flight and get your ass here, I’ll help you pay for it. There’s still time to make it by Christmas.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off for Eddie, in that moment. Why can’t he just come home? What’s so hard about it? He’d been telling himself no, acting as though he had to stay in Chicago. But what was he running from?

Maybe he just needed that final push. Someone to tell him point-blank to cut the crap and come home. He should've been confiding in Wayne all along. And then it all falls into place, as Eddie stews in the realization that there’s nothing truly holding him back from going home except for himself. He’d created this narrative in his head; that he needed to leave Hawkins and that no one benefited from his presence. What if that was all… bullshit? He’s been forcing himself to stay in a city he hates… for what? He slumps back in his chair, letting Wayne’s words sink in, nodding his head slowly as he thinks.

By the time he gets in bed for the night, he knows what he has to do. He knows he’s made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime, but his worst one was leaving you. Settling in under his thick comforter, his stomach turns with anxiety and excitement. He barely sleeps a wink, but for once, he isn’t mad about it when he wakes up the following morning.

Present Day: December 21st, 1989.

Eddie’s hands shake as he steps out of his cab, his breath shallow with his nerves. In a couple of short days he’d packed up his life in Chicago to leave this place behind for good. He’d left a note on Argyle’s door explaining his departure and thanking him for all of the smoke sessions, and he’d tossed his keys at the always-rude front-desk receptionist before walking out of that building for the last time.

He shuffles in through the revolving doors at the airport, hands nervously wringing around the strap to his duffel bag. Wayne had been right, of course, there was plenty of time to make it home for Christmas and Eddie had secured a flight to Indiana rather easily amidst the holiday craziness. He hadn’t told a single other soul he was coming home, and he knew Wayne certainly wouldn’t share the news without his permission. He wanted to surprise everybody, wanted to fix what he’d broken last year, and he could only hope that he would be welcomed by his friends. You were his biggest obstacle, the thing making him the most nervous, but he was more than ready to see your face again and to never let you go this time. Somehow, he’d make it right.

He takes a deep breath as he heads towards his gate, then another.

This is it. He’ll be home in Hawkins for Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem @svbrbnlegends @eddiesxangel @munsonzgf @hereforshmut @eggo-segual @joannamuns9n @lavendermunson @leenameh @micheledawn1975

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #i’ll be home for christmas #support banner by cafekitsune

[petermorwood]

Microwave Sponge Cake (eventually)

Long ago, @dduane and I had a Whirlpool combi microwave - micro, grill, fan oven - and It Was Great, big enough to use as a proper oven when what needed cooked in a proper oven was small enough that powering up the big proper oven in the cooker was a bit much.

Still with me...?

IIRC it was one of those Christmas presents where Mum, ever-practical, told us; "get yourselves something really useful but not too expensive (I did say practical!) and I'll go halves."

In 2016, after something like 15 years of pretty-well daily use for one thing and another, the old thing expired by stages, micro first, grill second, oven last - it made great bread up until the end - and went to recycling heaven.

*****

We couldn't find a one-for-one replacement (we needed a free-standing counter-top appliance, everyone was selling built-in), so until once was available (optimism) we bought an ordinary microwave.

NB, this and its successors were only used for ordinary microwave things like reheating, defrosting and dealing with freeze-cook stuff. They got nothing like the amount of use of the old combi, mostly because of being incapable of doing a lot of it. As things turned out, this didn't help much.

About eighteen months later, we had to buy another. If a microwave's enamel interior develops a crack (to this day I don't know how), moisture gets in, rust begins and the enamel pulls off the bare metal. That's when you get "sparking".

This demo is deliberate; believe me, when it's unexpected it's even worse.

A private welder show or lightning storm at the end of the kitchen counter when all you want is a hot cuppa is distinctly unsettling. Also, it's only going to get worse, and we could imagine - boy, could we - what "Much Worse" might look like.

To the recycle dump!

(NB, micros with stainless steel interiors don't seem to do this, probably because they're already tuned to deal with the bare metal.)

The replacement, another ordinary micro, Just Up And Died after eighteen months and, guess what, the quote for a check-up and replacements-if-required was as much as the price of a new one.

(Inkjet printers seem to operate on this principal too.)

To the recycle dump again!

We got a third new one (which BTW is still running just fine, because it's been downgraded to Extra, read on), totalled up what we'd spent on ordinary microwaves, said a few well-chosen words about planned obsolescence and the "Vimes 'Boots' Theory of Economic Inequality" and got ourselves a pre-pay credit card whose top-ups were dedicated to Get A Combi Again.

We didn't bother with GACA baseball caps.

That would have been silly.

I don't know if these cards exist in the USA; we treat them as the modern version of a piggy-bank...

...except that to get at the money you need two people acting in accord.

*****

And in 2021 we got one.

Okay, this next bit is going to read like an ad.

It isn't, because the appliance is discontinued. (Whirlpool FINALLY do something similar but not identical.) It's just enthusiastic users discovering there's even more to a gadget than expected.

*****

The New One even bigger than the old one, which had 28 litres capacity; the new one was 33 L (was .99 ft³, is now 1.16 ft³). In non-tech terms, wow, More Room To Cook In.

Reading the figures was no help (to me, anyway) in visualising what a maw the thing had, but opening the door did that and no mistake.

I said something to DD about "bite radius"...

...and she instantly responded with "anyway, we delivered the bomb".

We're a quotesy household. ;->

BTW, The New One does a very good job on seafood, too...

*****

Since we got this, almost exactly two years ago, we've used it from reheating tea to roasting meat to making chilli / goulash / stew / curry (you can run the oven / grill separately or add simultaneous zaps of microwave for much less cooking time) to baking bread.

One of the best things about it is that when the set cooking time is done, the appliance switches off automatically. No risk of busyness, absent-mindedness or out-in-the-garden-ness ending in clouds of smoke, ruined food and possibly even worse.

As for breadmaking, it has a dough-rise setting which is a Time Machine, reducing a two-hour "doubled in size" rise time to about 35-45 minutes...

It also has the most reliable Defrost Butter setting either of us have ever encountered, turning a rock-solid butter brick from the freezer into something spreadable while never - to date - doing the "never mind a butter-knife, give me a spoon or a paintbrush" thing.

*****

However...

There's also a "Chef Setting" where there are some simple recipes. Here's the pastry page.

Basically, you assemble and mix the ingredients, input the correct settings and the machine does all the timing, heating and cooking.

We'd never used this until yesterday, when DD said, "Let's try the sponge cake..."

Yes, this post was entitled "Microwave Sponge Cake (eventually)..." and here we are...

We did all the measuring correctly and checked it by pouring the mixture into a baking container while on the scale, wondering betimes why the recipe says 900g, the ingredients total 925 and what actually poured into the container reads 906... Weird. Really weird.

Then we put the container into the oven, entered the correct code, and let things do what they were going to do.

A little later we discovered something else about the recipe besides a weight anomaly.

It didn't mention the required size of the container. Or or how much the mixture was likely to rise.

It rose...

Let's say more than we expected...

The fluted ceramic container used for baking this one makes it look like a Vesuvius cupcake; not quite a pyroclastic flow, but a lot of flow regardless.

Once it cooled we separated the sponge-cake from the escaped sponge in the same way as sculptors work with wood or marble - "Chip away everything that doesn't look like a cake" - and found that despite its misshapen looks, it tasted pretty good.

So today DD made another, this time using a larger container.

...and this time it stayed put until removed using the cunning base-and-lifting-straps of baking parchment.

It's not the loftiest or best-risen sponge cake either of us have ever seen (a smaller-diameter higher-sided container would probably deal with that) BUT if there's something needing sponge cake in a hurry - this went from cupboard ingredients to done and cooling in less than 55 minutes - that treatment seems to fit the bill.

We're now wondering what other secrets lurk in the simple recipe pages; falafel, quiche Lorraine, stuffed peppers, even Flammkuchen* from scratch.

(*Though I have my own views about Flammkuchen, mostly involving a plane flight...)

And we'll be paying a lot more attention to what size of dish we put them in. :->

#food and drink #kitchen appliances #combi microwaves #sponge cake #anecdotage #GNU Terry Pratchett #Youtube

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-four

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: I wanted this to be a slow burn/enemies to lovers but god damn it's so hard to write because I already want Reader and Noah to get together.

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo

With a loud sigh, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and walked towards to front end of the bus. On this bus, I shared it with Davis, Matt, and Bryan, and sometimes one guy from the band would pop in every once in a while: except Noah. At least if he did, it was when I was asleep or not around. Especially lately, Noah and I avoided each other. After the disaster of a dinner a couple nights ago, I refused to speak to him even about work. I went to everyone else instead of him if I had a question, which I didn't often since I knew what I was doing.

I didn't want to think about Noah right now. Not when my mind should only think about my mom.

Lana told me that even though my mom was having a lot of good days, she still refused to speak to me. I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't break but I couldn't cry about it. I needed to focus for work and not give anyone a reason to figure out something was wrong.

We were close to the next city, less than an hour away, and we would hang out in Dallas for two days before heading out once more. Matt mentioned he had a surprise for everyone so called for a bus meeting which is where I found everyone with two surprise visitors.

Folio and Noah.

Giving a small smile to the former, I sat next to him at the table and he returned a smile. Noah was sitting on the long couch of the bus, chatting quietly with Bryan. They must have joined when we stopped last and I was asleep.

Noah's eyes burned hot at the side of my face but I ignored him as I bumped shoulders with Folio. We had been texting a bit the last couple days and have gotten pretty close; no romantic feelings involved. Folio had been a great friend and someone to vent too. I never told him about my mom, though. That was something I would take to the grave.

"Where's Jolly and Nick?" I asked.

"They stayed on our bus. They wanted the peace to sleep."

I nodded before pointing to Matt, who was standing at the front of the bus rubbing his hands together. "Any idea what this is about?"

"No fucking idea," Folio chuckled.

With my phone buzzing in my hand, I dared a peak at the notification to see another subscriber to my Only Fan's page. I didn't have many followers but enough to keep some money coming in. I could pay Lana her first paycheck and the extra income coming in was nice. I wasn't rolling in money but wasn't struggling on how to pay for things. With being constantly surrounded by the guys, I wasn't able to post much, just one other video and a few provocative pictures. I never showed my face, only from the neck down and never naked. I always had some short of clothes or underwear or an arm covering the private areas. Maybe that was the reason I had little subscribers, but it was the rules I set for myself when I started this.

"So, I bet you're all wondering why I called this meeting," Matt spoke while clapping his hands.

Folio muttered a joke to me under his breath which earned a loud laugh from me. Everyone looked our way, and I leaned back into the booth cheeks on fire.

"What's so funny?" Matt quirked a brow.

Noah's eyes pinned me to my spot as I glanced over to him. Something flashed behind those brown iris' while his jaw ticked.

"Nothing, Mr. Dierkes. Please continue with class," Folio joked with a smirk.

I had to bite my lip so I wouldn't laugh again.

"As I was saying," Matt began ignoring Folio. "It's been a week on tour and we've all been working tirelessly to make sure every show fucking rules. But there has been some tension within the group."

"I don't think you feel the same tension as some of us do," Noah said with his eyes on me.

Our eyes matched with intensity, and I let out a deep breath wondering what he meant by that.

Tension? Of course, there was tension between us but that's because we disliked each other.

Folio noticed I was ready to speak, so he pinched the bare skin of my shoulder which caused me to yelp out in slight pain.

"What the fuck was that for?" I seethed.

He nodded towards Matt to continue on, who looked displeased at being interrupted by our antics yet again.

In our days of texting, I told Folio about how it irritates me how Noah acts around me when we're alone versus when others are around. I also may have told him about my tiny feelings for Noah, which Folio told me it was pretty clear how I felt. While I thought no one noticed, Folio saw the stolen glances, the way my body reacted differently when Noah was around, or the way the corner of my lips curled up when Noah spoke or sang.

Always so perceptive.

I tried to get out of him why Noah was so upset about that night in Chicago but Folio refused. He said that was Noah's secret to share.

I tasted blood with how hard I bit my tongue and reluctantly gave Matt my attention.

"Since we'll be in Dallas for a few days, I rented an Airbnb for us to stay at as a way for us to bond or whatever the fuck. There's a pool and grill we can have a pool day on our off day," Matt said with a smile.

My heart sunk deep into the pits of my stomach. At least when we stayed in hotels, I had my room, sometimes doors down from Noah. But now, all of us staying in a house means it would be harder to avoid him.

"Is that necessary?" I questioned.

"Yes," Matt deadpanned. "If you want a hotel, book it on your personal card."

Low blow.

"Whatever," I grumbled while crossing my arms.

He simply gave me a large smirk before speaking again. "The only issue is that there aren't enough beds so some people will have to bunk together or sleep on the couch."

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered while running a hand down my face.

I didn't care the house situation, I would sleep on the floor if I had too if that meant I wouldn't share a bed with anyone, especially Noah. I liked these guys but not that much.

Folio patted my shoulder and whispered low in my ear.

"Maybe you and Noah should bunk together. Team bonding or whatever."

"Fuck off, Folio," I playfully smacked his chest before rising to my feet, his arm falling away from me. Noah was still staring at me and I knew with how close Folio and I had been, he wasn't happy. His jaw clenched so tight, and his hands balled into fists in his lap.

I didn't bother giving him another glance as I turned my back to him to retreat into my bunk to mentally prepare for this team bonding bullshit Matt set up.

Okay, I had to admit. This house was fucking sick.

There were large floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto a beautiful backyard and if you looked past that, you could see the city down below the hill the house was on. It was a large open floor plan with a living room, kitchen, and bar with a pool table off of the dinning room. Upstairs was an open loft area with a large sectional couch and four bedrooms.

While I was in my bunk on the bus, the room situation had been decided by drawing matching straws. No one bothered to ask for me to draw because somehow by the Gods below, Noah was the last to pick and was only left with the color red.

Jolly and Nick.

Bryan and Davis.

Matt and Folio.

Noah and I.

When Folio told me the sleeping arrangements, I wanted to cry in anger. It seemed as if no matter how hard I tried to avoid Noah, something yanked us back together. Folio offered to swap with me but I declined, already deciding that I would sleep on whatever couch was provided.

A warm presence encased around me, making the hairs on my arm prick, and I peered up to my left seeing Noah standing next to me in the house's entryway.

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," he said.

I blinked, somewhat surprised that he offered that. I fully expected him to lock me out of the room.

"I'm smaller than you. It might be better for you to sleep on the bed," I offered.

Was I being nice?

My body shivered at the thought.

Noah shook his head then hoisted his back over his shoulder. "Take the room, angel. You're the only girl here. You should have some privacy."

Was he being nice now in front of the others? They all stood less than a few feet from us.

Did I wake up in the twilight zone?

