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hier--soir · 1 year

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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martianbugsbunny · 4 months

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Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

Ty @lost-in-derry for the tag!!!! I love this game and I'm super excited about the last line I wrote before bed last night so I'm buzzing!!! <3

Warm arms were flung around him. “I knew you could do it, buddy!” Mater crowed. Lightning patted him on the back, already feeling at home with the scent of hay and worn cotton that clung to Mater’s clothes. When Mater stepped back, the others in the tent took their turns shaking his hand or embracing him or clapping him on the shoulder. Sheriff’s eyes, Lightning noticed, were swimming with tears, and he scrubbed at his mustache with a handkerchief as he spoke to Lightning. “Thank you, son,” he said hoarsely. He was always a little hoarse, but it was different now. Pride and gratitude were laced through his voice, going straight to Lightning’s heart. “If there had been guys like you when Hud was younger—you did good.” And then he was face-to-face with Doctor Hudson, who was looking down at him with a quieter, yet so much more vast, proud expression. He was shining, Lightning thought—not because his deep blue clothes were trimmed with silver and gold embroidery, but because there was something in him that was finally beginning to heal. “Well done, rookie.” He looked down at Lightning with unbridled affection for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

I know it's the last line challenge, but I couldn't help myself sticking a whole bunch of lines lol! I'm working on a Cars human AU where it's old-timey and they race on horses and OFC I have to work from the end to the beginning lol, so this is the chunk just after the Piston Cup race where his Radiator Springs pals congratulate him for doing the right thing

tags: @stardreamer28 @wastingstarsss @whiskygoldwings @mcu-supersoldiers @imaginativefanatic @the-rum-tum-hatter @yardikins @ryik-the-writer no pressure!!! but if you want to play I'll be hyped to see what you've got cooking :)

#Tumblr games #my beloved #last line challenge #wip #cars #pixar cars #lightning mcqueen #doc hudson #cars human au

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atthefishhouses · 6 months

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WIP-Tag Game

The Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post and share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your most recent unposted WIP with zero context.

Thank you very much for the tag, @thefortysecondolive @stabat-mater @opheliagreif ! 💕

Since three people tagged me, I am going to give you what adds up to a longer scene from Im Sog (which, in defiance of the rules, is not an unposted WIP. But as the scene is set quite some time in the future, we should be fine.).

„Junge, Junge“, spottete Wannemacher, als Adam zurück zum langen Tisch ihrer Gruppe kam und sich auf seinen Platz neben Boris fallen ließ. „Die Lady hätte dir ja am liebsten die Augen ausgekratzt. Was hast du verbrochen, Schürk? Sie mit Gonorrhoe angesteckt?“

„Fresse, Wannemacher!“, zischte Adam und war schon im Begriff aufzustehen, um diesem ekelhaften Frettchen, das ihn schon den ganzen Abend genervt hatte, endgültig das Maul zu stopfen, als er Boris' Hand auf seinem Arm spürte.

„Na, na, nicht gleich aus der Haut fahren, Adam.“

Obwohl es mehr als offensichtlich war, dass wohl weder Hemd noch Anzug noch zu retten waren, reichte Boris ihm seine Serviette, damit Adam zumindest versuchen konnte, die überschüssige Flüssigkeit aufzunehmen, bevor noch andere Kleidungsstücke oder Menschen in Mitleidenschaft gezogen wurden.

III

Während Adam mehr oder weniger erfolglos an den Flecken auf seiner Kleidung rieb, katapultierte ihn der aufsteigende Geruch nach verschüttetem Alkohol – Rotwein, um genau zu sein – urplötzlich für Sekunden zurück in den Bunker seiner Kindheit und er musste sich wirklich anstrengen, den aufkommenden Würgereiz zu unterdrücken.

„Leider scheint Christian nicht ganz falsch zu liegen“, stellte Boris mit einem Ton des Bedauerns in der Stimme fest, als Adam ein bisschen später die Serviette beiseitelegte, weil er endgültig aufgegeben und den Anzug abgeschrieben hatte. „Nach diesem kleinen Schauspiel kann man nun wirklich nicht behaupten, dass die junge Dame, die dir da eben ihren teuren Rotwein über den Anzug gekippt hat, so wirkte, als sei sie besonders gut auf dich zu sprechen.“

IV (bonus paragraphs - because i missed WIP-Wednesday yesterday)

Adam versuchte sein Bestes, um Boris' forschendem Blick standzuhalten und zuckte nur mit den Achseln. Je weniger er sagte, desto weniger Angriffsfläche für Nachfragen würde er hoffentlich bieten.

Damit, dass Caro gelinde gesagt, momentan nicht gut auf ihn zu sprechen war, konnte Adam leben. Doch freiwillig würde er den um den Tisch versammelten Geiern keinesfalls noch mehr Futter für Sticheleien und geschmacklose Bemerkungen liefern.

I think quite a few people on my dash have already been tagged, so I am tagging whoever wants to play - or play again - and @hail-the-underdogs @theoniprince and @thisfeebleheart. 🌻🦋😊

#wip tag game #thank you for tagging me #im sog #my fanfiction #spatort #tatort saarbrücken

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onlyangelxo · 1 year

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killing boys

I. no, i won’t smile(but i’ll show you my teeth)

As Wednesday’s eighteenth birthday approached, her abilities only grew, along with her appetite. She ended up having to transfer schools on a regular basis to avoid drawing attention to her hunting habits. Even now, nearly two years later, she receives the occasional letter from those driven to madness, sequestered from the general public at various institutions across the state, smuggled out by sympathetic employees.

Fortunately for the denizens of Jersey City- but very unfortunately for her- after her eighth school, the twelfth missing boy, and the fifth person was institutionalized, her parents decided to sequester her away at their alma mater under the guise of keeping her safe from discovery until her powers stabilized. Wednesday would rather wear fuchsia than admit that she sees the logic in her parents’ actions.

On this dreadful day, she makes sure to keep this train of thought at the forefront of her mind to refrain from tearing out Principal Weems’ jugular as she sits across from the woman in her office.

aka the Jennifer's Body AU :)

this was my card 7 “somnophilia” entry for @weylerwritingevents’ kink bingo that just ended! i forgot to tag in my other post and i also like this cover a lot better :)

#killing boys #nik writes fic #wyler #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #weyler #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #wenclair #weyler fic #wenclair fanfic #bianca barclay #hints of gothbee #all my homes hate xavier thorpe #wyler fanfic #wyler recs

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bonsaibovine · 8 months

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WIP-Ask Game

New year, new ask game game!