When I went to protest yet again, he shot me a look that caused my lips to pull tight together. We stood in silence for a few moments and I let out a soft breath.

"Thank you."

Noah made a noise in his throat and his eyes glittered as they darted between mine. His large hand brushed away hair from my face and I leaned into his touch, all the pent up anger between us melting away.

The question weighed heavy on my tongue as I pursed my lips a few times.

"Why do you call me angel?" I finally croaked out.

His hand was now wrapped around the back of my neck, the pads of his finger pressing deep into the skin, and shrugged.

"It feels right."

I raised a brow. "What if I don't like it?"

"Too bad. It stays, angel," he dragged out the last word with a large grin.

Irritation flared inside of me but before I could say anything, the warmth around my neck was gone as Noah walked away. I blinked after him, watching as he tossed his bag onto the couch before stepping outside into the large backyard.

"Soundcheck is in one hour!" Matt called out, his voice carrying through the open space.

With that, I forced my feet to take me upstairs to the bedrooms so I could get ready. The only room left was the closet one to the stairs and directly across the long sectional couch. If Noah would sleep here tonight, he'd be able to look right into my room and see me laying in bed. The thought made something ignite in my stomach but I ignored it.

This was the only room with a bathroom attached which made me wonder if the guys purposely gave me this room. As I placed my things throughout the room since we were going to be here for a few days, my phone rang loudly from its spot on the bed as I was in the bathroom and rushed to answer it in time.

"Hello?" I asked breathless

"Hi dear. How're things?"

I smiled into the phone at Lana. "Good. I'm going to be heading to the venue soon to set up. Everything alright?"

"Well," Lana started.

My ass fell into the bed with a groan and prepared myself for what was about to come.

"What happened?"

"Your neighbors found your mother in their bathroom this morning; in their shower."

I pinched my eyes shut with a groan. "Please tell me it was the Johnson's. They know what's going on with her so they would understand. Well, as much as I hoped they would."

"Yes, thankfully. I was able to bring her back home without incidents."

"Good," I let out a long breath. "How is she now?"

"She's fine, in her room resting but-."

"I don't like the sound of that but," I noted.

"Y/N, I know you love your mother and want the upmost best care possible for her."

I nodded. "But."

"But I think your mother would be better in a home where someone can watch and monitor her twenty-four hours of the day. I can only do so much especially when she takes off."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, not wanting to cry. This conversation was one I knew I was bound to have at some point. My mothers Alzheimers was getting progressively worse and soon, I feared there might be a time where I couldn't handle it.

But now wasn't that time.

"I'll think about it," I said after a few beats.

It wasn't a lie, per se. I would think about it, way down the road.

"I'll see if she wants to talk," Lana said.

"No, it's alright. I don't want to bother her."

I couldn't stop the sob that escaped my lips.

"Alright dear. I'll call you tomorrow."

After we said our goodbyes, I let my phone clatter to the floor at my feet then plopped down onto the bed. Tears pricked at my eyes and I dug my palms into them, hoping it would force the tears away. My mom was the most important person in my life. We were all each other had after my father died, so being so far away from her when she needed me the most made the guilt rip me apart.

Was this job worth it? Was the money worth it?

These questions kept replaying in my mine over and over as I laid on the bed staring up at the ceiling. A few tears escaped drying to my warm cheeks. The money was worth it; it had to be. I still wasn't making a lot of money from Only Fans so whatever I made doing this, I needed.

There was a soft knock on my open door and my breath hitched when I noticed Noah leaning against it. How long had he'd been there? Did he hear my conversation with Lana?

I sat up in bed while covertly drying my eyes.

"The manager at the venue said the set up for merch has to be in the hallway downstairs. Is that alright?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I've been put in weirder places so it's fine."

Noah gave a curt nod while crossing his arms over his chest. I suddenly felt small under his eyes and rose to my feet hoping that watching me gather my things to get ready it would be a silent dismissal. But no, he continued to watch every single movement I made.

"Is there anything else you need, Noah?" I asked with a sigh, finally looking at him.

His black shirt clung to the thick muscles of his arms and chest. His brown hair had fallen into his face in a tousled mess from being on the tour bus the majority of the day.

Noah was breathtaking in every single way, and my core practically begged for some kind of friction.

Not now, traitor.

"Have I mentioned how much I love hearing my name coming from your pretty little mouth?," he mused while licking his own.

My legs squeezed together, my body screaming with that small release against my core, but I refused to let him know how bad he was affecting me.

"Is that it?" I asked.

Noah said nothing as he walked over to my open suitcase and riffled through it, obviously looking for something.

"What are you doing?"

My heart raced as I watched him, knowing that if he picked up that red t-shirt, he would find the variety of sex toys I use for my videos. What he found, though, was something I hadn't expected him to. An old shirt of his that I borrowed from the last tour. It was the second night and Bad Omens played a sold-out show. The crowd was alive the entire night and every one of us was buzzing with excitement. Once we returned to the hotel that night, we all jumped into the outdoor pool even though it was pretty chilly that night. Noah offered his dry shirt to me so I could warm up which at the time I took gratefully.

That night was before the night in Chicago. Before Noah's attitude toward me changed.

It got buried along with my other things after the last tour and forgotten about.

Bullshit.

I may have worn it to bed some nights; so much so that his scent had faded while ago.

Noah tossed the shirt over to me and I caught it just before it hit me in my face. My lips stuttered trying to come up with an excuse because I still had it.

"Wear that."

"Excuse me? I asked irritation lacing my words. "Since when do I take orders from you on what I wear?"

He closed the distance between us in two large steps, his fingers tilting my chin up towards his face. Our lips were so close, I could almost taste the beer he must have had before coming into my room. And the hint of bourbon and spice from his cologne filled my senses.

So warm and familiar.

"There's a reason you kept it, angel. Might as well wear it."

Noah's voice was dark and heavy, laced with something I could pinpoint. His eyes were just as dark as his words and I swallowed hard. My body flared with desire, heat pooling between my legs, and I let out a breathless whine eventually nodding.

"Good girl," he breathed across my lips.

His eyes darted from mine down to my lips where it stayed for a long moment before he dropped his hand from my face then left me standing in the room with a heavy wetness and an ache between my legs.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #forced proximity #enemies to lovers #slow burn

[dudeitiskarev]

On a random night, while still wearing his suit, he went out and committed his first murder.

Gif set credits to @darkontheotherside​ <3 you are wonderful 

Known Subject

an unsub Aaron Hotchner ficlet

Warning: graphic murder description 🔞 no pairings

…

         There was a work of art portrayed on the screen. Different shades of red splashed over soft feminine skin like paint over an untouched canvas.

If it had a name, it’d be called Bittersweet. 

To the team, it was all bitter. 

To Aaron? It was all so sweet. 

“Two weeks ago, a body was found…'' JJ started, as it always did. 

This was the first time the team gathered on the round table to study one of Aaron’s killings, and it brought him a rush he had no trouble hiding, naturally resting his hand over his mouth and paying special attention to what everyone had to say. 

His actions had been somewhere in JJ’s pile of files for a while, and it was a matter of time before she’d choose one. 

No one was phased by how these women had been killed—it wasn’t anything extraordinary: no rape nor satanic ritual, just a simple and effective slit throat. 

“...this is the third murder in less than a month,” JJ continued, changing the pictures with the remote. 

“He’s a very clean unsub,” Rossi said—matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned his lips in an upside-down smile. “There’s blood everywhere.”

“Yeah, but the killings aren’t messy. Every splash seems to be deliberate. The women's clothes aren’t ripped, and the ones wearing makeup have them almost intact. It’s like there's no reason behind the killings besides just… killing them.”

“There has to be a reason.” Morgan spun his pen around his thumb. “There always is.” 

The truth was that not even Aaron knew the reason. His urge to kill didn’t start at a very young age like some of the murderers he’d put behind bars. It didn’t start because of some stupid trauma either. 

It just did. 

On a random night, while still wearing his suit, he went out and committed his first murder. 

3:34 AM. 

By his feet lay a woman who didn’t even have the chance to fight back. He’d come unannounced from behind and plunged the blade so deep against her throat that the sound of the layers of skin and muscle tearing was as clear as the sky was that night.  

The hint of a smile crept upon his face when he sensed the soul float away. It was the most beautiful experience. Being the last person to feel someone’s last breath—being the one responsible for it, too. 

It was a different kind of power.

He’d been thinking about it for a while, and he couldn’t just imagine how it’d feel to kill someone anymore, so he had to do it. 

As he stood there, he wondered what led a person to do such things. What led him to do it?  It wasn’t his job. If that were the case, everyone in the team would be some sort of psycho. 

His chest heaved in and out and the knife in his left hand was almost an extra limb by how hard he was holding it. He crouched next to the woman and brushed a piece of her hair away from her face with the blade. Her eyes were still wide open with terror and her beauty was intact. 

At that moment he knew what he’d done was just the beginning. He felt no remorse while driving home. He cleaned his hands, his weapon, and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Not a pinch of remorse. 

Not even when his son ran into his arms as soon as he came home that night. 

“Dad!”

“Hey, buddy!” Aaron enveloped his kid in a tight hug. “Why is he awake?” He asked Jessica carelessly. He’d been the one who put his son down in bed. Even told him a bedtime story.

“He had a nightmare and refused to fall asleep again without you.” She walked up to him with a smile and it slowly vanished as she said, “Hey, you have something…” gesturing at her own neck. 

Aaron wiped the skin under his jaw, spreading a single drop of fresh blood between his fingertips. He didn’t say anything, he simply looked at his son and said, “Why don’t you wait for me in bed and I'll be right there to tell you a bedtime story?” 

“Okay!” The kid nodded. “G’night Aunt Jess!”

“I’ll pick you up from school tomorrow, sweet boy.” She riffled the boy’s hair as he ran past her to his room. “I should probably go now,” Jessica told Aaron, picking up her purse. 

“Of course.” Aaron opened the door for her. “Thanks again for coming.”

As soon as she left he went straight to the bathroom, meeting his reflection right away. 

He missed the feeling already; warm, fresh blood coating his skin. 

He needed to do it again. 

Soon.

#aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #just cleaning out my drafts oops

[charlewiss]

soft side / charles leclerc

masterlist

pairing: grumpy!charles x sunshine!reader

word count: 757 words.

summary: everything seems to be going wrong for him. somehow, you make it better.

it wasn't usual to see your boyfriend being grumpy. after all, he always had that beautiful smile on his face and if it wasn't for the presence of daniel ricciardo in the paddock, charles for sure would be the one in charge of making everyone smile.

but today everything seemed to be going wrong for him. it started yesterday, actually, when he had less than 20 minutes to be on track during practice. obviously, he still managed to get a few laps in and he did his best to get p2, but you could see the annoyance in his face even from carlos' side of the garage, where you worked.

charles and you had met back in his sauber days when he was just a kid entering the formula 1 world. you too were starting in that year, being part of marcus ericsson's side of the garage. still, you hit it off almost instantly with his teammate, charles, which resulted in a friendship first, and a few years later, a beautiful relationship.

after it was announced that he had joined ferrari in 2019, you thought that it wouldn't be possible to keep working on the same team. you stayed on sauber until carlos joined ferrari in 2021, and he needed a new pr manager. after you sent the resume, the team contacted you immediately due to how impressed they were with your experience in the field, and offered the job almost immediately.

still, the team didn't know about your relationship with charles, but it wasn't unusual to see you two together. after all, you two were best friends even before starting dating, and without being a fan of public displays of affection, you two still seemed to be only friends. but there was something else in the way that you two looked at eachother, the lingering touches and how you were always checking on the other, even when no one saw. that's how you realized he was upset, even when everyone else probably thought that he was just too focused on the race. but you saw how his brows were furrowed in a certain way and how his eyes didn't leave the little notebook where he kept his notes from the race ahead, something he picked up from seb.

so you made your way to the little cafeteria area that was in the hospitality, choosing to make a little tea for you and one for charles too. you knew exactly how he liked it, so once it was done, you made your way back to the garage. he was in the same exact position he was the last time you saw him, even though at least 10 minutes had passed and it was getting closer and closer to the start of the race.

when he saw you getting closer to him, his whole expression softened. his eyebrows went up, and you laughed a little, giving the hot beverage to him. he grabbed it with both hands, keeping his palms warm meanwhile. 'you don't have to worry about anything, charles. it'll go great. you always make it work'.

your interaction was short, and you immediately made it back to carlos' side of the garage to avoid any suspicion, and also, to avoid distracting charles too much. still, the spanish driver had watched it all unfold, and appeared behind your back. 'you bring out his soft side' he pointed out, and you jumped by his sudden appearance. you turned so you could look at him, and smiled, while jokingly answering 'yeah, I guess ferrari needs to pay me more. apparently I'm not only your pr manager but also charles' mood booster'.

with a mocking tone he said, almost instantly 'so that's your subtle way of saying you're his girlfriend, no?'. your eyes went wide at the comment and carlos just grinned from ear to ear at your surprised face. you didn't know charles had told him, even though it made sense if he had figured it out on his own. still, it was funny to the spanish driver to see your reaction. it was also funny to the monegasque, who was already watching you two, and, somehow, caught the whole interaction. when your panic-filled eyes met his calm-blue ones, you released the tension that was apparently building in your shoulders without you noticing. charles just sent a reassuring smile your way and nodded, while winking at you. soon after, he left the little mug behind and got on his feet to get to the car. it was race time.

#f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 one shot #formula 1 one shot #f1 drabble #formula 1 drabble #f1 x yn #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

[myloveismineallmine]

okay apparently watcher released an apology so here's my thoughts (not asked for):

it was decent, as far as youtube apologies go. I don't understand why people are now saying that people overreacted when we probably wouldn't have gotten an apology if no one said anything? like being critical of things is okay, you know? and in this case it led to the right outcome.

I also don't think it's wrong that people started criticizing the content at watcher. especially after being told they had to pay for it, like you're gonna become more critical of things when you're being asked to pay money for it instead of it being free. and when the product is becoming more expensive to produce but it ends up being less entertaining, that is not a good thing (*cough* ghost files)

watcher 100% needs someone to budget their money, idk who is in charge of it now, but they really don't seem to be doing a good job. production is expensive, but you cannoooot be making projects as if you have a disney/warner brothers type budget when you're an indie studio. even with the streaming service money, this will still be an issue. they're trying to grow their company way too fast, and it will lead to them going under completely if they're not careful. you can't rely on the fans to bail you out when you make bad choices.

also, they need other on-screen talent. like the try guys have been struggling for awhile now, but at least they were smart enough to get people like kwesi and johnny to be new cast members. ryan and shane are 1000% burnt out, they need other talent. I remember they had a show with one of the staff members(?) but it only lasted 3 episodes and then they just stopped it. obv it didn't get as many views, but you need to build an audience and that takes more than 3 episodes to do. if they want to actually produce more content (which would help make more money and make their huge staff actually make sense) they need new people to be on screen. look at dropout/GMM/smosh. bigger casts, way more output. putting steven and andrew as hosts is actually a good choice i think, but sadly they're choosing to have them host one of the most expensive shows to produce. when you're making food content, why are you starting with the pricey international restaurants? start at del taco or something. build a bigger audience to justify the costs. look at eat the menu; the first episode was literally taco bell, and five years later, NOW they're doing fine dining. because they can put more money into it, because they KNOW it's one of their more profitable shows.

idk. acting like there still isn't problems is so strange to me. they apologized, that's a good thing, but it doesn't solve all the issues that have been brought to the forefront as a result of this whole debacle.

#i also recommend cr1tikals video on the subject because he is brutally honest about how much money youtube channels make #i don't completely buy the 'youtube is not giving us enough money woe is me' act #esp w/ patreon and merch and live show profits #idk. remain critical of internet personalities i guess #watcher

[elisysd]

11. I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: Daylight - Taylor Swift

You loved him. You said it first and he didn’t expect it. Never in a million years. He wasn’t expecting to hear it this soon and even less, he wasn’t expecting to hear it from you. He had always thought he would be the first to say it but wanted to wait for the perfect moment.

“Can you say it again?” he asked, wanting to make sure he hadn’t misheard you.

“I love you.” you smiled.

“Again?”

“I. Love. You.”

“One last time?” he insisted, putting his forehead against yours.

“I love you, Charles Leclerc.”

He laughed lightly before twirling you around and kissing you like his life depended on it.

“I fell for you fast the minute I decided to give you a chance. It’s scary. But I’m not scared to love you. That, I’m not. I just don’t know how people would eventually react or say…”

“I don’t give a fuck about what people say. I know what we are, I know what you feel for me and you know what I feel for you. This is what matters the most.”

“And what are you feeling for me?” you teased him.

“Love. Unconditional love.” 

“You’re cute but we can’t ignore that this is making my job more and more difficult. It will come back to bite me in the ass at some point.”

“It will be alright.” he reassured you.

“Easy for you to say. Your job is not on the line… me, on the other hand? If I lose it because of that, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m not rich like you, I have a rent to pay and try to rent in Paris, you’ll see how awful it is. I’m losing my job, I'm losing my apartment. It is as simple as that.”

It had the effect to act as a wake up call for Charles. He might have an easy life but it wasn’t the case for everyone. He gulped and took your face between his hands.

“If it ever comes to that, which I doubt, we will find a way. I’m not giving up on you. I love you too much to do that.”

You met your colleagues at the airport after having to rush out of Charles’ room and embrace. He had tried, and almost achieved, to persuade you to come back home with him but you still had work to do and a flat to take care of. It was not as fun as what Charles was promising to give you, but adulthood wasn’t always fun. In the plane, next to Marion, you let your thoughts wander. The weekend was hard to process. You had not planned on confessing your feelings for him this soon. But it felt right, natural. You were already in a messy situation, you didn’t want to throw miscommunication into the mix. But still, you were standing about what you told him earlier, you were scared. Once you would tell your boss that you and Charles were in a relationship, you knew it would only be a hit or miss. Or you were going to keep your job, or you were going to lose it. There was an option you liked better than the other. If you were fired, you seriously didn’t know how you were going to make ends meet. 

“Are you okay? You frown a lot, today.” Marion noticed.

You forced a smile before replying that you were doing alright. She put a hand on your shoulder and gave you an empathetic smile.

“You know you can tell me everything, I won’t judge.”

It made you gulp. You were thankful to be in such a wonderful team, always ready to help you if needed and that thought only made you break down. Your sobs turned into a panic attack to the point Marion made you follow her at the back of the plane and made you sit on the floor, helping you calm down.

“I’m lost and confused, Marion.” you managed to say between two out of breath sounds.

“I’m here for you, always.”

She took your hands in hers and looked into your eyes. You knew you could trust her, she wouldn’t say a word, and you needed to talk about this story to someone, you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer. So you told her everyone, from your very first encounter with Charles, to the promise you made to your late brother and finally how you fell in love with the boy in the red suit. When you were done, you felt relieved and that was only then that you understood how much keeping it secret was weighing you down.

“I’m surprised, but not totally. I noticed how you were smiling more lately and how you seemed to be more at peace with yourself. I didn’t want to pry. I won’t say a word. This is your private life and as long as it doesn’t impact your work, I don't see why it should become a problem. That being said, it’s best if you come clean to our boss. If he learns it doesn’t come from you, it will make everything harder. I’ll be there to back you up if things turn sour. But in any case, enjoy being in love. Don’t overthink it, I know Charles, he is a good guy. He will take good care of you , you can trust him.”

“Thank you, Marion. It was exactly what I needed to hear.” you whispered, a lump in your throat. “I’ll tell him. I’m just waiting for the summer break, it will be a less busy time for us, it gives me some time to prepare what I’m going to say.”

You arrived at your flat early in the evening. Dishes were still in the sink, waiting to be cleaned-up,  some clothes were laying on the couch as you had forgotten to put them back in your closet and the few plants you had were clearly in desperate need of water. Your rent was also due and you groaned in front of all the chores you had to do. You started to unpack and put your suitcase away before coming back to your living room to tidy the place. It was almost nine when you finished everything you had to do. You plopped on your couch and took your phone to see Charles’ name on your screen.

Hey, I was thinking about something. Don’t you want to come to Monaco before going to your parents? We could spend a few days together? 

You wanted to scream yes but your fears got the better hold of you and you hated yourself for it.

Your hometown? Risky, no?

There will always be a risk no matter where we are. But if it  makes you feel better we don’t have to leave my place. I’m perfectly fine having you all to myself for days. My bed is quite comfy, you’ll see. And we can watch movies and cook together. I have plenty of activities in mind which don’t require us to go to public places.

How do you know what I need to hear to feel better?

I don’t know. I just… know? Somehow?

Well, you could take back your suitcase, you had an unexpected packing session to go through.

You arrived two days later to the address he had given you. He had argued about coming to pick you up from the train station but the last thing you wanted was to attract people’s attention. So you had walked to his place, thankfully, it wasn’t that far. As soon as you rang the doorbell, he opened it for you, pulling you inside, his lips already on yours.

“I missed you. Way too much. That’s not normal. What did you do to me?”

“If you have the answer, please tell me because I think you did the exact same thing to me.” you giggled.

He showed you around and naturally let your suitcases rest next to his, in his room.

“I changed the sheets. I spent yesterday cleaning the whole flat. I went grocery shopping too and I bought a bit of everything, I didn’t know what you liked so… I kinda went overboard. I bought chocolates and wine for your parents too. If you need anything else, I can go to the supermarket down the road, it won’t be long. I also emptied a drawer in my bathroom’s cupboard and in my closet too.”

“Charles,” you interrupted him. “It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. Don’t worry.”

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

You shushed him out with a kiss, making sure he understood very well how happy you were to be with him. You felt his hand on your neck, getting you closer while, with his other hand, he easily got rid of your cardigan.

“You said your bed was comfy, right?” you whispered against his lips.

“Absolutely. Best bed ever.”

The next three days went by a blur. It was almost like heaven, or at least if heaven was real, then being with Charles felt like it. It was easy. You fit in his environment. He loved watching you sleeping in his sheets, he loved the way you were leaving your toothpaste left open on the bathroom’s sink,  he loved seeing how grumpy you were before your first coffee in the morning, he loved the way he wasn't feeling alone anymore when you were by his side. He loved how you were correcting his way of chopping vegetables, telling him it was a miracle he still had ten fingers left. He loved how much of a sucker you were when it came to thrillers. He just loved you. 

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I know it is early but… I just know. If my brothers or friends would see me acting like this, they would think I’ve gone crazy.” he smiled as your head was resting on his chest.

“These last days with you made me realize how right I was to give us a chance. I know it won’t be easy, I know that shit will hit the fan at some point. But I also know that as long as I’m with you, it will be okay. It’s you and me against whatever obstacles will come our way.”

You had barely slept during the night. Today was the day when you would celebrate your dad’s birthday. You hadn’t been home for the past two years and had even less contact with your parents for a few months. And now you were bringing Charles along. Throwing him into a mess he didn’t deserve to be in. You had been quiet the whole way to Avignon, watching landscapes you loved growing up in until you finally arrived at the address you had given to Charles before leaving. Your legs had bounced the whole way there and the skin around your fingers was bleeding after you had spent hours scratching it. And now that you were in front of your childhood house, you felt like throwing up, breathing shallow. Charles stopped the engine and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, look at me. It will be alright. I’m with you, every step of the way. I’m not letting go of you. If you need me to hold your hand I will, I’m not going anywhere. One look from you that you want to leave, we do. No questions asked. I’m here for you. We can do it. You can.”

“I don’t want them to poison us with judgmental looks and make me feel like a kid who doesn't know what she is doing with her life.”

“Nothing they can say will make me love you less, rest assured. I won’t let you believe whatever negative shit they might say to you. You are a smart, ambitious, stubborn, resourceful, hard working, passionate  and gorgeous woman. Don’t believe otherwise. I won’t let you, anyway.”

You smiled with difficulty, tears prickling behind your eyelids. You nodded as he kissed your forehead. He got out of the car before opening your door and taking your hand in his. You both walked to the front door of the house you loved growing up in but became a representation of a well kept cage as years went by. You knocked and a few moments later the door revealed your mom. She looked at you, up and down, not even acknowledging Charles.

“You’re late.” she finally said, making you gulp and shiver. 

Author's note: In laws meeting incoming... how do you think it will turn out? .

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

If you wanna be part of the taglist, let me know.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @thirstylion @cmleitora @charizznorizz @sltwins @boherahpsody @herondalism @roseamongthorns13 @aundercover @snowflakesfluff @fictional-l0v3r @queensassybitchsworld @jehun @reengard

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#charles leclerc 16 #formula 1 #writing #fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x oc #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 #scuderia ferrari #ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc fic #f1 x reader #cl16 x reader #driver x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc

[gimmethatagustd]

venor (11) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 8,963

○ Warnings: Bunny Koo is really cute (when is he not?), Jai wrote too much about ceramic pottery but now if you ever want to make your own terracotta flower pot you'll know how!, hand jobs, blow job, anal fingering, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, that awkward moment when you know your roommate heard you having sex and you're afraid to confront them in the living room

○ Notes: Me, in my pirate voice: There be smut ahead, mateys! For real though, I wrote this chapter with scrambled eggs for brains, so I apologize in advance for it being so… niche and weird jhsdkfjs. I hope you like it despite that.

○ Post Date: March 24, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

Jungkook eventually goes home, but only after eating a hearty breakfast prepared by Hoseok at his insistence. There was no point in arguing with him; Hoseok’s hospitable nature would never let Jungkook leave without being fed and ensuring he had everything he needed to shower and freshen up for the day.

Such kindness leaves Jungkook buzzing with happiness as he makes the short but winding journey through campus to get to the prey side, smelling like Taehyung’s shampoo and carrying his small duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t even care when people stare at the hickeys on his neck as he bounds up the stairs of his dormitory two at a time, not even bothering with the elevator so he can do something with the energy bottled inside him.

Surprisingly, even Yoongi’s nagging doesn’t make Jungkook less enthusiastic about life. He gives Yoongi a dopey smile and shrugs off his pestering questions.

“Where have you been! You didn’t answer my texts or calls! I thought you died,” Yoongi huffs as he follows Jungkook down the hall. 

Yoongi’s somewhat bristly orange tail swings back and forth. Jungkook feels bad thinking about how Taehyung’s tail moves more elegantly, even when he’s angry. He doesn’t feel bad enough to stop thinking, though. He has reached the most hopeless part of having a crush, the part when simply breathing reminds him of Taehyung. 

“Why would I have died?”

“You went to a predator’s house party, Jungkook-ah. How else am I supposed to react to you never coming home?”

Twirling around, Jungkook reaches their bedroom and flings the duffle bag onto his bed. He shrugs at Yoongi again and lets his body fall onto his bed next to the duffle bag, with his arms flopping lifelessly at his sides.

“I feel all loopy, hyung,” Jungkook smiles at Yoongi, eyes lidded and a permanent upturn of the corner of his lips. “The party got a little intense, but spending the night with Taehyung was so nice. He’s so sweet, hyung, you don’t even understand.”

Yoongi pouts with his arms crossed against his chest. He isn’t genuinely angry, just concerned. Jungkook finds Yoongi’s reaction endearing, considering there really isn’t anything to be worried about. Jungkook is more than fine, even if the situation with Byungchul shook him slightly. Jungkook thinks he understands Byungchul now. There’s no fear left in him for the wolf hybrid, only pity.

“What do you mean by intense?” Yoongi asks with narrowed eyes.

“It was nothing, hyung. I’m just happy I got to spend time with Tae.”

Watching Yoongi’s gaze drop from Jungkook’s face to his neck, Jungkook quickly lifts his shoulders and tilts his head to hide the splotches still dark on his skin. Taehyung told him that they would fade eventually, but sometimes, depending on how easily a person bruises, they can last a long time. Jungkook doesn’t know for sure, but he has a hunch that hickeys won’t fade from his skin for a long time.

“You better be careful,” Yoongi gestures to Jungkook’s neck, “Or else he’ll accidentally mate you.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook sits up and tries not to whine when Yoongi smirks at him.

“What? I’m just saying.”

“We’re not going to mate,” Jungkook mutters, a bit of the euphoria seeping out of him. “We’re not even together.”

Yoongi snorts at that. He rests his shoulder on the doorframe and gives Jungkook a curious look.

“You’re going on dates. You scent each other. He’s been courting you for months. How are you not together?”

Yoongi is right; Taehyung’s affections are obvious. If Jungkook were to make an assumption, he would think Taehyung probably even views their relationship as monogamous, even though they haven’t officially discussed their relationship status. Just the thought of Taehyung with anyone makes Jungkook feel sick.

“I guess…”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lifts himself off the doorframe.

“Just tell him how you feel and get it all over with, Jungkook-ah. I can’t deal with this weird dance the two of you are doing around each other,” Yoongi mutters as he goes down the hall, his slippers shuffling along the hardwood floor.

“Easier said than done,” Jungkook groans and flops back onto his bed.

It shouldn’t be so difficult to talk to Taehyung. As Yoongi pointed out, they already behave like a couple. Perhaps that would be enough for some people, but Jungkook needs confirmation and a title. He may be old-fashioned or naive, but he’s always dreamt of having a real boyfriend, not the blurred lines that come with the hookup culture that’s more popular now. 

The thing is, in Jungkook’s dreams, it was always a prey boyfriend. He’s sure that if Taehyung has dreamt of a boyfriend, too, it has always been a predator boyfriend. 