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

Danke für's taggen @lu-inlondon, @opheliagreif, @ligeiasand und @stabat-mater (und alle, die mich sonst noch getaggt haben und die ich in den notes verloren habe I'm sorry 🙈)

Tatsächliche wips:

Spatort 110 (oh god, please be gentle. ich hab das angefangen, 3 Tage nachdem ich kde und 1 Tag nachdem ich Abgrund geschaut hatte 🙈)

Spatruf 🔥 (ich habe nie behauptet, ich wäre kreativ)

Offene Dokumente, die aus einem Titel und mit ein bisschen Glück aus ein paar snippets oder einer vagen outline an plot bestehen:

smutty, die zweite

Musikschul-AU (Polizeiruf)

my timey-wimey nokia phone (spatort)

voyeurism fallout (spatort)

knallender: postbote (spatort

Adams Hochzeit (spatort)

Ich habe keine Ahnung, wer schon hat 😅 tagge einfach mal @quelquunberlin, @forustothinkistobealive, @schuerk, @sinnsenke, @rekishi-aka

Natürlich nur, wenn ihr Lust habt, und alle anderen die Lust haben sind hiermit offiziell auch getaggt

#writing #tag game #das ist hier echt nicht meine Stärke 😅#aber klar #redet mit mir #vielleicht wird das dann mal wieder was mit dem Schreiben 🙈

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ua-alum-reunion-zine · 3 years

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CALLING BNHA FANDOM CREATORS!

Do you like BNHA? Do you like the canon students and alumni of UA? Do you want to create content for an AU in which the villains were students at UA instead of the canon hero class? WOULD YOU LIKE TO CREATE CONTENT FOR ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS IN ANY OF THESE SCENARIOS SET IN A FUTURE AFTER 1-A AND 1-B’S GRADUATION? If so, boy, have we got an opportunity for you!

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP FOR THE UA ALUMNI REUNION ZINE!

The UA Alumni Reunion is a SFW fanzine project celebrating the future of the BNHA series’ cast after their graduation! This digital zine is intended to show a love of the characters and their alma mater — or a scathing critique of it, if you prefer. (This zine is VERY villain-friendly!) We welcome fanart, fan comics, and writing submissions!

CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE ZINE, ZINE LEADERSHIP, AND SUBMISSIONS INSTRUCTIONS!

Or read the highlights of these topics under the cut!

Zine Leadership

This zine is organized by @siflshonen and @flawney. This is our first fandom zine together, but it isn’t our first fandom event together. We’ve organized two fic swaps for the MP100 fandom in the past. You can read more about us in the information document. Sifl is the main point of contact for writers and Flawney is the main point of contact for artists, though our duties overlap.

Zine Concept

This zine is focused on a glimpse of the future for the canon students, residents, and alumni (or those that could have been alumni in another life) of BNHA’s UA high school. As such, the focus for these pieces should be on the canon characters rather than OCs. We bring this up for two specific reasons:

Our goal is to celebrate BNHA’s characters. While the “alumni in the future” theme does alter them somewhat, we feel that focusing on OCs is just a little too far from the core concept of the BNHA series we all love so well.

For the purposes of this zine, we discourage “fanchildren-centric” subjects or scenarios where every character (the emphasis here is on this happening to EVERY character) is in a heterosexual marriage and saddled with children as they are at the end of other big shonen such as, say, Bleach or Naruto. If you aren’t sure what that means or need clarification, please see our FAQ section in this document or ask Leadership directly for more information. However, don’t let this detail discourage you from including ships! Ships of all stripes are allowed! If it’s SFW and focused on canon characters, ships are completely acceptable!

Schedule and Important Dates

Call for submissions opens: 2/25/22 (opened early ‘cause Leadership is ahead!)

Call for submissions closes: 3/25/22

Zine contributors accepted and notified: 4/9/22

Check-in 1: 4/22/22

Check-in 2: 5/13/22

Check-in 3: 6/17/22

Final submissions due: 7/1/22

Completed zine available: 8/6/22

Zine Distribution and Specifications

This zine will be digital only. As this is Leadership’s first fandom zine (and the team is small!) we feel this is the best and most consistent way to ensure all works are displayed to a high level of quality and easily accessible to all. (Shipping and production right now is kind of a nightmare, y’all.) Also, digital distribution means the final zine will be free!

Since exclusivity isn’t a draw and we aren’t creating this zine to raise money for charity or otherwise, we will also provide contributors the option to post their own submissions on their blogs/sites/Ao3 accounts after the zine is completed. (Creators can also tag this Tumblr on their pertinent posts to get them reblogged after the zine is complete!) On the flipside, by participating in this zine, you indicate that you as a contributor may not distribute this zine project for personal profits. (However, you can totally list it on your resume or CV as an anthology/collection in which your work is featured. If you feel it is appropriate to link to the zine on a portfolio site, you can do that, too. Just don’t take credit for submissions that are not yours, don’t put it behind a paywall, and don’t link your ko-fi/kickstarter/paypal/cashapp in the same space, and you’re good!)

There’s several more paragraphs on this topic in the information document, so we highly recommend you give it a read.

Applications

Applicants must provide a portfolio that best demonstrates what they intend to create for this project. This portfolio doesn’t have to be fancy! Acceptable portfolio submissions can include: a blog/social media page primarily featuring (easy-to-find SFW) art, a Google Drive link with relevant example work, sample Ao3 or fanfiction.net page links, or a personal website link. Remember: the key for submitting examples is clarity and accessibility. Please ensure that the links/folders/etc are functioning and that leadership has access to view the files. Any applications with work that cannot easily be accessed will be rejected. Please do not include NSFW works in your portfolio. This zine will also NOT INCLUDE: any content that has to do with rape, incest, gore (like, gratuitous gore. Some blood, cuts, and bruises are fine), homophobia, racism, pedophilia, etc. If you have questions, please discuss it with leadership for approval and clarification.

Applicants may apply for multiple roles, but ultimately will only be accepted for one position. However, should the need arise for more artists/writers as the project progresses, there may be some flexibility if contributors are willing to create more pieces.

Again: there’s more detail on this topic in the information document.

But if you’re ready to apply, CLICK HERE FOR THE SUBMISSIONS PAGE!

FAQs

Question: Is there an age requirement for submission participants?

Answer: No. All ages are welcome!

Question: Can my submission be traditional art?

Answer: Sure, so long as you can scan/clean/edit it to display cleanly and nicely in a digital space.

Question: What if I want to create content that doesn’t necessarily center around the UA student characters or Alumni but still involves UA? For example, what if I wanted to create content of an AU where the villains were UA students?

Answer: PITCH IT! INCLUDE IT AS A PITCH! We are open to more abstract takes on this concept!

Question: Okay, I understand you discourage fanchildren. But what about Eri? What if I want to do something cute with Aizawa/whoever-I-ship-him-with and Eri as a family? Or Mirio/whoever-I-ship-him-with and Eri doing something cute?