If someone had told Jungkook that transferring to a new university would potentially bring him heartache and an existential crisis, he wonders if he would still have run away to Seoul with wide eyes and a pair of disappointed parents in his wake. 

Rolling onto his stomach, Jungkook leans off the end of his bed to grab his drawing tablet from his desk. Lying down while he sketches will hurt his lower back later, but he wants to burrow in his blankets and wait for the day to pass him by. Besides, at this rate, he might finish Taehyung’s portrait before everyone goes home for winter break. 

Assuming it won’t be too late. 

Upset with himself for letting so many doubts sour his bubbly mood, Jungkook pulls up his favorite Twitch streamer to rewatch her latest gameplay while he colors in the little beauty mark artfully placed on the tip of Taehyung’s nose that he regrets not having kissed yet. At least he has kissed the one on Taehyung’s lip, which he moves onto once he’s finished with Taehyung’s nose. As much as Jungkook loves all of Taehyung’s little details, his lips consume much of Jungkook’s aimless thoughts. 

As if summoned by those aimless thoughts, multiple text messages from Taehyung interrupt the video Jungkook is only somewhat paying attention to. 

vante95

hey bun

wyd

do you miss me yet

jkookie

Maybe

Do you miss me yet?

vante95

maybe

“Oh my god,” Jungkook huffs with a roll of his eyes, but his thumbs fly across his phone screen with a demanding response he’s sure won’t work but is worth a shot. 

jkookie

Leave early

vante95

lol i can’t

we’re short staffed anyway

jkookie

Tell them you’re sick

vante95

wow bun

this whole time i thought you were a law abiding citizen

now look at you

you punch one predator and you’re a villain 

evil incarnate 

Maybe Taehyung is right; Jungkook won’t admit it, though. A sense of responsibility was ingrained in Jungkook at a young age. It has taken very little time with Taehyung for that previous priority to dissipate in Jungkook’s mind. 

jkookie

Stop it 😠

vante95

cute

jkookie

If you’re not going to leave early then go back to working!

vante95

whatever bun wants 

hope you’re ready for our PG date 😘

Is Jungkook ready? Considering he has to kick his blankets off because his body grows too warm and the way his ears fall forward to hide his face when he faceplants into his pillow, he isn’t so sure. 

– 

Not to be a meme, but graphic design is Jungkook’s passion. He feels most at home with tablets and laptops, hunched over his desk with a blanket draped over his shoulders and a spinach-banana smoothie beside him. So when Taehyung holds open the door to the sculpture studio, and Jungkook is hit with the dusty scent of dried clay that cakes his nostrils and parches his throat, his confidence in his creative abilities immediately plummets. 

“Hardly anyone uses the studio on the weekends, and if they do, it’s on Sundays,” Taehyung beckons for Jungkook to follow him deeper into the studio, “So we should be alone.” 

Alone. 

Jungkook’s throat tingles when he inhales, maybe from the dusty air or the spike in Taehyung’s scent when he utters that loaded word. They’ve spent so much time together alone; it shouldn’t feel different today. So why does it? 

Taehyung’s tail flicks around his ankles as he weaves through the wooden tables scattered around the room. They’re covered in thick fabric that leaves dusty marks on Jungkook’s black sweatpants when he brushes against them. The entire room is blanketed with a thin layer of ceramic dust. No wonder Taehyung brought a travel-sized bottle of lotion in his backpack. Jungkook can only imagine how dehydrated the skin on his hands will be by the end of the afternoon.

Along the cinder block walls are shelves of pottery and little bottles of what, upon further inspection, Jungkook learns are ceramic glazes used to paint the pottery. 

“The kiln is in that room,” Taehyung explains as he points to an unmarked door on the opposite side of the room. “And that’s the pug mill. I’ll show you how to use it, but you need an apron first.” 

“Kiln, pug mill,” Jungkook repeats the odd words to himself. 

Taehyung nods enthusiastically as if he’s proud that Jungkook is learning. It’s cute to watch Taehyung navigate the room with so much confidence. He’s in his element, even more so than he had been at the museum. This time, it’s clear that Taehyung owns this space. It’s his domain. 

Along one wall is a row of clay-caked aprons hanging on brass hooks. Taehyung slips one over his head and ties the apron’s strings behind his back to secure the fabric protecting his ripped jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt. 

Jungkook smiles shyly when Taehyung grabs a soft, forest-green apron to loop over his head. His large hands are gentle when they squeeze Jungkook’s hips to turn him around so he can tie the strings around his waist. 

“Don’t want to mess up your clothes,” Taehyung murmurs softly, his touch lingering on Jungkook’s body. He slips his fingers under the hem of Jungkook’s hoodie, letting out a pleased hum when his fingers lightly skirt the smooth skin of Jungkook’s waist because he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. 

Jungkook shivers when Taehyung pulls away. 

“Your clothes,” Jungkook corrects and feels heat spread across his cheeks when Taehyung winks at him.

On the walk to the academic building that houses the art department, Taehyung tasked Jungkook with brainstorming what he wanted to make at the studio and the method he wanted to use: hand-building or the potter’s wheel. Now that Jungkook has seen the three low-seated electric potter’s wheels in the corner of the room, Jungkook isn’t sure he wants to experiment with something that looks so intimidating. Still, he’s also worried about how crude his pottery will look if he molds it by hand. 

“You still don’t know what you want, do you?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow at Jungkook as he folds his sleeves, pushing them past his elbows. 

“Not really...” 

With a bitten bottom lip, Taehyung pauses to look over Jungkook again. He huffs when he releases his bottom lip and subtly smirks. 

“Well, I know what I want.” 

Jungkook may be naive, but he’s sure Taehyung isn’t only talking about making art. 

“You were going to show me how to use that?” Jungkook changes the subject quickly, unsure if he can survive whatever Taehyung is pulling. He gestures to the odd cylinder machine Taehyung had referred to as the pug mill. 

Taehyung lets out what sounds like a purr when he slips past Jungkook to remove the lid of a giant bin beside the machine. He explains that the bin is full of terracotta clay. He shows Jungkook how to load the pug mill with clay and watches as the machine spits the lumps back out as a smooth cylinder. Using a short wire with little wooden handles at the end, Taehyung cuts off the clay for Jungkook to carry to the table. 

“It packs the clay and gets all the air out,” Taehyung explains as he gathers more tools for Jungkook, including a bowl of water with a squishy, worn-looking sponge floating in the middle. 

“Why?” 

“If the clay has air bubbles in it, it might explode when it gets fired in the kiln, and then you’ll fuck up your art and everyone else’s.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook gasps as he lowers onto a wobbly, dusty stool at the table. He’s pleased when Taehyung sits beside him, bumping their shoulders together playfully. “Has that happened to you before?”

Taehyung watches Jungkook with a small smile. He props his head up by resting his elbow on the dusty table and holding his chin in his hand. The studio’s windows aren’t large, but they’re high on the walls, and the golden sun rays of the dying autumn day make Taehyung’s amber eyes glow. 

“Someone else’s project exploded and broke mine once,” Taehyung finally looks away to start cutting off a lump of clay for each of them. 

“What was your art of?” 

“A figurine of a mushroom that was actually just a dick,” Taehyung flashes Jungkook a wicked grin, “I was really immature in high school.” 

“I thought this date was supposed to be rated PG.” Jungkook scrunches his nose, and Taehyung throws his head back with a deep laugh, making Jungkook’s skin prickle.

“How many curse words and dick jokes am I allowed?” 

“To be considered PG? I don’t think any!” 

Imagining a teenage Taehyung is funny. Jungkook sees a tall, lanky boy with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes and a rebellious streak that means he isn’t afraid to be himself, even if his interests are unique – that’s precisely why people are drawn to him. The image greatly differs from Jungkook’s teen years, when he was a shy little bunny who spent more time playing video games and talking to his friends on instant messaging platforms than exploring the outside world. 

“Bun?” 

Blinking, Jungkook quickly looks away when he realizes he’s been staring at Taehyung. Just when he thought he’d moved past his dreamy thoughts about Taehyung, they swoop back to snatch him up. 

“Sorry, I’m paying attention.” 

Smirking, Taehyung turns back to the lump of clay they each have in front of them. 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to use the wheel.” Taehyung chuckles when Jungkook fervently shakes his head. “So these are the tools you’ll probably want to use to help you shape the clay into what you want–” 

“A little flower pot, like the one you gave me,” Jungkook interrupts, keeping his eyes on the small wooden tools on the table. They’re smooth and lightweight in his hand and safer to look at than Taehyung’s heavy gaze. 

“A flower pot is a great idea.” 

Taehyung’s voice is so soft that Jungkook immediately looks up, and his insides turn to jelly from how sweetly Taehyung observes him. It’s a brief expression, quickly disappearing once Taehyung’s been caught. 

Clearing his throat, Taehyung continues explaining how Jungkook should approach making his flower pot using wooden tools and a bowl of water to keep the clay wet and pliable. Jungkook only half listens. It’s too easy to fall into the low lull of Taehyung’s voice, so gentle and smooth, like velvet against skin. 

“For our next date–” 

“You think I’ll want to go on a third date with you?” Jungkook interrupts, peeking at Taehyung’s shocked expression in his peripheral vision. 

“Wow, okay, rude.” 

“I’m kidding!” Giggling in a way that cutely accentuates his front teeth, Jungkook squints up at Taehyung and bumps their shoulders together. 

“Nah, it’s fine. We don’t have to go on another date.”

Jungkook gives Taehyung a gentle, but still sharp, kick to the shin that makes him try to scoot his stool away, the metal legs screeching horribly against the concrete floor. 

“Tell me what you were going to say!” 

“What I was going to say …” Glaring at Jungkook with mock indignation, Taehyung sniffles dramatically, “Was that for our next date, I want to do something to learn more about your tech stuff.” 

“Tech stuff.” 

Taehyung side-eyes him. 

“Yeah, tech stuff. You get what I mean.”

“Video games.”

“Yeah, video games.” 

The back of Jungkook’s hand is the only clean part, so that’s what he presses to his mouth to stifle his laughter at Taehyung’s ridiculous request, not because of the request itself, but how he requests it. 

“We can do that,” Jungkook says with a scrunched nose and rounded cheeks that he knows Taehyung can’t resist, even if he pretends not to think Jungkook’s giggling is cute. 

By now, Taehyung should know that Jungkook will agree to anything he requests. 

Crafting a flower pot, even a small one meant to hold a tiny succulent similar to the one Taehyung gifted Jungkook, proves difficult for Jungkook, though. If he isn’t pressing too hard into the clay and denting it in a way that makes it uneven on one side, he’s accidentally making the walls too thin or thick.

“It’ll shrink in the kiln. All the moisture evaporates,” Taehyung points out when Jungkook’s first flower pot is too small. Despite Taehyung politely telling Jungkook that he is doing his project incorrectly, it warms Jungkook’s chest when Taehyung explains the process to him.

His second attempt is an acceptable size but wonky and oddly shaped, even if Taehyung insists that it’s cute. Jungkook doesn’t want a cute flower pot; he wants a proper flower pot. Meanwhile, Taehyung’s flower pot is perfectly shaped and decorated with an intricate design he carved on the exterior with a sharp wooden tool. It’s a bit infuriating how lovely it looks.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Jungkook makes two more flower pots until he is satisfied with his final outcome. Flower Pot #4 fits in two hands and is deep enough to accommodate plant growth, giving room for roots to stretch out in the soil.

“I still think it would have been easier if you’d let me show you how to use the wheel,” Taehyung comments after Jungkook shows off Flower Pot #4.

Jungkook shakes his head.

“It looks scary.”

“Like me?” Taehyung teases, his boyish grin growing wider when Jungkook playfully slaps his arm. 

Jungkook gasps in horror when he realizes he has left behind a handprint of clay on Taehyung’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” Jungkook swivels around in his stool with both hands held up. There must be something to clean Taehyung off with?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Bun, you’re fine,” Taehyung insists, standing up. “Come on.”

Taehyung shows Jungkook how to use another machine to flatten the leftover clay so he can carve out little shapes to attach to the side of his pot as three-dimensional decorations. It’s cliche, but Jungkook meticulously carves out petals to create little flowers scattered about the pot, using one of the tools to draw little cuts into the clay and using the wet sponge and a bit of slippery clay to attach the decorations.

“What you’re doing is called scoring.” Taehyung carefully maneuvers Jungkook’s flower pot to inspect his hard work once they’ve sat back down. “You scratch the surface of each piece so they fit together, and then you use the sponge and really wet clay, sort of like glue, to adhere the pieces together. That’s called slick.”

“What ?” Jungkook squeaks, turning to the side so quickly to look at Taehyung that he almost falls off his stool.

A pretty pink blush blooms on each of Taehyung’s cheeks. He clears his throat and continues cleaning up the excess water droplets and wet clay from the flower pot, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze.

“It’s called slip,” Taehyung quietly corrects himself in a gruff voice. “Slip.”

Jungkook is unsure whether he should be embarrassed or amused by such a terrible mixup. Part of him wants to tease Taehyung over the Freudian slip, but he doesn’t want to rub salt in the wound.

The thing is, now Jungkook has slick in his head, and his brain doesn’t seem to want to move past it. The slip is slippery against his fingers as he finishes binding the final decorations on his flower pot, slippery like something else. It makes Jungkook think about the night before, the image of Taehyung on his knees in front of Jungkook hooking its claws in his brain and refusing to let go. He can practically feel phantom kisses tingling up his legs, Taehyung’s face nuzzling in the crease of his thigh.

“Are you done?”

Taehyung’s question forces Jungkook out of yet another daydream.

“Oh, um, yes,” Jungkook says quietly.

Despite the studio’s cold temperature due to its location in the basement and the windows letting in a slight draft, Jungkook feels like he’s burning up under his sweatpants and hoodie. It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s irises look a bit darker now, and his pupils a bit wider; however, those things could just be the studio’s lighting playing tricks on Jungkook.

Unfortunately, there’s no denying how Jungkook’s scent spikes when Taehyung leans into his personal space. They lock eyes with each other, neither willing to break the link they’ve created as Taehyung reaches out to pull Jungkook’s flower pot toward him by the piece of cardboard it’s sitting on. Taehyung’s forearm brushes against Jungkook’s chest, and he exhales sharply. It’s embarrassing, especially since all Taehyung is doing is taking Jungkook’s pot to place it alongside his own on a shelf to dry before Taehyung’s professor loads it into the kiln with the other students’ art.

“Do you want to keep the other pots?” If Taehyung’s voice sounds rougher once he has returned to lean against the table, that could be Jungkook’s ears playing tricks on him from how quiet the studio is.

“They’re ugly,” Jungkook pouts and gets a roll of Taehyung’s eyes in return.

“No, they’re not. They’re unique.”

“I hate them.”

“Alright, the pretty bunny gets what the pretty bunny wants.” 

With a teasing smile, Taehyung grabs the remaining three flower pots and drops them into the large bin of clay near the pug mill.

So much unadulterated attention from Taehyung is beginning to overwhelm Jungkook. It’s the damn slip! It’s got his brain all scrambled and his body feverish.

It takes the violent vibration of Jungkook’s phone on the table, disturbing dust that makes Jungkook sneeze, to knock his brain back into place. Unable to answer it because his hands are caked in clay, Jungkook stares up at Taehyung with wide eyes and a helpless pout. His phone is already dirtied from the dusty table; he should have slipped it into his apron’s front pocket.

“Tae, help me.” 

“You’re so cute,” Taehyung laughs and motions for Jungkook to follow him to the industrial sink in the back of the studio so they can wash their hands.

Jungkook tries his best not to think about how pretty Taehyung’s hands are, with wide palms and long, slender fingers. Jungkook thinks Taehyung has what the classic writers would describe as the hands of a pianist, deft and sensual. He wonders if Taehyung knows how to play any instruments, and wouldn’t be surprised if Taehyung knew how to play everything.

“It was Yoongi hyung asking where I am,” Jungkook announces once his hands are clean and he can safely check his phone.

Taehyung hums as he puts away their aprons and retrieves his backpack from where he stashed it out of the way.

“Does he think I murdered you for real this time?”

Jungkook stops sending a text to Yoongi so he can cover his face with his hands and groan. Yoongi’s reaction to Jungkook sleeping over at Taehyung’s dorm was embarrassing; Jungkook should’ve never told Taehyung about it. He’s sure Taehyung will never let it go.

“Hey, bun,” Taehyung laughs as he wraps his hands around Jungkook’s wrists to pry his hands away from his face. He ducks his head, forcing Jungkook to look him in the eyes. “I’m teasing you.”

“I know, but it’s still embarrassing, and I wish I hadn’t told you what he said,” Jungkook pouts again and wiggles out of Taehyung’s grasp.

With a gasp and a hand clutching his heart, Taehyung stumbles back in offense. 

“Bun, friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Jungkook laughs Taehyung’s joke off, but as the two men brave the chilly autumn night and walk back to Jungkook’s dorm, he can’t help but think of Yoongi’s comment about them mating. Predators and prey are barely friends; they certainly can’t be mates.

Despite the discouragement that seems to haunt Jungkook around every corner, he holds this naive, childlike hope in his heart that Taehyung won’t hurt him. Speaking as a predator, Taehyung has already promised Jungkook he won’t. Jungkook just hopes that Taehyung will keep Jungkook’s heart as safe as his body.

Once they reach the front door of the prey dormitory, Taehyung asks, “Did you enjoy our PG date?”

He looks so classically like a bad boy in a leather jacket with one hand pressed to the building’s brick exterior just above Jungkook’s head, molars chewing the inside of his cheek, and a lazy way to how he speaks that tells everyone he isn’t in a rush to get out of a part of campus he isn’t allowed to be in. Whereas Jungkook is nervous every time the front door opens and startled prey hybrids cross the threshold, whispering about the predator with a prey pressed against the wall, Taehyung doesn’t pay attention to anyone but Jungkook.

Yoongi said Taehyung would cause Jungkook trouble. When Jungkook stares into Taehyung’s dark eyes and struggles to breathe, he knows Yoongi is right.

“I did,” Jungkook whispers through an exhale. He licks his lips before he speaks again and shivers when Taehyung’s quick eyes track the movement. “Blood on a date isn’t ideal.”

“Not usually.” Taehyung smirks and the curl of his top lip exposes a sharp canine.

Jungkook tries to think about something other than when it would be appropriate for blood to be involved in a date.

He thinks about how perfect their date has been and how he doesn’t want it to end even though they’ve spent the past twenty-four hours together.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

For a moment, the only sound that passes between them is their breathing as it harmonizes. They don’t smell like each other, only like ceramic dust and the cocoa butter lotion they moisturized their hands with. Jungkook wants to get on his tiptoes and nuzzle the crook of Taehyung’s neck, but he keeps his feet rooted to the ground and his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” Taehyung’s reply is just as soft as Jungkook’s question. It mixes with the wind that ruffles Jungkook’s bangs, dancing along his forehead like the tickle of a kiss.

Taehyung intertwines their fingers when Jungkook leads them through the dormitory’s front door. Jungkook doesn’t know why he’s so nervous as he brings Taehyung upstairs, his heart in his throat and his palm sweaty against Taehyung’s. Usually giddy with the prospect of spending more time with his crush, Jungkook struggles to even input the code to his apartment without trembling fingers. He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice, though he doubts it’s possible for him not to.

“Yoongi hyung is home,” Jungkook mentions quietly.

Taehyung isn’t perturbed. He removes his shoes and hangs his jacket on the hooks at the door like he belongs there despite being too tall, too broad. His tail playfully swats Jungkook’s calf as he walks past him down the hall toward the living room, where Yoongi is curled up on the couch, unsurprisingly. 

Looking up, Yoongi eyes Taehyung suspiciously as he sets his laptop on the coffee table and takes off his headphones.

“Hey Yoongi,” Taehyung greets with a dazzling smile that even makes Yoongi’s cheeks grow pink and his ears flatten in what others might think is annoyance, but what Jungkook knows is embarrassment.

“Hello Taehyung… Jungkook.” Yoongi narrows his eyes at Jungkook when he creeps around the corner to peer around Taehyung’s body.

“Hi,” Jungkook’s voice wobbles, and Yoongi’s eyes narrow even more. “Taehyung and I are going to be in our room, but, um, just let me know if you need anything, hyung.”

With a tug on Taehyung’s wrist, Jungkook leads him out of the living room and pushes him toward the bedroom. Being introverts, Yoongi and Jungkook rarely have friends over, and when they do, they always hang out in the kitchen or living room. Belatedly, Jungkook realizes he’s never had anyone other than Yoongi and Suyun in their bedroom.

“I forgot you guys share a room,” Taehyung admits once Jungkook closes the door behind them.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Jungkook rushes to start apologizing, his nerves skyrocketing now that Taehyung might not even want to hang out with him.

“You’re such a skittish bunny today.”

Exploring the small but lively bedroom, Taehyung is immediately drawn to Jungkook’s desk. It’s solid and made of wood, with a few drawers where Jungkook stores school supplies and various tech equipment. The desk’s surface is a bit crammed, barely fitting Jungkook’s desktop monitor and laptop, with his drawing tablet sitting dangerously on the edge. The adjacent wall is decorated with polaroids because Jungkook is sentimental and cliche. Most feature Yoongi and Suyun, with high school friends thrown into the mix. There are a few prints taped to the wall, primarily of digital art Jungkook has drawn, but also some he has bought online by small artists. The art ranges from BL fanart to abstract designs; whatever little pieces made Jungkook’s heart happy when he saw them.

It shouldn’t surprise Jungkook that Taehyung picks up his tablet when he admires Jungkook’s extensive gaming setup. Video games aren’t a language Taehyung can use to communicate with Jungkook, but art is.

“When will you show me my portrait?” Taehyung muses, his usually sharp eyes rounding out as he juts out his bottom lip. Feigned innocence from a predator is dangerous. “I’ve waited so long.”

Maybe this is what has turned Jungkook into a nervous mess. For weeks, he has been thinking about a gift for Taehyung, especially ever since Suyun pointed out that Taehyung is courting Jungkook—allegedly. Courting is a way to express the intent to mate with someone, or at least the possibility of wanting to in the future, something that only happens within prey and predator groups, not between them.

Yet Jungkook wants to give Taehyung something in return. Maybe it’s because Jungkook is naive for having hope that there could be something more between them. Maybe it’s because Taehyung makes his heart flutter and his stomach flip, and Jungkook feels sick thinking about anyone else’s scent mixing with Taehyung’s and anyone else getting to kiss him.

“Do you want to see it now?” Jungkook asks quietly as he takes his tablet from Taehyung.

He knows Taehyung will want to. He’s already opening the file on his tablet when Taehyung murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Sitting on his bed, Jungkook pats the space next to him so Taehyung can sit down, too. They seemed silly, standing in the middle of Jungkook’s room.

“I’m not done with it yet, so there are still a lot of little things I need to edit, but…” Jungkook trails off, his face hot and his stomach in knots, as Taehyung takes the tablet again.

With a deep breath, Jungkook pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around his bent knees while he waits for Taehyung to finish inspecting the portrait. The simple design highlights the little details of Taehyung’s face. The focal point is the bright amber hue of his eyes, followed by the constellation of beauty marks that freckle his face.

It means something to immortalize someone in art. Taehyung will forever be part of Jungkook’s portfolio, frozen in time with copper curls and a cupid’s bow that Jungkook spent hours shading the perfect pink.

“Bun…”

When Taehyung looks up, his expression is unreadable, nearly blank. It makes Jungkook nervous. This reaction wasn’t what he’d expected, nowhere near the excitement he thought Taehyung would have. Taehyung’s tail doesn’t even flick; it rests lifelessly on Jungkook’s bed.

“Um,” Jungkook picks at the drawstrings of his pants to stop his hands from shaking, “Like I said, it’s not done yet. I need to add more details and some shading; it still looks a little flat. And I haven’t decided on the background yet, but I have some ideas that I—”

Taehyung’s lips steal the rest of Jungkook’s thought, but he would have freely given it up if he’d known a kiss was the unnecessary but welcomed payment he’d receive for pouring his love for Taehyung into his art. The kiss is more than welcomed; Jungkook is comforted, and his confidence is fueled by it.

Taehyung cradles the back of Jungkook’s head with his free hand as he kisses him, keeping him stable so their lips can glide together. It’s different this time, the way Taehyung kisses him. It’s more ardent, even a bit forceful, though Jungkook willingly follows his lead, even if he fumbles a few times because of his desire to keep up. It’s hot and wet, Taehyung slipping his tongue into Jungkook’s mouth to swirl it around Jungkook’s tongue.

No one has ever kissed Jungkook with tongue. The sensation makes his cheeks flush, and his hands tremble when they search for something to hold onto, eventually grabbing fistfuls of the front of Taehyung’s t-shirt. He’s embarrassed by his body’s natural reaction as his tongue pushes back against Taehyung’s in a slippery dance.

“Tae…” Jungkook moans, breathy and desperate, when Taehyung finally pulls away to give them a chance to breathe.

“You’re so talented,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s lips, his sharp nose bumping against the rounded tip of Jungkook’s. “God, you’re amazing, bun.”

The praise strokes the fire rumbling in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach, drawing from somewhere in his core and igniting every vein it crosses until he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. It makes him scrunch his nose in a bunny smile, his brain loopy and floaty like it had been after he left Taehyung’s apartment.

“It’s good because you’re pretty, Tae.”

It’s true, even if Taehyung rolls his eyes to push the compliment into the back of his head. Taehyung is pretty.

“It’s good because you drew it.”

Both statements can be true; Jungkook is too distracted to make sense. Taehyung’s tan cheeks are a dusty pink from them sharing body heat. The outside of their legs press together from how they sit, and their torsos twist so they can face each other. One of Taehyung’s hands still holds the back of Jungkook’s head. The other sets the tablet to the side and lightly squeezes Jungkook’s thigh just above his knee.

Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and heavy, but Jungkook sits close enough to tell he’s got that wild look in them again, pupils dilated and irises darkened. It’s a carnivorous look, hungry and greedy. For a split second, fear grips Jungkook’s ribs like a caged animal, shooting something icy and piercing into the center of his heart.

Run.

His body screams at him to obey his instincts. The warning is so thunderous inside him that his breathing turns ragged, made worse by Taehyung leaning in as he slides his hand further up Jungkook’s thigh.

“You’re scared of me,” Taehyung’s voice is silvery and hypnotic. The beguiling tone beckons Jungkook, made more tempting when Taehyung’s tail curls around the back of Jungkook’s knee.

Jungkook shakes his head, but he can’t hide how rapidly his heart beats when Taehyung presses his lips over the pulse in his neck, nor can he hide the smell of his arousal permeating the room, especially to a predator with more enhanced senses than he has. He reaches for Taehyung’s soft curls to gently tug on them when Taehyung’s tongue licks broad strokes over the scent gland at the crook of his neck. Willingly, he tilts his head to give Taehyung better access to his throat and lets out a shuddery exhale when Taehyung licking and sucking his neck sends a tingling feeling all the way to his toes. On his next inhale, Jungkook feels his arousal build, making him wet as he breathes in the sweet summer thunderstorm their mingled scents create.

“Ahh, Taehyung...”

“Hmm?”

“I…” Jungkook’s voice cracks when Taehyung pushes the hem of his hoodie to run his hand up his bare chest. His pinky brushes one of Jungkook’s nipples as his palm slides upward, making Jungkook whine.

“You what?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Saying the words out loud is too difficult; Jungkook can’t bring himself to be direct, even with Taehyung’s mouth marking up his body and slick making him uncomfortably wet. He hopes Taehyung catches on and thinks he does when he pulls back far enough to look Jungkook in the eyes.

The bedroom lights are still on, making Jungkook feel exposed. Taehyung can  see  him. He can see Jungkook’s flushed face, heaving chest, and glazed-over eyes. He can see Jungkook’s body tremble with a mountain of insecurities he didn’t know he had until now.

“What have you done?” Taehyung’s voice rumbles so deeply that it sounds like a growl.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Chewing his bottom lip, Jungkook nods slowly.

“It’s okay, bun,” Taehyung whispers as he leans in again, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin he’d sucked bruises on the night before, “I can be gentle.”

The soft promise makes Jungkook tremble and slick even more.

Taehyung drags his palm down Jungkook’s bare chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Eventually, he curls his fingers around the slim curve of Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook is naturally petite as a prey hybrid, but Taehyung’s large hand makes him feel even smaller.

Closing his eyes, Jungkook lets Taehyung guide him onto his back with his mouth capturing Jungkook’s and his palm pressed against the inside of Jungkook’s thigh to spread his legs apart for Taehyung to fit between them. Despite the icy fear that has melted into lukewarm nervousness about having a predator caging him in against his mattress, Taehyung’s closeness feels good. He’s warm and solid, a comfortable weight that presses down on Jungkook’s hips. It should be scary, and maybe it still is a little bit, but Jungkook mostly feels restless anticipation that eats away at his nervous system.

With his forearms resting above Jungkook’s shoulders, Taehyung brings himself down to kiss him as he rolls his hips into Jungkook’s spread legs, grinding their cocks together hard enough for Jungkook to gasp against Taehyung’s mouth.

“Mmmm,” Taehyung hums as he takes advantage of Jungkook’s parted lips to bite his bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth to suck it.