Answer: ERI IS A CANON CHARACTER AND A RESIDENT OF UA! This is allowed! Yes! Pitch it!

Question: What if I just wanna do a (SFW) pin-up of an adult Shinso (or whichever UA alum tickles your fancy) lookin’ hot and cool?

Answer: Totally. Pitch it. Keep it SFW and it’s a valid concept for this zine.

Question: I still have a question that isn’t addressed on this form.

Answer: Cool. To read a longer list of more detailed FAQs, check out the information document! If your question still isn’t answered, contact Leadership.

If you’re ready to sign up, CLICK HERE!

#bnha #bnha fanzine #heroaca #mha #bnha villains #bnha hero #izuku midoriya #toshinori yagi #endeavor #yuuei high

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mara-phelion · 2 years

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WIP Ask Game

i've been tagged by @sweetsilentsteps ! you don't know the gates of hell you just opened

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn't just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DnD campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

these are some of the wips and unfinished projects i have that i still hope to continue! most of these have been collecting dust in my documents but oh well

animus

i'm in love with a fairytale

the lost season

red

that one d&d inspired story

alien au

all we know is touch and go

the ak oc

amogus au

zootopia au

chosen subclass - cleric

the four pitchers of koolaid

i thought you were my wildest dream

enemies to lovers

hey mater

sending stone fics

dorym stuff

it's fearne calloway's world and we're just living in it

and for the tagging part,, yeah because i have more wips than i have friends i'm deeming the rule about it matching the amount of wips above something i genuinely, respectfully, comfortably can't do: @czpeterp @kindlingofsorts @artsystargazer @sailorspencer @thoughtsofmedottxt have fun!

#wip ask game #ask game #mara phelion: my fics #i'm that type of writer who procrastinates a lot but loves to daydream #so some of these documents may be borderline blank but i have files of them archived in my mind palace #also you don't have to feel required to do this it's just for fun :D!#AND FEEL FREE TO ASK ABOUT MORE THAN JUST ONE WIP TITLE I LIKE TO RANT ABT MY LITTLE BRAINROTS #mara phelion: tag you're it

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sweetsubharry · 4 years

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hiiii, do u have any fic recommendation for highschool aus?

Hiya! 💕 yes I do! It’s one of my favourite classic aus :) Just as a warning! There’s 36 fics under the read more tag so it’s a longer style post! I hope you like these! and just in case no one reads it at the end I’ll say it up here too! Make sure you read the tags and stay safe!

I was also unsure if any set in hogwarts counted? or any with a/b/o elements so I left them out but if anyone wants those too just send in an ask :)

You Can be My Cliche by DreamWeaver14

Basically Lou and Hazza are best friends and Louis is jealous and overly protective... But it all works out in the end once Lou and Harry have movie night. SMUT

Free with You Tonight by sunniskies

Harry's 16 and sophomore, Louis is a senior and his best friend, but somehow Harry's not sure that's enough anymore.

Essentially, high school au fluff involving first kisses and Niall mixing bad drinks.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

My love, he makes me feel like nobody else, nobody else by SilverShadow1

Harry was invited to a high school end-of-term party where he's ready to let loose, get drunk and perhaps regret his choices, or not.

The one where Harry screams, 'Daddy!' at a party and what follows is the best night of his life.

Kiss me by carebearlarrie

Where Harry does a TikTok challenge and kisses his crush (Louis) ft. sweater paw Harry.

Because We Can by KrisStylinson

Harry's the bizzare new kid who likes flowers too much, Louis' the epitome of punk who's not as smooth as he seems. Those two things shouldn't mix as beautifully as they do.

A nice, long journey through Harry and Louis' intersecting lives, starting with the day they meet in high school—including meddling friends, a Styles-Tomlinson family Christmas, a first time, and a couple's holiday in Paris.

You're Still The One I Run To. by brooklynbis

Harry's favourite weather by a mile was snow. There was something about the cold flakes of snow that was just so peaceful. The few times he had experienced snow, everything just stopped for a few days.

There was one thing Harry hated about the snow, however. Having to try and get home in it.

________________________

AKA it snows and Harry and Louis get stranded at college. Fluff and lots of cuddling ensues.

Way to Your Heart by fallenflowercrowns

High school AU, where Louis is in a band and Harry likes to come to the rehearshals for no particular reason. Punk Louis with a lot of tattoos and everything. Shy Harry with an angel face and not many friends. Strangers to lovers. Quick sex in the rehearshals' room (just handjob or blowjob) Happy end.

Harry pines but is oblivious, Louis is a punk with a big heart, Ziam shag behind everyone's backs and Nick is actually not in love with Harry.

All I want for christmas is you by Tita

The one where Louis is a pining punk, Harry is the school’s sweetheart, and a miss sent text at a Christmas party turns out to be the best possible present.

Can I Walk Your Cute Face To Class by orphan_account

It's Harry's first day of High School and he's nervous. He meets Louis.

They meet and they have lunch together but they don't actually eat anything. (and it's not because I forgot that's what people generally do during lunch.. not at all)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

All I Need is Oxygen (and You) by lululawrence

There are only two ways to navigate Bloomfield High School: become popular or make yourself invisible.

With the help of his best mate Niall, Harry’s introduction to high school hadn’t been half bad. Despite being a “bandie” – the lowest of the low in the ancient hierarchy of high school –Harry had somehow managed to survive freshman year relatively unscathed. So naturally, Harry would have been perfectly happy to resume his position of invisible trombone player number four for the remainder of high school. But one day something drastic happened, something that would change the course of Harry’s entire existence (probably).

It was the last football game of his freshman year, and the band was back in the stands after performing a rousing rendition of Bloomfield’s alma mater during half time. Harry was gracelessly wiping the slobber from the mouthpiece of his trombone when he saw him.

Louis Tomlinson.

Or...a High School AU where Harry is a bandie and Louis is the epitome of cool, so naturally, Harry must find a way to get his attention and win his affections.

I don't care where we go, just keep me close by Eversincefiveboys

Louis has to go on summer camp and he absolutely doesn't want to because he is 16 and too old for this. Then he meets the boy with the curls and the dimples and suddenly he doesn't want this camp to be over

Maybe it's All Part of a Plan by promisingstyles

Christmas High School AU. Harry is sick, Louis talks way too much and much too fast. They meet in the toilets.

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

All Part of the Plan by alwaysinmyheartlarry

Harry Styles is a member of the marching band who has an insane crush on Louis Tomlinson--the amazing senior who plays on the varsity football team at school.