Jungkook curls his arms around Taehyung’s neck, tugging him down until their chests touch. He can feel their stomachs flutter, each breathing too hard to move in harmony, especially when Jungkook tries to meet Taehyung’s hips with each roll. Bucking up, he throws off Taehyung’s rhythm, making Taehyung release his lip with a turn of his head to chuckle against the vulnerable skin of Jungkook’s throat.

“You’re so hot,” Taehyung purrs.

“Am I?” It’s a genuine question, not Jungkook fishing for compliments, though the feeling Taehyung’s praise gives him is indescribable.

“Don’t believe me?”

The look Taehyung gives Jungkook is wicked, nothing like the teasing, boyish charm he usually smothers Jungkook with when they’re flirting under the guise of bantering. This look makes Jungkook’s stomach swoop and dip dangerously low.

“I… I don’t know,” Jungkook whispers, on the verge of cardiac arrest as Taehyung slowly lowers himself down Jungkook’s body.

“Oh bun,” Taehyung sighs like he’s disappointed in Jungkook’s answer. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks burn. “Do I need to show you just how hot I think you are?”

Taehyung’s wild eyes stare into Jungkook’s as he props himself up on his forearms to better see where Taehyung is now: on his stomach between his legs. He can’t speak and doesn’t even bother trying to when Taehyung curls his fingers around the elastic waistband of Jungkook’s sweatpants and slowly pulls them down, simultaneously unraveling Jungkook’s sanity.

“Lift your hips for me, bun.”

The whimper that slips from Jungkook’s lips is pathetic, breathy, and weak. He does as he’s told and gives up trying to be quiet as he hiccups through shallow breaths when Taehyung tugs his pants all the way down, taking his underwear with them to leave Jungkook fully exposed.

“Such a cute little cock,” Taehyung purrs, dark eyes shooting up to watch Jungkook’s face light up bright red.

Taehyung may have promised to be gentle, but he doesn’t hesitate. His hand wraps around Jungkook’s cock with confidence, his thumb immediately swiping over the precum that has already wet the tip.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook whines through his teeth in a poor attempt to keep quiet.

Yoongi’s presence right across the hall looms over Jungkook’s head as Taehyung begins pumping his cock, spreading the slippery precum in circles around the head with his thumb before spreading it further down to aid in the drag of his palm along the shaft.

Jungkook can’t stop squirming, even when Taehyung hooks one of his arms around his thigh to keep him still. All Taehyung is doing is jerking him off languidly and with a loose grip. Still, Jungkook already feels the overwhelming pressure of his orgasm building and pulsing every time Taehyung’s big hands engulf his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive. You’re soaking the bed,” Taehyung groans as he uses his grip on Jungkook’s thigh to spread him open further.

Jungkook chokes on his next inhale when Taehyung ducks his head to lick a fat stripe up Jungkook’s inner thigh, quietly moaning when he tastes Jungkook’s slippery slick. The visual of Taehyung’s wet, shiny lips and the sound of his low moan are enough to send Jungkook over the edge. He cums with a wail his neighbors and Yoongi are sure to hear, his eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown so far back that he can barely hold himself up on his forearms.

He only gets a few seconds to catch his breath before Taehyung starts pumping his cock again, the slide this time much smoother and more sensual since he uses Jungkook’s cum like lube.

“Tae-Taehyung, wait,” Jungkook gasps as he tries to sit up. He doesn’t get far. Taehyung’s clean palm presses against his lower abdomen, pushing him backward to rest on his forearms again despite the tremble ripples through his legs.

“Relax, bun, sit back and trust me.”

Jungkook doesn’t understand until Taehyung squeezes the base of his cock, holding it in place so he can keep it steady when he flicks his tongue against the wet tip, tasting him again.

“Tae —”

“You’re still hard,” Taehyung smirks as he tilts his head so he can press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Jungkook’s cock and licks away the cum left behind on his lips. “And I heard bunnies can cum more than once. Is that true?”

It is, but Jungkook doesn’t know that as a fact. No one has ever gotten him off before, and the times he’s gotten off alone, he doesn’t think he was ever aroused enough to still be hard after. It has to be Taehyung doing this to him, but Jungkook can’t verbalize any of this. Every time he opens his mouth, a high-pitched moan comes out instead of actual words.

Not waiting for an answer to his question, Taehyung locks eyes with Jungkook as he closes his lips around the head of his cock. He suckles the head hard as he massages the underside with his tongue.

“Oh, my g-god, T-Tae,” Jungkook sobs, all his concerns about being too loud leaving his mind.

Everything leaves his mind. His brain completely blanks when Taehyung sucks more of his cock into his mouth with a low hum. He easily takes the whole thing until his nose is pressed against Jungkook’s lower abdomen, swallowing consecutively, each time harder than the last.

Jungkook can’t breathe. He digs his fingers into his blankets and squeezes them so tightly that he draws his entire body taunt. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even blink, just watches Taehyung bob his head to a rhythm just slow enough to keep Jungkook’s second orgasm at bay.

That is until Taehyung squeezes one of Jungkook’s thighs and presses it up so his bent leg drapes over Taehyung’s shoulder. Hot tears slip down Jungkook’s cheeks when Taehyung reaches between Jungkook’s legs to ease a long finger past his rim, the slick taking away any resistance. Swallowing at the same time he presses against Jungkook’s walls with his finger, Taehyung coaxes a second orgasm out of Jungkook as if he played him like an instrument.

Jungkook thinks he blacks out. Something skips in his brain, some kind of blip, like a scratched record or a flicker of the lights during a thunderstorm. His throat and chest burn, and his head throbs with the onset of a migraine.

Collapsing onto his back, Jungkook pants heavily. His arms and legs give out, flopping lifelessly at his sides. He thinks he hears Taehyung speak, but the ringing in his ears drowns out everything. It’s almost as disorienting as the black spots speckling his vision. The spots swim to new positions in his eyes every time he blinks, some tiny pinpricks while others are splotches large enough to block out whole items in his vision.

“Bun,” Taehyung calls out to him.

When Jungkook blinks, most of the black spots are gone, and he can see Taehyung’s pretty eyes staring into his soul. They’re bright, a soft amber, and his pupils are back to normal. Rather than lust twisting his expression, concern wrinkles his forehead.

“Hi,” Jungkook winces when his voice comes out hoarse.

“Fuck, you freaked me out,” Taehyung admits weakly. He brushes Jungkook’s sweaty bangs away from his face to kiss his forehead. “You, like, passed out while still being conscious.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose. “I don’t think that’s a thing, Tae.”

“Well, it just happened, and it freaked me the fuck out.”

Taehyung continues caressing Jungkook’s head, running his  now clean  fingers through Jungkook’s hair. It’s relaxing and contributes to the warm, sleepy feeling seeping into Jungkook’s body.  Taehyung just got him off.  His pretty, sweet, talented, funny, hot, precious tiger gave Jungkook two mind-blowing orgasms. Jungkook might consciously pass out again.

“Sorry for freaking you out,” Jungkook apologizes with a sweet smile that Taehyung can’t resist. He ducks his head down to kiss Jungkook, though this kiss is gentle and innocent — aside from the fact that Jungkook can taste himself on Taehyung. That in itself makes Jungkook’s stomach stir.

“I’m never giving you head ever again.”

Scrunching his eyebrows, Jungkook pouts as Taehyung helps him sit up and put his pants on. He cringes when he notices how wet the bed is; Taehyung hadn’t just said that to be sexy.

“No, it was nice. I liked it.”

“Of course you did,” Taehyung’s snort ends in a cocky smirk, “I’m great at it. But, also, everyone likes getting head.”

Emboldened by his sexual awakening — or perhaps lacking inhibitions from having a blank, loopy, fucked out brain — Jungkook eyes Taehyung’s crotch.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s chin and forces him to look at him. “I think your brain hasn’t gotten enough oxygen.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook whines, beating his fist softly against the bed. “I want to make you feel good, too. Let me try.”

Taehyung doesn’t let go of Jungkook’s face, but his hold slackens as he closes his eyes. He takes a deep, intentional breath that’s shaky when exhaled, despite how seemingly unaffected he is otherwise. Jungkook may not have the predatory urge to devour like Taehyung does, but he likes the idea of pleasuring Taehyung, knowing that he could give back what Taehyung has given to him.

“Please,” Jungkook whispers, and Taehyung can’t possibly say no.

“Hands only.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a pointed look as he settles at the head of the bed with his back against the wall and a pillow behind him to keep his tail comfortable.

Jungkook is riding an adrenaline-fueled, orgasmic high when he grabs Taehyung’s shoulders to steady himself as he swings a shaky leg over to straddle his thighs.

“I want to be able to kiss you easier,” Taehyung admits when he explains why he prefers that Jungkook straddle him rather than kneel beside him. It feels like a perfect position for Jungkook, who would spend the rest of his life staring into Taehyung’s eyes if he could.

Taehyung smacks Jungkook’s ass playfully to get him to lift up briefly so Taehyung can shimmy his jeans down until he can pull his cock out. Jungkook keeps his hands on Taehyung’s broad shoulders while Taehyung adjusts himself. It’s nerve-wracking, even though Jungkook insisted that this happen. Sweet, considerate Taehyung was willing to ignore his own arousal; Jungkook wouldn’t let it go.

So why is he so nervous now?

“It isn’t prickly,” Taehyung whispers with mischief sparkling in his eyes, likely noticing Jungkook’s sudden anxiety.

Jungkook smiles shyly when he asks, “No cheese grater?”

“No cheese grater.”

Taehyung’s hand is warm against Jungkook’s when he takes his hand from his shoulder and slowly brings it down to wrap it around his cock. They both sigh at the touch, the back of Taehyung’s head hitting the wall with a quiet thud.

Looking between them, Jungkook confirms Taehyung’s joke: no prickly dick. It looks just like Jungkook would expect, the same general look as his own, though much bigger — not that Jungkook ever fantasized about Taehyung’s dick. He most certainly did not!

“Spit first,” Taehyung instructs and hums in satisfaction when Jungkook spits in his hand before he drags his fist over his cock.

Once Jungkook has picked up a smooth rhythm, Taehyung squeezes the nape of his neck to pull him forward in a rough kiss. Jungkook’s head spins as Taehyung growls into the kiss, his teeth scraping and biting Jungkook’s lips, and his tongue laving over them like a soothing apology. Taehyung doesn’t whimper or whine like Jungkook had; instead, he growls and moans with a low purr that Jungkook feels rumble in his own chest.

“Go faster,” Taehyung purrs against Jungkook’s swollen lips as he bucks upward with a squeeze of Jungkook’s hips to keep him from toppling over.

Eager to please, Jungkook increases his movements, adding his other hand to roll over the wet tip of Taehyung’s cock. It’s a move that Jungkook enjoys on himself sometimes, so he’s pleased when Taehyung groans and tilts his head back. Jungkook leans forward to scatter kisses along Taehyung’s neck, too afraid to suck deep bruises there but enjoying the feel of the smooth skin beneath his lips.

“Does it feel good?” Jungkook asks shyly, his breath catching in his throat when Taehyung’s dark gaze falls on him again.

“Mm, yeah, you’re doing a good job, bun,” Taehyung caresses the side of Jungkook’s face, holding his cheek in a gesture too soft for what they’re doing. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he almost stops moving.

“Oh! What do I do?”

Taehyung quickly grabs Jungkook’s hand and continues jerking himself off using Jungkook's hand until he’s confident Jungkook won’t stop.

“Cover it.”

Jungkook watches for a sign and thinks he finds one when Taehyung squirms briefly before his body locks up with a low moan that he releases as he leans forward to nuzzle the crook of Jungkook’s neck. Maybe it’s cliche, but Jungkook thinks Taehyung is beautiful like this, swept up in raw pleasure.

Then again, Jungkook thinks Taehyung is always beautiful.

It’s a messy affair, but Jungkook knew it would be, so he has a small towel on hand. He stays still until Taehyung calms down, only cleaning him up once Taehyung is no longer too sensitive. They’re both loopy and exhausted from their orgasms but also from the unique energy it takes to experience intimacy with someone new for the first time — especially for Jungkook.

“So much for a PG date,” Taehyung grins while he wiggles into the biggest sweatpants Jungkook could find in his closet. They’re still too tight on Taehyung and end right at his ankles, but they’re more comfortable than jeans.

“Our date was technically over, so I don’t think this counts.”

Jungkook yawns and pats the bed for Taehyung to climb under the blankets. The bed isn’t big enough for both of them to lie side by side, so Jungkook lies on Taehyung’s chest. It’s more comfortable than a mattress, if Jungkook wants to be corny.

“I can ask hyung if you can sleep over,” Jungkook offers quietly.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll never want me back in your dorm ever again,” Taehyung says in a grave tone, and Jungkook can tell he’s serious. “I’m actually afraid to leave this room right now.”

“Oh my gosh, Tae.”

“Bun… you are loud. You are so loud.”

With a whine, Jungkook tucks his face against Taehyung’s chest to hide his embarrassment. It doesn’t matter; they turned the lights off, so the room is too dark to notice Jungkook’s pink cheeks. Even then, Taehyung doesn’t need to see Jungkook’s face to know he’s being shy.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fucking hot.”

Taehyung gently scratches the dark fur of Jungkook’s ears, and Jungkook can hear the smile in his voice. Too tired to scold Taehyung for causing him even more embarrassment, Jungkook closes his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of Taehyung’s heart and basks in the warmth that comes with falling asleep in Taehyung’s arms for the second night in a row.

Even if Yoongi will be pissed when he realizes Taehyung never left.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd &daddytaehyungie).

#taehyung x jungkook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #venor #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #taekook fanfic

[anjelicawrites]

The perfect stay at home husband

Paring: Billy Washington x reader

Synopsis: slowly Billy learns to become the perfect house husband and welcomes his spouse home in the best of ways.

Warnings: dom / sub vibes, kissing, crying, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, collar and leash usage, Billy being very needy, ‘pup’ used a pet name, f masturbation with a rabbit vibrator.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

NSFW and 18+ only under the cut!

Your life with Billy didn’t start in the best of ways. Indeed, the fact that he was jobless didn’t help his mental health; that the job market was, and still is, a nightmare for someone without big credentials like his, was another nail in that specific coffin. To you it wasn’t an issue, you didn’t think any less of him because of this, temporary, condition and you were more than happy to provide for the two of you, your job paying you well enough for the feat; if only Billy pulled his weight at home!

You had told Lana repeatedly that their parents didn’t do a good job at making sure Billy was capable of taking care of himself, he mostly left the bulk of the housework to you and would look at you with his baby blue opened wide, telling you he didn’t realize that those chores needed to be carried out.

One Friday you literally exploded at him, screaming that he wasn’t a guest in the house and that you were sick and tired of picking up his slack! You didn’t even give him the chance to explain himself, you left slamming the door and went to your friend’s house to spend the night, getting absolutely hammered in the process. 

Billy came to pick you up in the morning, his head more hidden between his shoulders than usual, the judging glares of your friend didn’t help his already crumbling self worth: he knew well enough your friend didn’t like him and believed you could have so much better than him. You two walked home blanketed by a tick silence, only enhanced by the sounds of London around you two, your head hurting and him more pathetic than his usual self. 

The apartment wasn’t as messy as you left it the day before: the array of dirty plates and cups had disappeared from the sink, the reusable shopping bags all neatly folded and the mountain of shoes shelved in the shoe rack next to the door.

“That's all I could do.” Billy told you, his eyes not truly meeting yours. “You were right, I should help you more with housework. I don’t know what to do, but I’ll try.”

You cupped his cheek and he nuzzled your palm like a cat: he missed you last night, his guilty heart keeping him awake most of the night.

“You can ask me, if you want. And there’s Google to help you.”

And that’s where you made a huge mistake: not considering how much of a people pleaser Billy is, how much he lives to be told that he's done good and that he is not as subpar as he thinks he is. 

He tries, bless his heart, but his learning curve is very steep. 

You’ve lost count of the amount of shirts he burned while ironing, or the plants he knocked off by mistake while he was dusting, or that one time he tried to unclog the drain and almost flooded the apartment. 

And then there's TikTok. 

In his personal quest to become good at maintaining the apartment clean, he stumbles upon the videos of people mixing up chemicals, and he follows them religiously, without truly thinking about which detergents he's using at the same time, if he should put those together and that, perhaps, he should keep the window open. You've lost count of the amount of times your local A&E called, because he's almost poisoned himself; you are basically on a friendship level with the nurses there and one, a friendly brunette, has told you they tend to get worried when they don't see Billy pop up every once in a while. 

As steep as his learning curve had been, he's now become very good at keeping the house spotless, so much so you two decided he should be a stay at home husband, by the time you two tightened the knot. 

It had taken him a while to unpack all the toxic ideas he was raised with, how a man should be and act: be the breadwinner or be a failure, find yourself a job and don’t live off your spouse and housework is not real work and it’s not for a man to do.  It hasn’t been easy for him to accept that he could still be a man and take care of you in ways that aren’t a big paycheck, that the world outside, how competitive it is, isn’t truly for him, and that he isn’t less of a man for this.

The last nail in the coffin had been your promotion and the probable move to the Milan office; neither of you wanted to suffer through a long distance relationship and the meager positions Billy had applied for, didn’t have the option for him to work overseas.  When Milan stopped being an option, you both had decided that he should still stay at home and be happy.

When you unlock the door you welcome the sight of Billy kneeling on a pillow, naked and collared, with his head bent and the leash neatly folded in his hands; his eyes fleetingly meet yours to then focus on the freshly clean carpet again.

“Welcome back” He says with a deep voice, tinged with a need you know all too well.

“Hi sweetling.” You answer back.

Slowly you remove your shoes and leave them on the rack; you savor the feel of the carpet under your feet and that your heels are finally off for the day. Through your lashes you observe Billy’s body vibrate with need and decide to play with him, because you haven’t tormented him in a while.

You walk towards him and stand where he’s kneeling, your center in front of his face and you can see the way his pink tongue darts out to lick his beautiful lips.

“Is there something the matter, my love?” You ask with a sweet voice.

“Please.” He whines.

“What do you need, pup?”

His face falls against your skirt, right where your cunt is and he takes a long whiff.

“Use your words Billy.”

Your voice is stern now, your fingers in his hair hurt him when you force his face up, to stare at his expression.

“I need it, please.”

His voice is a pathetic, little whine, his eyes don’t meet yours to show his submission to you.

“Billy, Billy Billy.” You punctuate every iteration of his name with a strong pull to his hair. “You need to be more specific and don’t act like a dog in heat.”

With that you use your fist in his hair to pull him towards the couch; you could have used leash, you could have ordered him to walk, but you need that extra bout of ownership over him, as he does and he complies with small whines as he tries to crawl at your pace and can’t truly manage.

You lose your hold when you sit on the couch with your legs spread, Billy kneeling between them; you see the way his eyes focus on your, now, exposed panties. You can’t help but smirk at his naked desire, his need to bury his face in your cunt: with him is almost a daily occurrence, one way or another he’s on his knees, worshiping you, hungry for you like you are the only meal he’s going to have for days.

“I’m going to ask you for the last time, BIlly: what do you need, my sweet pup?”

“Please, let me eat you?”

For the first time since you returned home, his pretty blue eyes bore into yours, so huge and sad and pathetic.

“But I’ve been out and about for the whole day Billy, I need a shower.”

You pretend to stand up and he panics, his hands go to your hips and his face burrows against your clothed cunt.

“No, no, please! Don’t make me wait!”

You try to dislodge his face from between your legs and he just curls his hands tighter around the soft meat of your hips, as he whines, desperately against your clothed cunt, the vibrations traveling up your spine, almost stealing a moan from you.

“Billy! Billy!” You try to say as you grab fistfuls of his hair to make him move. “Be good and behave or I will not let you eat me!”

You know that he knows you’re not kidding, your tone carries the weight of your treat, and he pulls his face back, but doesn’t stop him from pouting, staring at you with big, accusatory eyes.

You wind your hand around the leash before he can start any more shenanigans.

“I need you so bad!” He wails, with a pathetic, sad voice.

“I know I have been at work a lot, pup, but you should remember your manners, always.”

He looks contrite now, with his head lowered again.

“I just missed you so much.” He mumbles.

“As I did you. Look at me now.” You say with a firm, yet gentle, voice.

Billy complies, his eyes are glossy with unshed tears and his lower lip is bitten raw: he’s not kidding when he’s saying that he needs you badly.

“You will eat my pussy, eventually. I will have to punish you first, though.”

His breathing quickens after your words and the tears start to fall, silently they roll down his pink cheeks, making him look even more pathetic. You hug him and his long arms sneak around you, curling as tight as possible around your frame: he needs you, needs to know you’re not mad at him.

“Shh, sweetest pup, shh.” You kiss the crown of his head. “I love you so much.”

He cries harder at your words, the sobs wreak his big body and you have to hug him with all your strength, gently rocking your bodies until he calms down and lifts his head to look at you; his eyes are crystal clear, the color of the mountain sky after a rainstorm and his cheeks are apple red.

“Do you feel better?” You ask, caressing his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“Yes. I worked myself up over nothing. I’m sorry.” He sounds contrite and ashamed of himself.

“No pup, I’m the one that’s sorry. I’ve let work overrun my life, and that should have never happened.”

You tend to do that, hyperfocus and work yourself into exhaustion; even with Billy in your life you still make the mistake to forget that there’s a life outside your office. When you were still single, you were the only one suffering, but now you have to consider your husband’s feelings and needs as well, and you were terrible at that, as of late.

“I’ll tell you, next time. I will not let your job steal you away from me again.”

“Thank you, pup. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You lean into him and kiss him slowly, tongue sliding against his with sensual strokes that have him moan wantonly, precume leaking from his reddened tip copiously with every slide of your tongue against his.

“Let’s go to bed. Your knees must be raw.”

“As long as you’re happy, I don’t care.”

“This is the reason why that’s my job.” You smile down at him.

You help him stand up and interlock your fingers with his; he stares at you as if you’re a miracle and you can’t help yourself but kiss his stubby cheek, giggling like a teenager.

You let him undress you, his big hands caress your body with gentle strokes that turn heated when your breasts and cunt are revealed to his hungry eyes.

“Go kneel on the bed, pup. I need something before you can feast on me.”

Billy follows your order with his eyes fixed on you, drinking down the sight of your naked skin as you retrieve the small box with the toys; you make sure he sees the rabbit vibrator in your hands, and the lube.

Leisurely you walk to the bed and stand behind him, before bending to kiss his nape.

“I’m going to be quick with your punishment. I’ve missed your mouth so much, pup” You whisper in his ear and he shudders, willing himself not to come untouched.

Billy is kneeling at the end of the bed, you sit with your legs spread and your back against the pillows; your hole is already wet and you know he can see it, the thought makes you clench and he moans.

“Are you thinking about my cunt strangling your cock? How tight I can be just for you?”

Billy moans and his hands curl into fists.

“Yes. I love your cunt so much.” He whines.

“What a good pup that you are.”

Looking straight into his blue eyes you uncap the lube and pour a generous amount on the vibrator, before turning it on and spreading your labia for Billy to see.

“Tell me, pup, why do you like my cunt so much?”

His intake of breath is visible when you insert the vibe which is set on the lowest speed.

“It’s…” He gulps. “It’s pretty and warm.”

He has to close his eyes when you start pumping the vibrator in and out, nice and slow, your eyes never leaving his.

“Yeah?” You moan.

“Your lips are so plump and soft. Christ please!”

“Keep going, pup.” Your hips jut up when you insert the vibe fully, letting the small part sit against your clit.

Billy is staring at your center unabashedly, his tongue is liking his lips with hunger.

“Puppy please, tell me more.”

You can feel your body arch under his stare and your hands go to your breasts to play with your nipples: you want to be as wet as possible for him, give him all of your essence.

“Taste so good.” He pants, visibly restraining himself. “So much of it for me, can live off it.”

“Yes, oh!” 

The head of the vibe pushes against your G spot as you writhe on the bed and you almost come.

“Clit so small and pretty, needs licking and sucking, baby please!”

He’s so desperate, thinking about your perfect cunt has him fuck the air like a dog in heat and seeing you touching your body, all your muscles vibrating with pleasure, drives him absolutely mad, his nerves burning with the need for your body.

“Yes pup, come to me. Drink from me.”

You lift your hand to him and he jumps to you, hastily removing the vibe to suck your essence there and discard it on the bed.

He lays on the mattress and grabs your hips to plaster his face against your center, his tongue licking at your folds desperately, his nose pushing haphazardly against your puffy clit. You keen and moan, your hips pushing against his face as his tongue fucks you and you curl your muscles around it to feel him fully.

“Billy! Billy, yes!!!” You scream. “So close Billy!”

You explode in his face, and he keeps going, slipping one finger inside of you and sucking on your clit like a desperate man, the pad rough against your G spot and you fuck yourself against his face, the pleasure making you delirious for him.

“Fuck all my holes Billy” You keen. “I love you so much!”

You scream when you come again, tears streaming down your face when he doesn’t stop and licks fat stripes up and down your cunt, his hands hurt where he’s keeping you in place and your feet kick against his back, you beg and cry, too much pleasure burning through your body life wildfire.

You try to slip away and he grunts, making you jump, forcing you closer to his hungry mouth and tongue, his teeth nibble at your abused clit and you squirm and cry, your body arching under him, so much pleasure, too much pleasure frying your brain, 

It hurts, you can’t get enough of him, so much pressure builds inside of you, his tongue flicks your poor clit and his lips suck it harshly as you whine and cry. 

He slurps on your honey, hungry and fast, your nerves burning for him, your hands in his hair grabbing the strands with desperation; his moans destroy you and you squirt all over him, his tongue fast to lick everything you’re giving him, until it hurts and he lets go, only to lay his face on your tummy, breathing your intoxicating scent in.

“So good, Billy.” You smil, drunkenly at him.

BIlly stares at you with adoring eyes, his lips leave small kisses on your tummy and you laugh, his stubble tickles you and, you fear, you’re going to have burns everywhere on your tights.

“Were you serious?” He asks, after a bit.

“About what?”

He’s cuddling you now, keeping your face close to his chest.

“Me using all your holes.”

His cheeks burn bright with embarrassment and you hug him with all your might. 

“I very much like it, Billy. I love your cock so much and I would gladly let you use it on me however you want.”

Billy almost chokes on his tongue and can’t meet your eyes.

“Even your arse?”

Sweet Billy; you don’t laugh because you know he will likely feel offended. He’s still exploring his sexuality, trying with you all that he has never had the courage to do in his past relationships.

“Even that. I want to feel you for days. Every time I walk and sit, I want to remember the weekend you fucked me like a whore.”

Billy’s hips stutter against your tummy, and you feel a drop of come splutter against your skin.

“Would you like that, pup?”

Billy’s eyes cross at the mere idea: he’ll do anything you want, tarnish your body  in all the ways you’ll order him to use.

“Yes.” He moans. “I can’t wait.”

#billy washington #billy washington x reader #billy washington x y/n

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 9

Larissa Weems part 8 | part 10 | ao3

As promised, here’s the first part of the Harvest Festival! Enjoy <3 I didn’t write this in one sitting last night instead of getting sleep so it’s a little jumpy, soz

TW: there is a panic attack and I do describe it so please be careful if that would trigger you or if you’re sensitive to it. Please take care of yourself x

~

The last two days of the school week sees you feeling a little low - but you do a good job at hiding it, enough for your students and colleagues not to notice. The cause isn't anything that's happened in your life, more so the happenings of other peoples’. Although the facade works on most people, Alice sees through it and like any good friend she’s waltzed into your quarters unannounced. You pay her no mind, not taking your eyes off of the tv - today you had settled on an old Disney Princess classic, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ to be specific. You’re also halfway through a tub of ice cream, no bowl in sight, just the carton and a trusty teaspoon.

“It’s time for a therapy sesh! Turn that shit off,” Alice declares as she lets the door slam behind her.

You acquiesce and mute the film. She makes a beeline for your cutlery drawer grabbing a dessert spoon before jumping onto the couch next to you, worming her way under the blanket with you.

“Get that big ass spoon away from me and my ice cream,” you growl, giving her a healthy amount of side eye even though you allow her to dig into the ice cream with you.

“There’s nothing wrong with my spoon,”

You let out a half hearted chuckle before resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m alright. Just soaked in too many emotions this week is all,”

“That’s good to hear but still, talk,”

You glance up at her, an appreciative look in your eyes. You had done a Bachelors with honours in English literature at university alongside a PGDE allowing you to go straight into teaching after graduating. You’re not sure how you secured the post at Nevermore but you did and it was the best thing to happen to you. Your friendship with Alice was a lifeline you didn’t realise you needed, she was only a year your senior but that llittle bit more life experience she had was invaluable. The friendship wasn’t one sided however. You helped her just as much as she helped you. She was less intune with her emotions than you, and when she struggled to name what she was feeling you'd be there to help her figure it out - there were perks to being an empath.

You take a deep inhale, “There’s not much to talk about, a few students are feeling… down, depressed, you name it, and I’ve kinda just absorbed it all,” you poke at the ice cream with your spoon, “also it reminded me of my mum, she was very against me moving here. She wanted me to teach at a local highschool in my hometown.”

You look up at Alice and she nods, silently telling you to continue on.