We’re on Fire Now (And I Could Burn in it All Day) by orphan_account

“Thanks, Harry.” His voice is as soft as silk when he replies and Harry is so tempted to kiss him there and then, but would feel too much like he is taking advantage of Louis’ vulnerability in that moment. “Now let’s bake some fucking cookies.” He removes his hand and Louis lets go of his wrist, laughing. “Hearing you swear is so wrong. It’s like an angel punching someone in the face. It just doesn’t fit.” Harry gasps in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I swear all the time. I’m a right rebel.” Louis laughs again, bright and beautiful, and Harry smiles down at him.

A shameless high school AU where Louis is a footballer, Harry is a photographer, Liam is blissfully unaware and Niall is his usual self.

first position, the mood is set by hiswittlehands

Louis bites down on his lip. "You...god, they look so good on you. Shows off your arse and your...your thighs, Haz." He runs his hand along the skin there then, relishing how soft and pliant it is even with all the muscle. "They shouldn't have even let you play. Should, should have sent you straight home for...fuck, indecency or breaking the dress code or summat."

Or, I literally have no idea what the fuck I just wrote but it involves dodgeball, short shorts, and thigh fucking.

(i didn't mean to) fall in love tonight by zouisclimax

Harry texts him back a thumbs up emoji before leaning forward and throwing up again. He groans, but stands after he’s done, wiping his mouth with toilet paper, and flushing the toilet.

He washes his mouth out as best as he can before steeling himself and heading back to class, trying his best not to cry. He tells himself that there is no point in worrying when he doesn’t even know if there is anything to worry about yet.

He still feels sick.

[or, the American boarding school AU where Harry's infatuated with Louis and one night flips his whole world upside-down]

falling for you, i can't keep away by hegotthedagger

Harry wants Louis really bad and Louis might want him just as much.

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

Translation of the fic in spanish by @lachrimose_: click here (wattpad) In russian by Hewassixteen: click here (ficbook)

You Have Bewitched Me, Body and Soul, and I Love, I Love, I Love You by Storyofmythigh

Harry is quiet. Louis isn’t.

Louis hates reading. Harry loves words.

They find a way.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Kiss me (this feels like falling in love) by Ambros

- Five times Louis wanted to kiss Harry (and one time he did).

In This Light by kiwikero

Harry gets a position on the school yearbook staff, which is fine until he falls in love with Louis Tomlinson through the lens of his camera.

❤ For Effort by FallingLikeThis

When Harry Styles lets his team down during gym class, resulting everyone having to run laps, he expects the worst. But the backlash never comes.

Harry's crush, Louis Tomlinson, may or may not have something to do with that.

Last First Kiss by Kikacat

High School AU in which Harry is outed and can't work out why no one seems to care, whilst also dealing with his crush. Super supportive family and friends. Trigger warning for some of the social media comments Harry receives. If I've missed any tags, let me know

let me get your heart racing by orphan_account

Even asleep, Harry finds himself so hooked to this boy. It’s crazy. Months ago, Louis wouldn’t have noticed him. He’s just an ordinary guy, so that’s no surprise. And Louis... Louis is everything.

Harry leaves immediately.

or a highschool au where Harry's sure that Louis will never fall for him, and where he's also wrong.

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

Completely unaware (you make me smile) by deblond

Five times everyone thinks that Harry and Louis are dating (and the one time they are).

it's kinda hot in here by ballsdeepinjesus

“Is that a moth on your stomach?”

or nerdy harry is hiding some stuff under his dorky clothes and louis fucks him in a locker room

we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team by ellisaco

Harry's not very good at football, but he's aces at cheering Louis on.

Youth Meant to Be Beautiful by Turtles

Highschool AU, Louis is the footy captain and Harry is a cheerleader. Cliche ahoy!

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

The Birds Still Sing by orphan_account

The thing is, Louis thinks he already knows Harry's secret. He just doesn't know how to tell him he knows.

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Stay safe and read the tags guys!! ❤

#larry stylinson #larry #larry fanfic rec #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry stylinson fic rec #fanfiction #bottom harry #top louis #Lottie fic rec #ask lots

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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One Day - Part 12

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23 @winnsmills @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx @hopplessdreamer @dracoxxyoflam @cleopatera @hess016

(Sentimental A/N at the end)

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1587 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist

Enjoy!

3 May, 2012

Minerva McGonagall had decided that this year’s commemoration of the Battle of Hogwarts would be the best they would ever have. Those who attended had always made the it a very beautiful affair, yet it was, often than not, solemn and sad. Even if it felt like too much to ask for, the headmistress truly wanted the day to go be pleasant – a celebration of life rather than a remembrance of death.

The night of May the 2nd, Hogwarts opened its doors once again, this time for a feast. As the Great Hall filled with former students and other members of the wizarding community, excitement lingered in the air. It reminded McGonagall of the enthusiasm of first years. Everyone was dressed up in elegant robes, thrilled of reuniting with old friends and have – for once on this day – a good time.

Draco had never been to one of those ceremonies. Even when (Y/N) had insisted all of those years ago, he felt like it wasn’t his place to be. This year, though, he decided to go. He said it was for her, but in reality, there was a deeper longing to make peace with that place and the people he never had the chance to apologize to.

“We can leave whenever you get tired.” Even if he tried to hide it, the distress was evident in his voice.

(Y/N) gave him a reassuring smile. She knew that, even after the long process of recovery, he still worried about her. “You’re not backing up, love,” she teased.

He gave her a playful eyeroll in response. “We had a very intense day on that “adventure” with Scorp. I don’t even know why did I ever think that was a good idea. I don’t want you to strain yourself too much,” he said, holding her closer to him.

“You thought that was a good idea because you’re the best father ever,” she noted matter-of-factly, “and I’m not strained and we’re going to have a good time.”

“Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N) – Malfoy,” Headmistress McGonagall greeted them at the door.

(Y/N) smiled softly. After healer Malfoy had deemed her healthy for his standards, they had gotten married. It was a very intimate wedding with their closest friends and family in the gardens of Malfoy manor. They had adopted each other’s last name and made a point to be referred to as such.

“Where shall we seat, headmistress?” Draco asked.

“Wherever you see fit. No houses today,” she answered excitedly.

As they entered to the Great Hall, the couple was greeted with hugs and cheers. If someone had told eighteen years old Draco he’d have such a reception in his alma mater, he would’ve laughed. Through the years, though, most people had changed their perceptions of him. He was healer Malfoy, who would stay afterhours if it meant some comfort to his patients. He was the Malfoy heir who’d hand out donations for different charities without ulterior motives. He was a friend to a lot of his former “enemies”. He was Scorpius’ proud father and (Y/N)’s loving husband. Draco had finally redeemed himself and could walk through Hogwarts with his head high, even if it triggered some very unhappy memories.

Hermione was the first one to spot them. She waved at them and soon they were surrounded by the Potter-Granger-Weasley clan on the far end of the Ravenclaw table. (Y/N) spotted Luna and Rolf Scammander on the same table, as well as Hannah and Neville and Pansy, Blaise and Daphne. On the other side of the room, from the Slytherin table, Astoria and Theo smiled at them. From the Hufflepuff table, Ernie waved at her. He was sitting with Cho, Justin and Susan. She also spotted Seamus with his husband Dean, talking to the Parvati twins and Lavender Brown. (Y/N) felt like she was living one of those happy endings from the muggle movies they would occasionally watch. Sitting by her husband, surrounded by her friends, no fear and nothing but good news on their way. It was all a bit unreal, in the best possibly way.

By midnight, Harry and Headmistress McGonagall had delivered the speeches, they drank a toast to the fallen and the feast was already over. People were already leaving and those who remained were laughing and remembering their days at Hogwarts.

“Come with me,” Draco whispered in (Y/N)’s ear.

“Where?”

“Trust me,” he answered with a smirk.

They said goodbye to their friends and left the Great Hall. (Y/N) thought they would apparate back home, but Draco surprised her by pulling her towards the stairs. Her smile grew wide as she realized they were on the fourth floor and walking towards that windowsill that marked their lives forever.

They stood there, quietly for a second. Draco then climbed on it and opened his arms for her. (Y/N) chuckled before sitting with him. His embrace was gentler than ever. He had always treated her with care, but after the assault it had become ten times more delicate. As their limbs tangled together, as they did every day now, (Y/N) remembered more than ever that day fourteen years ago.

…

“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice was firm, but loaded with fear.

“Son, where are you?” Lucius seemed desperate.

Draco and (Y/N) were watching the sunrise, cuddling together. He was playing with one of her locks. At the sound of the voices he could distinguish very well, they – very much unwillingly – untangled their stiff limbs. He climbed down the windowsill and she stretched her arms. He found her adorable and for a second there he couldn’t believe they had snuggled all night long.

They looked at each other, like recognizing themselves for the first time. Draco thought that he might find rejection in her eyes, but he only found tenderness. And tenderness he gave back. (Y/N) was overwhelmed by such a strange mix of feelings. There she had the one and only Draco Malfoy, resident bully and death eater, smiling to her, watching her as though she was the most precious woman on earth. She felt like she should hate him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. One night of caresses and silent conversations had given her a whole new perspective on Draco and she wanted more of it.

As the voices came nearer, (Y/N) moved her hand to his hair. She smoothed it. Her touch was appeasing.

“Hey, Malfoy,” she said, a cheeky smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“I don’t hate you.” It sounded stupid once she said it, but it was also liberating somehow.

He smiled genuinely. “I don’t hate you too, (Y/L/N)”.

Soon, the elder Malfoys found the two teenagers holding hands. Narcissa eyed them carefully. Hadn’t she been so worried about Draco’s wellbeing, she would’ve smiled at such a heartwarming scene.

“Draco, let’s go,” Lucius called, his voice wavering.

Draco stood up straighter. He nodded subtly at (Y/N) and walked to his parents, ready to leave. The three Malfoys disappeared down the corridor, leaving (Y/N) to deal with the butterflies in her stomach. She turned around to face the sunrise again, wondering what she’d say to her friends.

As Draco walked with his parents, he couldn’t conceal the smile on his face.

“Who is she?” Lucius asked.

“She’s just a friend,” he answered, trying to be nonchalant.

“Yeah, just a friend,” Narcissa teased.

Draco stopped on his tracks. His parents looked at him, mocking smiles on their faces.

“Wait a minute, okay?” He hadn’t finished saying this and his feet were already taking him back to (Y/N).

“Hey! Long time no see,” she taunted as he stood, once again, in front of her.

“Would you give me your address? To owl you?” he asked hesitantly.

It warmed her heart to see him so disarmed and clumsy. She conjured paper and a quill out of thin air and copied her address. They looked at each affectionately. Draco leaned forward, their noses almost touching.

“Are we friends?” he blurted out. He cringed inwardly at how desperate that must have sounded.

(Y/N) closed the gap between them. It was a little awkward and incredibly sweet, just their lips touching, moving in synch at a very slow pace. (Y/N)’s hand travelled to his cheek, his fingers crawled to her hair. (Y/N) smiled into the kiss as she felt electricity running around them. Draco’s heart was about to leap off his chest.

When they pulled away, Draco pecked her lips softly a couple of times again until she giggled.

“Friends,” (Y/N) agreed happily.

…

“So, we really had our first kiss right here,” Draco said in awe.

“Are we friends?” (Y/N) mocked.

He placed a kiss on her temple. “Merlin, I don’t know, darling. What do you think?” his dashing smile warmed (Y/N)’s heart.

“Well, honey, I really hope we are. I don’t want to be running the (Y/L/N) – Malfoy quidditch team on my own,” she said. This was definitely not the way she wanted to break the news to him, but she figured it was more in their style.

It took Draco no time to register what she had said. He looked at her wide-eyed, completely at a loss for words.

“Seriously?” he asked, happy tears welling his eyes.

(Y/N) nodded vigorously. “No, no tears, my love. We’re very happy today,” she said as she sat up to caress both of his cheeks.

“I’m so happy, (Y/N),” he whispered and gently brought his hand to her belly.

They were soon cuddling again, waiting for the sunrise and feeling pure unaltered bliss.

A/N: This is the end. I hope you liked it! I really couldn’t kill reader, movie be damned. If you’ve reached this far, I really want to thank you. Thank you all for giving me love and support, for reading, liking, rebloging and commenting. Thank you for being kind to me.

My birthday is on Thursday (6 days after Draco omg) so I think I’ll be taking the rest of the week for myself and start posting again over the weekend. If anyone wants me to tag them in my next endeavours (a Draco x reader mini series from a request, a Draco x reader one shot and a Theo x reader one shot) just tell me!

My inbox is open for messages, requests, rants and any conversation you want to have.

Lastly, I’d like to say two things:

1. Trans women are women. We can enjoy the Harry Potter’s books, make sense of them whichever way we want them to, but we cannot take the authorship from J.K. Rowling. We must realize who she is and why she wrote what she wrote.

2. Black lives matter

Have a happy day and a happy life.

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dessarious · 5 years

Text

Transfer AU

So it looks like most people want to see Damian in Paris first. Thanks for all the feedback! Here’s some of my brainstorming. Any or all of this may change before or while I write but here’s what’s going through my head at the moment lol. I can go ahead and start a tag list too so let me know if you want to be tagged when I start posting the story.

The JL keeps hearing rumors out of Paris and while they don’t believe any of it they decide they should send someone to check.

Wonder Woman is adamant they send someone but refuses to say anything else because she believes that Miraculous secretes should only be shared by holders or the guardian.

Bruce uses this as an excuse to broaden Damian’s horizons (read force him to socialize) and sends him to Paris as part of an exchange program.

Damian’s host family is the Agrests. Adrien begged and Nathalie convinced Gabriel there was a slim possibility of it happening. And if it did they Adrien would be happy and keep them occupied.

Damian doesn’t particularly like Adrien at first.

He pretty much despises him once he gets to know him and stays away from the mansion as much as possible.

He hates the class.

He goes under Damian Drake (since Tim is usually too sleep deprived to give him too much crap over it) in order to not draw too much attention. Only Nathalie and Gabriel know he’s a Wayne.

When Lila starts lying to try and impress him he tells her in no uncertain terms that he won’t tolerate her BS. If she leaves him alone he’ll reciprocate. (At this point he thinks the entire class is on her side and straight up does not want to deal with the drama since he’s only there temporarily)

Marinette is still relegated to the back of the class and Damian ends up sitting next to her. She doesn’t really talk to him and he’s fine with that. She’s his favorite person in the class (not saying much) because she doesn’t bother him. It’s about a week before he pays attention to the classes attitude towards Marinette.

Marinette brings in croissants for everyone but Lila claims to have a gluten allergy and the entire class gangs up on Mari about how she’s trying to poison Lila after Marinette starts pointing out all the products with gluten Lila had been eating just that week. She claims they were all gluten free alternatives and the class buys it.

Damian goes down to Mari and grabs a croissant telling their classmates they’re all a bunch of idiots. Adrien tells him to just leave it alone, her lies aren’t hurting anyone, blah, blah, blah. Damian’s opinion of him drops even further.

He escorts Marinette back to their seats and they share the croissants meant for the whole class.

Now that he knows she’s not taken in by Lila they get to know each other and since Damian hates being around Adrien he spends most of his time with Mari. Once they’ve bonded a bit Mari opens up about everything Lila’s done and what Adrien told her. (Mari has lost her crush on Adrien at this point)

Damian starts planning where to hide bodies. Lots of bodies.

Instead he talks Mari into making a plan to expose Lila and she questions him about how Gotham’s heroes deal with their villains. Damian assumes she wants the information to take down Lila.

Hawkmoth has been mysteriously quiet since his arrival and the exaggerated accounts of the Akumas he’s heard from Adrien have left him less than impressed. Especially since all he seems to focus on is his crush on LB and how cool CN is.

Mari seems to be content to ignore the subject altogether.

So when an Akuma finally shows up in the middle of school and Damian loses track of Mari he’s extremely agitated.

He still does his job though and observes the fight. He’s impressed with LB’s intelligence and skill and down right pissed at Chat showing off and almost getting everyone killed.

When he tries to talk to Mari about it (praising LB) she gets all weird and closed off. He assumes she doesn’t like LB but doesn’t pry. In truth it was just so nice to have someone actually like her for her that she doesn’t want to hear him praise and fall in love with her alter ego just like everyone else.

The next time an Akuma happens Damian and Mari are together and she can’t shake him to transform,

Chat hasn’t shown up and she knows from experience he won’t make an appearance until she does. So she ends up transforming in front of Damian. Once the fight is over she makes him swear he won’t tell anyone then proceeds to avoid him for the next few days.

Damian finally says screw it and goes to visit her at night as Robin.

Chat shows up after they’ve been talking for awhile and gets really agitated by his presence.

He insists that he and LB can handle things just fine and gets really defensive when Robin starts asking him how they’re planning on taking down HM It never really occurs to Chat to question why Robin was at Mari’s house of all places.

Damian reveals himself to Mari because he trusts her and he knows exactly how alone she is on both sides of the mask and wants to be able to support her in every aspect of her life.

Mari is hesitant about bringing the league in and asks him to wait for her to talk to the Guardian to see what he thinks. Much as she would like the help her identity has already been compromised and she’s not sure if it's safe.

The Guardian wants to meet Damian

The next Akuma attack Robin shows up and helps LB. Chat doesn’t show up at all trying to prove the LB needs him. She doesn’t.

Mari takes Damian to meet Mater Fu and they agree that he should take over the Black Cat Miraculous. He’s also given permission to utilize his family to try and track down HM but not to bring in other members of the league at this time. Fu tells them who Chat is so that they can get the ring and Damian has to be talked out of strangling Adrien in his sleep.

Damian takes the ring and Mari is there as LB to tell Plagg what’s going on.

Damian keeps camembert at Mari’s place so Adrien doesn’t get suspicious. It’s not like he’s ever in the house anyway.

Plagg and Tikki are ecstatic that they get to spend so much time together. Plagg’s just happy his new chosen has a brain.

Damian proves to be incredibly efficient as the new Black Cat.

He tells his family about the situation, but only them. He starts utilizing their talents to try and track HM.

Mari has a lot of very detailed information about Akuma attacks that they give to Tim and Babs to analyze.

#maribat #miraculous dc crossover #marinette dupen chang #damian wayne #bffmaridami

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drlahlahroo · 4 years

Text

A Rare Case

( SNK / Rivetra / Veterinarian AU )

Chapter 1

/////////////////

She first saw him 2 years ago. Back then, she was on her 4th month as an intern in Trost Veterinary Teaching Hospital and had been assigned in the O.R., where she became one of the lucky few from her university to see him in action.

“They say he’s the best veterinary surgeon in Paradis.”

“But I heard he doesn’t do a lot of surgeries anymore, at least not as regular as most surgeons.”

“I heard it’s because he only takes up rare cases. None of those regular neutering and stuff. He’s just that great!”

“Well he did graduate top of his class back then. So he probably does more than just surgeries.”

“He’s pretty short though. I thought the Doctor Levi Ackerman would be some tall, beefy guy or something after I heard he performed a delicate cesarean on a Chianina cow by himself. Those things are massive, you know!”

“Petra, what do you think?”

Petra had hushed her fellow interns, opting to focus her attention on the ongoing surgery. She recalled looking down at the surgical theatre in wonder as he made one last clamp on a rather large vessel, before he raised a scalpel to make a long cut. Then he and the assistant across from him lifted the basketball-sized tumor from within the abdominal cavity of a Jack Russel Terrier.

No sooner after that, he was closing the dog up. He sutured very quickly – something her professor in surgery would surely argue against, as impatience would lead to ugly stitches and, therefore, ugly scars. But she had attended to that patient post-operation and found his stitches to be so precise and so perfect that it would heal as if nothing ever happened.

It was the fastest splenectomy Petra has ever witnessed in her entire life, especially on a high-risk patient. She never met another veterinarian who could beat his 2 hour and 32 minutes record.

She did come close though. 3 hours and 16 minutes on an almost similar case. Not that time should matter, as surgical success should not be solely based on speed, but it did catch the attention of her dean.

Less than a year after passing the board exam, she received an email from Doctor Erwin Smith, the dean of Veterinary Medicine from her alma mater, allowing her an opportunity to be part of the surgical department in Trost Veterinary Teaching Hospital, one of the top veterinary hospitals in the country. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

So here she is now in Doctor Smith’s office in her freshly pressed white-coat, with the name Petra Ral, DVM embroidered on the left breast pocket. They were going through some minor details about her employment when the door burst open and a rather short, dark-haired man stepped in with a scowl on his face.

“Erwin.” It was the first time she heard his voice. It was low and laced with irritation. “What’s with this new team your making that I have to lead and shit.”

“Impeccable timing, Levi. I’d like to introduce you to Doctor Petra Ral” Dr. Smith said with a smile, seemingly unaffected by the other male’s glare. “Doctor Ral, I’m sure you’ve heard about Doctor Levi Ackerman.”

Petra stood and turned fully to face Doctor Ackerman, smiling despite the intimidating stare he gave her. “Um…yes. I’ve heard many great things about you, doctor.” His scowl only seemed to deepen at that.

“Doctor Ral will be a new member of the surgical department. She graduated top of her class and is one of the best veterinary surgical interns I ever met. Quick, but precise.” At Doctor Smith’s praise, Petra dipped her head to hide a blush. She didn’t exactly think she was that great.

The blond veterinarian turned his attention back to the shorter male, who had crossed his arms over his chest. “Her skills almost remind me of yours, Doctor Ackerman. I was hoping that you’d handpick her to join your special team –”

“I don’t need a team.” Levi snapped back, cutting him off.

“A special team?” Petra asked, turning back to the dean.

“Yes. I wanted to form a special diagnostics and surgical team that would focus on high-risk and unusual cases. Something more in Doctor Ackerman line of interest.”

“And something I don’t need a team for. I’ll be fine by myself.”

Levi had walked closer to Doctor Smith’s table until he stood next to her, allowing Petra an up-close inspection of the well-renowned veterinary surgeon. She always thought he would be around her height based on when she first saw him, but it seemed that she was still a little shorter. He looked quite youthful for a man in his thirties, the only indicator of his age evident in the lines under his eyes. Either that or he just didn’t sleep a lot.

It was at this point that Erwin’s smile dropped. “You need a team, Levi. You can’t keep doing things by yourself.” He then reached for a folder on his desk and raised it for him to see. “I got you a case. It’s a referral from Doc Pixis. The patient and the owner are already waiting in Exam Room 8.” He then glanced at her. “I would like you and Doctor Ral to handle this one.”

Petra blinked in surprise. If this was a case meant for the Levi Ackerman, then surely it must be a difficult one. Something a fresh graduate like her would not be able to handle. “Doctor Smith, are you sure about this? I mean, I just started and I don’t think I have the experience to tackle such a case.”

“I trust in your capabilities, Doctor Ral,” he smiled at her, “I know you’ll do just fine. Hopefully, Doctor Ackerman will appreciate your skill sets as well, at least enough for him to be convinced that he needs a team.”

“There’s no need to tag her along, or anyone else for that matter. If I need someone, I’ll just call one of the brats.” Levi complained once again.

At that, Erwin stood, and he stood tall. Practically towering everyone else in the room. It rendered the other male into silence. Petra could tell that this was a topic the two have probably argued about for a long time now. However, she could understand why someone like Doctor Levi would be against the idea of putting up another team. It wasn’t exactly needed, and it was just going to be an extra expense in the hospital’s part. But it was always hard to say no to the orders of their dean. Besides, it was under his leadership that Trost VTH became the success that it is today.

The dean raised his arm, stretching out the folder in his hand towards the other male. “At least assess her competence, Levi. I’m sure you’ll see how she could be a great asset to this hospital.”

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him inspect her from head to toe with a grimace. He eventually clicked his tongue before snatching the case file from the dean’s hand. Petra watched as he flipped it open, then skimmed through the contents of the first 2 pages, before shutting the folder again. Then he all but shoved the case file in her arms, much to her surprise, before he turned to the door and exited without a word.

Confused, Petra looked down at the folder in her hands before turning back to the dean, who let out a sigh of exasperation.

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking her words thoroughly before speaking. “Uh…Is he always this…”

“Rude? Stubborn?” Erwin completed her sentence for her with an apologetic smile tugging his lips. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it quickly the more you work with him.”

Her smile dropped, “I don’t think he’s even interested in –”

“Oi.”

Petra quickly turned back to the door, where the dark-haired veterinarian was suddenly standing again. He nodded off to the direction of the hallway impatiently. “What the hell are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

/////////////////

Levi halted in front of Exam Room 8, holding back a grumble in his throat. From the corner of his eye, he watched the ginger-haired vet halt a meter away from him, the case file held over her chest. He turned to look at her and he thought he saw her flinch a bit. She was short, shorter than him, and for once he was glad to find another doctor in this damn hospital that he didn’t have to crane his neck up just to look at. Still, he wasn’t impressed. She looked young and inexperienced – the kind of girl who would rather hug and comfort a horse than drain the abscess from its infected neck. She could be the smartest student in her class but may lack grit in the field. Levi has seen so many veterinarians like her.

Turning away from her for a bit, he called out down the other side of the hall where 3 interns in scrubs were busy mopping near the lobby. “Hey brat.”

A dark-haired male looked up. His green eyes widened at the sight of the doctor and he almost dropped the mop. Petra watched curiously as Levi called him over and the intern stiffly stood between the two of them, his visibly taller height apparent. On his left breast, the name Eren Yeager is embroidered in striking white against his forest green scrubs, which were slightly wrinkled at the edges. She could see the slight apprehension in his features as he waited for the older vet to speak.

“This is Doctor Ral. She’s new. Assist her.”

“Y-yes, Doc.”

Levi handed him the clipboard that hung from the side of the exam room door. “Get the initial signalment,” he said, eyes narrowing, “Don’t fuck it up, Yeager.”

The boy nodded, nervously taking the clipboard before opening the sliding door enough for him to step in.

“Do you always intimidate interns like that?”

Levi turned back to the ginger. She had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at him, with a look of annoyance. He clicked his tongue, shooting back a scowl. “His handwriting is shit and he always make a mess in the workroom.” He then crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her pose. For a while, they exchanged glares.

Then he nodded his head to the direction of the door. “Well, get in.”

Petra blinked. “What?”

“I said get in. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance before turning to open the sliding door. She steps in just enough to notice the young male intern lift a golden retriever off the weighing scale, when she realized that Levi did not follow her into the room. She turned back to the open door to find him still outside, leaning on the door frame with arms still crossed and eyes closed.

Petra stepped back out the door and faced him. Levi noticed her presence enough to bat one eye open.

“Are you not coming in?”

“No.”

“You’re letting me do this on my own?”

He shrugged. “You interned here, didn’t you? You already know where all tools and the important stuff is. Besides that, you got your license now. Surely you know what to say and do.”

“Doctor Smith said we have to handle this together.”

“Erwin wanted me to assess you,” He uncrossed his arms, opting to slip them into the side pockets of his white coat, “So I’m going to assess you from out here. Now get in.”

She stared up at him with an incredulous expression, mouth slightly ajar. She eventually resigned herself to do the examination on her own, turning back into the room, but not before shoving the folder back at him in almost the same manner he did back in Doctor Smith’s office. She then raised her chin and entered the room, hoping the dog’s owner wouldn’t see the stress behind her smile.

The intern handed her the clipboard, and she gave a glance at the patient’s name in the file before she offered a hand to the older woman in the room. “Good morning, ma’am! My name’s Doctor Petra Ral, and I’ll be Sparks attending veterinarian.”

From his spot outside, Levi watched as the ginger vet performed the basics of physical examination: taking the dog’s temperature, checking the skin, eyes, and ears, running her hands through the fine golden fur and palpating for lymph nodes. All the while, talking animated with the owner, asking the necessary questions while the green-eyed intern wrote as fast as he could.

She had giggled along with everyone else in the room when the Retriever licked her cheeks in affection while she held the bell of her stethoscope to its chest. Levi then saw her squeeze the dog’s face, squishing it. The odd and funny face made everyone laugh. The dog seemed to enjoy the attention (as most dogs do), scooting closer to the female vet and laying its large head on the crook of her arm. The air in the room was calm as she continued with her ministrations. Even the intern, who normally stood stiff and awkward when he was around, visibly relaxed in her presence.

Soon enough, she began asking the more serious questions, and he could see the exchange of worried faces as the owner began to point out her complaints. Levi drowned most of it out. It wasn’t anything different from what he saw in the file from the referring vet: Malaise, continued loss of weight despite normal appetite, and abdominal enlargement with no apparent pain that was first noticed 2 months ago. He was more interested in hearing the tests she’d want to be performed.

“All right,” He heard her say after all questions were asked. He watched her hang the stethoscope around her neck and turn to the male intern, “Eren, let's draw some blood for CBC, creatinine, BUN, TP, and ALT. Then kindly get him to radiology for some abdominal x-rays in left and right laterals and dorsoventral views.”

The intern nodded and began to assist her in drawing the dog’s blood into a few tubes. It didn’t take her long to do the procedure. Levi has encountered many fresh graduates draw blood with shaky hands, but Petra was quick – not a twitch on her wrist.

Soon enough, Eren was leading the dog towards the door and he had to step out of the way as they exited the exam room and continue off towards the radiology department.

Petra made one last conversation with the owner, asking her to wait inside until the intern return with her dog, before she left the room with the tray of test tubes containing the dog’s blood samples.

Just as she slid the door close, she heard him speak, “Why ask for ALT?”

He was still leaning on the wall next to the door, scrutinizing her. She turned to him fully, one hand on her hip and that same exasperated expression on her face. “Well, if only you 'personally' examined the patient, then maybe you would have noticed the abdominal enlargement.”

“Then surely a simple radiograph would have sufficed, don’t you think?”

He saw her roll her eyes at him, which slightly pissed him off, because nobody rolls their eyes at him.

“Well, if only you 'personally' examined the patient,” she repeated with more emphasis, “then maybe you would have noticed that the abdominal enlargement is more prominent on the right side.”

“And you’re suspecting it’s the liver.”

“The liver’s in the cranial right quadrant of the abdomen, is it not?” She stepped forward towards him and, as if trying to match his intimidating air, looked up to see him eye to eye. Petra noticed his irises were an icy blue-grey, almost like steel. “Or do you need help in reviewing your anatomy?”

If he was upset at that, he didn’t show it. Instead he tilted his head to one side, eyeing her back. Levi finally got a good look at her eyes, which were a vibrant but fiery amber.

“There’s no jaundice.” He stated.

She raised an eyebrow. “How would you know that?”

He raised the folder. “It’s stated here. This is a referral remember? Maybe you should opt to read the case files beforehand to avoid wasting time repeating the questions the owner already heard from the last vet.”

Petra glanced up at the folder in his hand, biting her lower lip in annoyance at being bested and for actually forgetting to take a look at the file in the first place. But she still had one counter to his argument.

“Hepatomegaly doesn’t always present with jaundice.”

Levi didn’t change his expression, nor move at all. He did make a low hum, as if in thought. Petra took this opportunity to lightly snatch the folder from his raised hand. She tucked it under her arm and then turned away to the other side of the hall.

“I’m taking the samples to the lab.”

Levi lowered his arm and watched her go. Then he slipped his hands back inside the pockets of his white coat while the corners of his lips tugged upward slightly.

End of Chapter 1

(read Chapter 2 here)

Medical terminologies:

Signalment: the complete description of a patient, like species, breed, age, date of birth, sex, etc.

CBC (Complete blood count): a test to check for the number of red blood cell and white blood cell and other important blood values

CREA (Creatinine): A test that measures the levels of creatinine in the blood, which is a waste product when muscles breakdown. The test determines if the kidneys are functional and has the capacity to excrete the creatinine.

BUN (Blood Urea Nitrogen): a test that measures the amount of nitrogen in the blood, which is another waste product. The test also determines if the kidney is functional enough to excrete the nitrogen.

TP (Total Protein): a test that measure the total amount of albumin and globulin (both are 2 types of proteins) present in blood. It is checked when a patient has unexpected weight loss.

ALT (Alanine aminotransferase): a test that checks for liver damage.

Cranial Right Quadrant: The upper right side of the abdomen.

Jaundice: a medical condition that causes yellowing of the skin, whites of the eyes, gums and tongue, due to excess of a pigment released by a diseased liver.

Hepatomegaly: a medical condition of having an enlarged liver, which often presents as an abdominal mass.

A/N: This was the result of a request by @mare-dogs. And since I am an actual veterinarian, it was something I couldn’t refuse to do. So, I incorporated my professional knowledge and experience into this Rivetra two-shot. I’m also a big fan of House, M.D., so If you’re a fan as well, then maybe the flow of the story might seem familiar to you.

But damn, a medical themed story is really hard to write! Took me a while plotting how this would go, and I had to draw out old files of interesting cases I actually handled to make this feel more realistic. I also needed to review my books to maintain accuracy, especially with medical facts. I might make a few slip-ups here and there, but I’ll try to make it work.

There is no definitive schedule when the next part of the story will be published, but I’m already on it. So let’s hope I managed to get this done soon. So stay tuned. Until then, spay and neuter your pets!

#rivetra #levi ackerman #petra ral #veterinarian #fanfic #AU #attack on titan

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