“I was really excited when I was invited to interview here, and then to actually hear back and be told I was offered the job? Couldn’t have been happier… but when I told my mum she just felt nothing. Bit of a bummer right? Anger would’ve been better than her apathy.” You let out a hollow bark of a laugh, “She could have at least pretended to be happy about it, think that’s why I’m feeling more down than usual,”

Alice nods along to your words, stealing another spoonful of ice cream before speaking, “She’ll come round to it, she’ll just be anxious about you being so far away, you are from Cali after all,”

“True, I have quite literally moved to the other side of the country, but I went to uni a few states over, and she wasn’t like that…” you pause for a moment, “it’s whatever though, besides, I’m going to the Harvest Festival with Larissa tomorrow. Oh!!! I forgot to tell you! I’m so sor- Owww!”

You tear yourself away from her to nurse your arm from where Alice had slapped you. With a mouth full of ice cream she had resorted to giving you a dirty glare.

“I’m sorry!” you whined, “I meant to tell you… promise,” you fall back onto her shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me the details, did you ask her?”

“No, she asked me, she was so nervous it was adorable,”

“Y’know, for how much you fawn over her for her confidence and stuff, you call her cute quite a lot, I wouldn’t use that word to describe her, personally.”

“But she is, what would you say instead then?”

“Hot.”

“That’s so true,”

“I think there’s two Principal Weems though, you always talk about this woman who’s so… so Bambi like around you!”

“She hardly talked to me until like recently,”

“Really? She scares me to be honest, she’s so sure of herself and she knows she’s got everyone at her beck and call,”

“Exactly why she’s so hot! But seriously, she only ever talked to me about work, and even then she always kept it super short, like even for a professional conversation…”

“I think she likes you, that’s the only explanation. Why else would someone not talk to you then suddenly act all docile?”

“You’re more delusional than I am,” you scoff.

You turn the volume up a little to ease the quiet. The pair of you watch the movie, making good progress on the ice cream. You have another tub in the freezer which you know you’ll have to bring out eventually.

~

“I only really feel more negative emotions from people, but when Larissa asked me to the festival… I don’t know what I felt from her, but it was like a warm emotion? The closest I could describe it as is love but that would be so out of context for the situation.” you speak over the twelve dwarve’s song from when they’re digging around the mine.

“You do feel happier emotions though, right?”

“Yeah, but usually only when they’re really strong.”

“Hmm, that is odd.”

“Yeah, just remembered that the now,” you leave the conversation at that. Not having the energy to dissect what it could mean.

~

It was well into the night, you and Alice had watched several movies, and now you were watching ‘The Notebook’. You sniffle a little as a few tears drop onto Alice’s t-shirt.

“Are you crying?”

“No!”

~

Alice ended up staying over at yours, as you talk about your deepest fears, it reminds you of the sleepovers you’d have as a teenager. When you were spilling your soul out to people you thought would never leave your life.

You’re thankful for Alice not leaving you with your own thoughts.

~

You stand at your floor length mirror, scrutinising your outfit, you had spent the day organising lessons for the following week and before you knew it, it was time to leave for the Harvest Festival. You finally decide that your clothes would do before tossing on a jacket and scarf, it was getting so cold these days.

“Why did I fuss so much? Don’t even see them under this coat,” you mutter before grabbing your keys and heading to Larissa’s office.

~

You’re a little early to meet Larissa but you were restless, you hadn’t seen her since she had so clumsily asked you to join her, apart from organising times. You knock on the door and wait for her to call you in, her saccharine voice is heard clearly even through the heavy doors. That woman’s power would be the end of you.

“Hey, you ready?,” you say as you poke your head through the threshold before fully entering the room.

You hadn’t really been in Larissa’s office much, the first few weeks she had called you in every now and then to make sure you were settling in okay. The room was overwhelming, as was most of Nevermore. The ceiling was outrageously high, and Larissa always had that fireplace roaring with flames. The room was cast in a darker light but still illuminated enough that you weren’t squinting to see. You look around in awe, taking in the taxidermies bear, and the mirrors on the ceilings. Odd placement but you think nothing of it. Eventually your sights are turned to Larissa, framed by the rich red velvet curtains and grand window. She sat at her desk, laptop open, a heart meltingly tender smile on her lips as she looked at you through her lashes, head downturned just a touch.

“Never been more ready,” she purrs as she rounds her desk and grabs her coat before sauntering over to you. Her eyes never leaving you.

She stops very close to you, so close you can smell her perfume, it was the same earthy citrus scent from last week. And just like it had back then, it had your head spinning.

“I’ll spare you and let you drive this time,”

“You’re too kind to me,” she humours you.

You shake your head at her before placing a hand on the small of her back and usher her to the door. Larissa’s heart flutters at the action.

~

With childlike wonder you soak in the carnival, you loved them and hadn’t had many chances to go to them when you were younger. As you stand in awe at the entrance, flocks of people walking around you, Larissa is too busy looking at you with the same amazement. Studying your profile and committing it to memory, she notices a faint white scar on the corner of your jaw and she wants to know how you got it.

“Shall we?” An angelic voice cuts you free from your thoughts as you look to Larissa.

A little embarrassed at yourself you nod before you feel your stomach cry out. Your cheeks redden as you smile at her apologetically.

“Can we get food first?”

~

You watch Larissa eat, her eyes closed as she relishes the first bite. You can’t help but stare at her, she was so adorable and this felt very domestic.

“You know, I never thought you’d be the kind to enjoy a greasy burger,”

Larissa pauses mid chew, eyes a little wide in confusion. Her cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

“You just seem like you have a fancy palate, you know, like you enjoy those niche foods that are so exclusive and coveted but actually taste like ass,” you continue, leaning your chin on one hand. The other fiddling with the edge of the table as you pick at the worn down wood that was fraying with age.

Larissa swallows her mouthful slowly before speaking, “And what exactly does that mean?”

“Nothing, just one of my observations,” your tone is lighthearted.

“Just one of?” Larissa is intrigued now.

“Mhmm,” you don’t elaborate further as you tuck into your own burger.

Your eyes blow wide as you stare her down. This was a good burger, she was right. As you had perused the food stalls Larissa had talked your ear off about this particular vendor, raving on and on about how she waited for each Festival for it. She gave you a smug smile.

~

With a loud thwack you finally land the third arrow into the bullseye, turns out you were a natural at archery despite never having touched a bow and arrow before now. Well, that may be an exaggeration, this was your fourth attempt at the stall, with Larissa encouraging you from a safe distance behind. Your competitive streak and ego not allowing you to give up until you had won the game. You also had a certain blonde woman to impress. Stakes were high.

You were beaming with joy as you whispered to the man, pointing out what prize you wanted. As he goes to pull it down for you, you look over your shoulder to see Larissa talking to one of the art teachers who had been passing by. With her distracted you were able to thank the man and hide the stuffed toy behind your back. You wait patiently by her side for the conversation to finish.

“Pray tell what your trophy is,” she turns to you, with a proud look in her eyes. Your heart swells and you want her to look at you like that more often.

“More yours than it is mine.” You procure a white stuffed cat and hold it out to her. It’s of a larger size.

The Principal smiles in disbelief as she takes it from your hands, “For me?”

“Why else do you think I kept at that rigged game for so long!” You llink your arm in hers as you wander off into the crowds. Larissa allows herself to be led along as she studies the plush, it was eerily similar to her form as a cat. A horrible feeling forms in her stomach, did you know? Surely not? She decides it's just a coincidence and tucks it into her other arm, allowing herself to feel flattered you had given her a gift. She’d cherish it.

“Have you- ”

“There’s Principal Weems!” Just as you’re about to ask Larissa something, Marilyn has called over, with Alice in tow. She’s waving over at you from another stall.

You and Larissa stop as the duo walks over.

“Perfect!” Marilyn says as she notices you with the Principal, she must not have seen you over all the people. “I finally found someone willing to go through the haunted house with me, but the carts seat four people and I don’t fancy screaming with strangers, and, well, there’s two of you! Come on! The queues not long,” The botany teacher doesn't give you room to argue before she's pulling you, and Larissa who’s still got her arm linked with yours.

You look at Alice who just shrugs, seemingly unbothered by everything, then you look up at Larissa who's started to converse with Marilyn.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a few controlled breaths.

~

The redhead was right, the queue moved quickly, too quickly. Before you can protest, you’re shoved into the seat with Larissa. You just sit stock still as she comments about how they’ve really outdone themselves with the models this year. You don’t really register what she's saying.Faintly you can hear Alice and Marilyn talking about their favourite rides.

With a juddering move, the cart starts to advance as it takes you through a cheap black curtain. Your hands are clammy and you're visibly trembling in your seat. You’re shrouded in darkness before a light flashes on to reveal an unnervingly realistic skeleton drop from the ceiling right next to you. You can’t conceal the scream as you jerk away from it, bumping into Larissa. Her hands find purchase on your hips as she steadies you, chuckling at you. The skeleton bounces up and down on its elastic string as if it's mocking you. No one else screamed and now you feel oh so silly.

Larissa moves a hand up to your shoulder and it has the opposite effect than she had intended, You shoot away from her, yelling again.

“Babes, save your energy, rides just started,” Alice laughs.

You look at her weakly before you settle back down.

For the first minute or so you manage to contain yourself but the ride ups the ante and it's an onslaught of jumpscares and horrifyingly accurate props paired with the most wretched heart stopping music.

What takes the cake is when the models begin to interact, a mummified hand snaps out from the side to grab onto Marilyn’s shoulder, to which she laughs. She laughs.

It becomes too much, as more and more horror elements start leering into you, you begin to feel a horrible tightness in your chest, phantom hands clawing at your neck, wrapping around slowly. The music is too loud, the dim lighting is somehow too bright and you can hear everyone's breathing. Your clothes seem to be scratching against your skin despite feeling absolutely fine moments ago. A witch’s cackle sounds as cheap sparks are set off all around you. You flinch. Then a fog machine is set into motion, obscuring your sight as steam hisses. The world begins to rock as a cold sweat prickles all over your body.

With a sickening suddenness a grotesque, hyper-realistic cadaver drops down just ahead. A mechanic whirring is heard. It launches towards the cart. Hitting the front before it rises. You shriek in pure unadulterated terror, tearing up your throat as you launch yourself into Larissa’s lap, hiding your face with her shoulder. Your body trembles as she instinctively wraps her arms around you. Your breathing is erratic and she can even feel your heart thrashing against her chest. Your grip on her jacket is iron tight, your knuckles white. You feel stiff and unresponsive to the soothing circles she's rubbing against your back.

A series of plastic spiders suspended on string descend down, drawing the cart and brushing against everyone. Faintly you hear Marilyn and Alice giggle at it. But you tense, and the sensation of the spikey legs sets you over the edge. You press yourself even further into Larissa, as you choke back sobs. Over the music, they can't be heard, but Larissa can feel you jerk with each cry that forces itself out of you.

At this point Alice has caught on, she leans forward and looks between you and Larissa, a pointed look of concern on her face. But Larissa just quietly tells her she has it under control and for Alice to just enjoy the remainder of the ride.

Another cheap shock value scare, and just the noise has you screeching and curling into yourself more.

“Atikah?” She whispers softly into your ear, one hand stroking through your hair, her other arm now wrapped firmly around your waist. But it does little in grounding you.

You only whimper in response.

She feels guilty for not realising you were genuinely terrified.

~

After what feels like an eternity you finally break through another black curtain back into the outside world. The cart stops with a few groans, Alice and Marilyn watch you as Larissa tries to coax you off of her.

“Atikah, it’s over now,”

You move back marginally, letting the noises of the other rides filter back in, it still sounds overwhelming but the eerie music is no longer present.

Larissa eyes the other two, both varying degrees of worried, before leaning in close so she can't be heard, “You’re safe now, I promise,” her warm breath ghosts over your ear.

You take a shuddering breath and extricate yourself from Larissa’s lap, keeping your head down so your hair covers your face. The blonde still keeps a hand on your back as she watches you try calm yourself down with great effort.

Wordlessly you leave the cart and walk off to the side just out of view.

The remaining trio all exchange glances, and Alice is the first to leave, hopping over Marilyn. The other two hot on her heels.

By the time Alice had reached you, you had found a picnic bench and sat staring into the neighbouring forest, counting in your head as you took measured breaths. The tingling feeling in your hands had started to subside but you still shake.

“Hey,”

You don’t tear your gaze away from the trees. Barely registering Alice sitting next to you.

“What happened back there?” She noticed your eyes looking a little red and raw.

Your voice is weak and hoarse as you muster up the strength to speak, “Just, got too much in there, I think,”

Before Alice can reply Marilyn is heard from not too far away, “I’m so sorry Miss. Karnstein! I didn’t know- ”

“It’s fine.” You take a deep breath and wipe the dried tears off of your face, “I’m sorry for ruining it,” you laugh halfheartedly. Giving her a smile, or as much of a smile as you can.

“Don’t be ridiculous, are you okay now?” The English accent that graces your ears helps greatly as you finally begin to feel human again.

You nod slowly, still not making eye contact. It’s one catastrophe after another for you, now that you’ve regained yourself, you’re embarrassed.

“It was fun- ” you start.

“Bitch not for you,”

Alice shirks away at the look the Principal sends her.

You laugh, it's an airy laugh but it’s genuine and it dispels the tension, soon Marilyn’s joining you.

Alice hugs you tight, “I think Principal Weems has got it from here, we’ll leave you be,”

“Yeah, we’ll get out of your hair, enjoy the rest of your date,” Marilyn chirps before heading into the crowd, dragging Alice with her but not before she can send a shit eating grin your way.

You and Larissa are left in shock, both of your faces a delicious red, a charged silence between you. Neither of you look at eachother.

“Our what?” Larissa mutters into the air, head reeling at Marilyn’s cast away comment.

You don't respond immediately. Both of you had heard the botany teacher loud and clear.

“Is it… is it okay if we just sit here a little longer?” you ask meekly, peering up at her.

“We can stay here as long as you need, darling,” Larissa takes a seat next to you.

“Thank you.” You rest your head on her shoulder.

~

You’re not sure how long you sit with the blonde, at some point her arm has found its way around your body again. Another tether helping you banish the last of the nerves. She’s busy admiring the stars. As best she can with the light pollution. To you, the stars have nothing against Larissa.

Fireworks bloom in the sky, you can see their reflection in Larissa’s eyes. In that moment you sit up and press a kiss to the very corner of Larissa’s mouth.

~

AN - I have never cried at a film… I’ve almost cried. But I did cry at the notebook when I watched it aged 15. Also sorry for the downer in this chapter, but I thought it’d be fun to have our dear reader cling to Larissa 🤭

taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @eveymay @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne

(pls lmk if I forgot to tag you and I’ll have you tagged in future updates, or if you’d like removed)

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader