#clocking in to collect my crumbs

[echofades]

PARKER & HARDISON - Leverage: Redemption | 2.01 - 2.03

[hier--soir]

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

[leezlelatch]

Lust in Your Eyes

18+ MDNI

The Cardinal waits for you in your room...but sometimes, he's impatient.

Directly inspired by my beloved @writingjourney's fic.

Filthy self indulgent smut, PLEASE see tags.

Copia x F! Reader - pervy Copia, scent kink, smelling of personal items, masturbation, desperation, breeding kink, explicit conversations, explicit thoughts, self-degradation, self-encouragement, possessive, going through personal items, using articles of clothing for masturbation, caught in the act, p in v, cunnilingus, praise, domination, loud Copia, loud reader, no clean up, teasing, fluff, endearments, exchange of I love you, talk of aftercare.

“Amore?” Copia questions, popping the door open and peeking around the wood. His eyebrows are raised, lips parted slightly, black smudged along the bottom from a day of pressing his lips together in concentration. His eyes briefly roam across the small expanse of your room in the residency hall of the Ministry, huffing a laugh when he spots the stuffed rat he bought you lovingly placed on a pillow in your bed. 

He pushes the rest of the door open enough to squeeze his body through, nearly hopping inside before shutting it with his bottom. He pockets the spare key and pulls out his phone, turning it over right side up. “Eugggh…ah! Here we go,” he grumbles, flipping it open. The screen lights up and he raises a hand. “Eureka!” 

He holds it away from himself and presses with a heavy gloved finger to open his messages, looking at the last text you sent him. 

Hi, sweetie. :) meet me at my room when you’re done? 

Copia smiles, the endearment, as always, warming his cheeks. You must be running a little late. He pockets his phone and rubs his hands together with a sigh as he glances around your room once more. He walks over to the small fish tank on your desk, bending over to peer inside at the betta fish relaxing amongst the greenery growing within the tank. 

“Hi! Hello, Big Betta. Where is your mama, huh?” Copia shrugs when the beta doesn’t respond and stands upright again, taking off his biretta and placing it on the desktop. He leaves through your record collection, making small noises of appreciation, just wasting time until he has you in his arms again. 

Abandoning the shelf of records, he sits down on your bed, running his hand across the comforter. With a sigh, Copia falls back, closing his eyes as your scent envelopes him. He turns on his side and follows the pattern of the bedspread with a single finger, a crooked smile on his lips as he thinks about the very naughty things the two of you have gotten up to in this very bed. 

He turns his nose into the soft material, taking a deep breath, his mouth falling open slightly. He turns onto his stomach, drawing his legs up as he skims the tip of his nose across the length of the bed, crawling forward until he reaches your pillow. 

“Amore mio,” he rasps, pants growing uncomfortably tight as he presses his face into your pillow. He rotates his hips, pushing the seam of his zipper into his hardening cock, a pathetic noise bubbling from his throat. 

Copia freezes then, the silence following his moan terrible as he realizes what he’s doing. The Cardinal heaves a frustrated sigh and drops his head into your pillow. The man is so desperate for you. He won’t deny that. Desperate for your love. Desperate for your body. Desperate for any crumb of your attention he can get. He spent the day half-hard after reading your text, eyes following the clock religiously, counting down the hours. 

The Cardinal is not ashamed of his lust, but…perhaps he shouldn’t be humping your bed when you’re not here. A slow smile lifts the corners of his mouth. 

Or at least, not here to see it. It wouldn’t do to waste his seed on anything that isn’t the temple with which he worships. Your beautiful body. Your tight pussy. Your womb which he aches to fill. 

Copia rolls onto his back and lets out a breath, staring at the ceiling. He grimaces, reaching down to adjust the insistent throb, fighting with his cassock. “Cazzo…,” he growls, sitting up and quickly unbuttoning the suffocating material, ripping it from his body. He nearly falls off the bed in the process, grabbing the bedside table for support. Your lamp sways violently and the few things you have on the surface shake and nearly fall off, but finally Copia throws the offending cassock to the floor. 

He turns toward the mirror nailed to the small piece of wall next to your closet and smooths his hair back. He stares at himself, running a hand across his soft stomach as he turns to the side, admiring the way his cock tents his pants. Copia chuckles softly and palms himself, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You’re a dirty old fucker, eh?” He sighs. “Satana, I need her so much.”

Copia checks the clock on your desk, eager for the time to pass. Missing you. Craving you. His entire body alight with the need to have you. Keep you tucked in his arms and in bed. Warm and soft and satisfied. He’d cook for you, care for you, ensure that his precious girl never wants for anything. You’re already his wife in his mind, Copia need only buy the ring.

He turns, idly debating on returning to the warmth of your bed when his eyes fall on the door to your closet. It’s ajar, the cut of the light from your room illuminating a few items of clothing which hang from the rack. Copia slips his fingers through the opening, teasing the door open the rest of the way. A shuddering breath pushes from his throat as the dress you wore to dinner last week reveals itself in all its sinful satin, hanging prettily as if it was waiting for him. 

Copia hastily pulls his glove off his hand with his teeth, tossing the leather carelessly over his shoulder. With a nearly shaking hand, he reaches out, pressing searching fingers against the dress, his senses burning with the memory of how it felt to rip it from your body. He’s surprised it survived, looking nearly picture perfect. Its only failure is that you’re not wearing it. 

Copia’s cock jumps, straining against his trousers. He whimpers, a small “mmm!” when he reaches down to unzip, his fingers brushing against the wet patch in his underwear. Copia pulls the dress from the closet with a frenzy, holding the hanger in one hand while the other frantically pulls down his underwear, letting his painful cock bob in the air, freezing against his heated skin. He lightly smacks it, watching with a groan as it bounces, the tip red with just the sweetest drop of precum pearled within the slit. 

He stands there almost unsure for a moment, eyes falling to your door and then your doorknob. Oh, if it turned right now. If you caught him. The thought makes him shake with need, and he toes off his shoes, kicking his pants and underwear off to the side. He leaves his socks, doesn’t bother to unbutton his clerical shirt, his only remaining thought being to fuck his cock into your dress. 

Copia drops to the floor, the floorboards rough on his knees. He groans, and then laughs, the sudden protest of his knees rocking him back to lucidity for a moment. Cardinal Copia, a devotee of lust. Horny and desperate and ready to pleasure himself with the memory of you, the scent of you, until he has you under him again. 

Where are you? 

Copia yanks the dress from the hanger, bunching it up in his hands and passing the cool satin across his thighs. 

“Oh…amore, la mia preziosa ragazza! Ti amo, ti amo cosi tanto,” he whispers fervently, eyes shut tight as he imagines you before him, wearing the dress he so violently clings to. 

He finally moves the dress higher, moaning low and deep, drawn out into a high pitched keen as he finally gives his cock the attention it so craves. 

“Copia?” Your voice cuts through his lustful haze, and Copia’s eyes snap open, falling on your surprised expression at the door. He stands up so quickly, he falls backwards onto your bed. The dress covers his weeping cock, the Cardinal looking a mess while splayed across your bed, cheeks red. 

It’s quiet for several moments. 

“Did I keep you waiting too long?” You ask softly, dropping your bag and moving toward the bed. 

Copia pulls the dress off of him, cock so hard it curves toward his stomach. “Look at what you’ve done, topolino. Your Cardinal hurts.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I should have hurried.” You pick up the dress, looking at it with a pout. “Were you going to cum on my dress?” 

“Of course not,” he admonishes. He sits up and curls a finger, smiling as you dutifully flock to his side. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, the scratch of his mustache a comfort to you. “Nothing wrong with a little…foreplay, sì? I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips meet, Copia hands insistent as he pulls you down to straddle his hips on the edge of the bed. Licking into your mouth, the man flips you, your back hitting the mattress. He ruts into your clothed sex, your surprised squeak swallowed by his mouth. He pulls away to nearly tear your leggings and panties off your body, flinging them into the open door of the closet so hard they rattle the hangers inside. 

Copia slides his hands up your inner thighs, spreading your legs to stare unabashedly at your pussy. “Surely I’ve been given favor by the Dark Lord…,” he murmurs, leaning in to drag two fingers through your folds, spreading your lips. “I’ve been waiting all day to taste you.”

His gaze flashes to yours, his lips pulling into a smirk as he gets comfortable on the bed, hooking his arms around your spread thighs. “Watch your Cardinal worship,” he whispers. 

He moans, loud and unashamed when your pussy flutters at his words, your slick rapidly sweetening his evening meal. “Don’t worry, dolce. I’ll fill that pretty hole soon enough.” 

Copia’s lips close over your clit and he sucks. His tongue flicks, curling around the sensitive nub. You buck your hips with a cry and he moves a hand to your belly to drop them back to the bed, pressing firmly. He keeps you there, attached to his mouth, laving his tongue over and between your folds, dipping into your entrance. His cock gives a powerful kick against the mattress as your walls pull in his tongue. 

“Your Cardinal knows,” he coos. Your answering whimper makes him smile. “Sì, sì, he knows.” 

“Copia, please,” you beg, rocking your hips into his face, trying to get that perfect nose to hit just right. 

This makes him laugh, “My eager topolino. I’m eager, too.” 

He kisses up your body, bunching your shirt in a hand as he drags it along. He fumbles for a moment, fighting with your bra, a few choice curses flying into the air before the bra also thwacks against the wall. 

“Oh, dolce,” Copia tsks, gently kissing the red marks left behind from your bra. “We will take a break from wearing that, yes? Find you something more comfortable. I can’t have you in pain…they must be so sore.” 

He lavishes attention across your breasts, alternating between sucking your pebbled nipples and gently soothing his tongue across the sore marks. The only marks on your gorgeous breasts should be from his mouth. Copia blows against the wet line of his saliva, a grateful sigh making your chest rise and fall from the cool sensation. 

“That’s my baby,” he murmurs. 

Copia glances down to where his cock rests between your legs, lifting his hips to drag it along your slick, a full body shudder wracking his frame as he moans. He reaches down to wrap long fingers around the length of him, pumping into his fist once, twice, a third time that has his toes curling in his socks. 

His eyes meet yours and he leans in for a gentle, lingering kiss. “Are you ready?” He asks, gaze adoring. 

“I need you,” you respond, tilting your hips up. 

Copia places his tip at your entrance, adjusting to bracket you between his arms, your breaths mingling from how close your faces are now. “Be my brava ragazza and take your Cardinal’s cock, hmm? Can you do that for me?” He whispers, rubbing his nose against yours. 

“Yes,” you gasp, feeling the stretch of him as he pushes into you, his cock filling you in a rush of perfection that has you crying his name already. 

His thrusts are messy. Stuttering. Copia struggles to find a rhythm, so overwhelmed by the feeling of you. His love. His soulmate. To be inside you is to know the euphoria of damnation. His hands slide under your body and he pulls you impossibly closer as he slides his legs under for leverage, pistoning into you. 

Copia’s own cries rival yours, filling the small space of your bedroom, the slap of your skin against his as delicious accompaniment. He collapses on top of you, still pushing, humping, grinding into your soaked cunt, his lips dragging along your shoulder, making a path to your lips. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, breathless. He claims your mouth, curling his tongue around yours while his hand reaches between your bodies to circle your clit. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pressed against his chest as your orgasm rips through you, your mouth caught open in a shout of ecstasy. Your hips cant against his, your hole spasming around his cock, milking him dry as he jerks, thighs trembling with his own orgasm. He screams into your skin, head buried in your neck, his hips making quick, tight circles as he rides out his climax. 

Copia rolls off, a heavy weight, arms hooked around you to make you follow so you’re both on your sides, legs intertwined. He places exhausted little kisses all over your face. 

“My heart. My love. My soul. My sweetheart. My future. My everything. Ti amo. Ti amo. I love you,” each of his soft words punctuated with a kiss. 

He tilts your face up with a gentle hand to your jaw, searching your eyes. You have to smile, the black make up encircling his eyes smeared all down his cheeks. “Are you okay, baby? Everything feels okay?” He asks, his voice sleepy and sweet. 

“Everything is perfect,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose that makes him giggle. 

“Eh…I’m going to feel that in the morning,” he chuckles, tucking you against his chest. 

“I should leave you waiting more often.”

Copia playfully growls, ducking his head to press a kiss to your lips. “Next time, I’ll get into your underwear drawer.” 

“No!” You giggle, pushing against him. “I already lost three pairs to you.” 

“Yes,” he says, nodding with a little smirk. “I confiscate. Too many things between my mouth and your pussy.” 

“Copia!” You gasp, your cheeks flaming as you fight a grin. “You’re awful.” 

“Ah, you love it,” he shrugs. His expression turns serious then, pleading as he looks at you, wrapped in his embrace where you belong. “You love me?” 

“Very much,” you murmur, pressing a hand to his cheek. “I love you so very much.” 

Copia turns his face into your hand, placing a kiss in the center of your palm. “We go to my room now, eh? A hot bath will do us both good.” 

“You’re gonna make me walk?” You groan softly, rolling onto your back as Copia makes to get up with a sore grunt. 

“You’ll thank me tomorrow.” 

You sit up, your muscles feeling thoroughly used, and make to grab a towel from your dresser. You can feel his cum smearing along your thighs. 

“No, amore,” Copia says, his back to you as he begins to dress. “That’s what the bath is for.” 

“But I still have to walk down to your room,” you say, turning to look at him, the towel clutched in your hand. 

“Yes, you do.” Copia pauses to return your gaze, expectant.  

You drop the towel, blushing softly, “Yes, Cardinal.” 

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Spoiling You With All My Might -- Comte Collection Story Translation

I've been meaning to post this one for a while, as it's honestly in my top ten Comte events of all time. For this Collection story event, it was basically all the suitors comforting MC when she's stressed/tired/overworked. And lbr, who doesn't need that in their life?

Enjoy everyone, and just a reminder that I'm no professional--I just translate these for my own enjoyment. Without further ado:

In the early afternoon, when the hands on the clock are pointing to 3pm-- I was alone drinking tea in a quiet kitchen. (I’ve been busy lately…I think I’m a little burnt out.) My cup of tea was already empty, but somehow I didn’t have the energy to stand up-- Comte: MC, are you taking a break? Turning around revealed Comte standing in the middle of the doorway.

Okay but like. I gotta say just the thought of him peeking around the corner is killing me, he's the cutest man alive I swear

But also. Now I'm wondering if he's lowkey like IS IT MEOW MEOW TIME? MEOW MEOW T I M E!!!!!! pounces on the opportunity for quality time. Somehow that's even more adorable I'm going to explode from uwus

MC: Indeed I am. Would you like to have some tea, too? Comte: That’s an attractive invitation, but if you don’t mind, would you spend some time with me for a little while after this? MC: Go out with you…? Comte: I’m thinking of going for a walk. Would you like to join me? His hand was outstretched in a gentlemanly gesture that touched/eased my heart. MC: Haha, I’d love to.

I laughed a little at this because I'm definitely the kind of person that's like "omg pls, you are not beating the silly goose allegations!!!" over him being all suave over a walk together but. At the same time. HEART EYES M-- King of romantics everywhere. Gentleman of my heart. Mellifluous seducer have MERCY

More under the cut!

Comte’s escort led me to a forest a short walking distance from the mansion. As I walk alongside him, the sunbeams penetrate through the trees as they sway with the breeze. Comte: The weather is lovely today, making it a perfect occasion for a walk. MC: You’re right…the wind feels nice, too. As I walked slowly listening to the rustling trees, I could feel the fatigue/tension draining out of me little by little. (It feels like my heart is being cleansed. It’s so soothing…) Comte: … It was then that I noticed Comte gazing at me calmly.

As somebody who used to be plus ultra literally every minute of my life, this made me so softe inside. The way he cares so much about her ;-; he really said "I will die before I disrespect a girlboss, but also. I am here. For to help PLS. Also a crumb of attention...p l swleseskje...."

(Ah…by any chance) MC: Comte Comte: Yes? MC: …You invited me out for a change of pace, didn’t you? Comte smiled softly at my words. Comte: I just wanted to take a walk with you like this.

I do love how, especially in recent events, MC notices his gestures more and more 🥺💛💛💛💛💛💛 I think it's really cute that he wants to be sneaky sweet and supportive, and whenever she realizes it he's like. C'est moi? You're not fooling anyone pretty boy!!! I know you have brain cells up there!!! But also the sincerity in that last line, of how he really does also just want to spend some time with her. How he's always saying the most wonderful thing she can give him is her time.

Just put my body out to sea I can't do this anymore--

I was enveloped in the sound of his voice, warming my heart, and my feet stopped involuntarily. Comte: MC? MC: Every time you treat me so kindly like this…I’m so happy I could cry Jokingly, Comte turned around and spread his coat. Comte: If you want to do so, that’s okay too MC: Huh… Comte: After all, there is no one here but us. If you want to cry, you can cry. Comte wrapped me gently in his open coat and murmured in my ear. Comte: Like this, there will be no trace of tears left behind. MC: Oh… (It’s okay to cry…that’s not something you hear very often when you’re fully grown.) (Just hearing him say that in such a sweet voice makes my heart feel lighter…) (Comte really is amazing)

Honestly this part just made me melt, I have no words--I'm down bad fellas. We love a man who encourages his partner that its safe to be vulnerable 😭🙏🏼

But also I feel the need to say. Comte don't offer this to me because from that point on I will live in your coat. It will no longer be 'Comte's nice coat,' but rather:

MC: Thank you. But…Aren’t you spoiling me too much? When I looked up and asked him, he leaned over to drop a kiss to my forehead… MC: Oh… Comte: I see. I think I don’t spoil you enough. Comte’s long fingers reached out to wipe my eyes gently. Comte: MC, I love everything about you. Comte: Your fatigue and your tears, don’t forget that it’s my privilege to soothe them with these hands. He gazes deeply into my eyes, and I can’t help how my heart races in response.

So like. Do you ever just cry and die. Because.

I'm like somewhere between "WE GOT A 2319!!!!!!!!!" and inches from professing my eternal love and loyalty like some kind of lovelorn knight too afraid to even touch the radiance of their beloved. Comte how on earth am I supposed to look at you without being blinded. Sun that's too bright!!!!! That's too b r i g h t!

I just. "Your fatigue and your tears, don’t forget that it’s my privilege to soothe them with these hands." [muffled wailing noises] Did I ASK--

Mfer out here like 'oh the terrible fate of being tied to me for eternity' meanwhile every second of being with him is either dizzyingly passionate or like being wrapped up in the warmest, fluffiest blankie imaginable. I HAVE TO S T A N SIR--

MC: Ah, if you spoil me so much, I’m afraid I won’t be able to do anything on my own anymore. Comte smiled a little as I laughed deceptively in the hopes of hiding how delighted I was. Comte: That’s great. I’d love to see that, myself. The fingers that had been stroking my eyes slipped down my cheek to touch my lips. Comte: If you can’t manage to walk alone--I’ll be there to hold you up, and walk alongside you. His sweet whisper ends when his lips gently cover mine. MC: Mn… In the midst of his enveloping kiss, I gently entrusted my body to the person dearest to me--

Can I just ?????? Say????? How much I love MC being teasing/catty with him as the events go on. I LOVE it here. I think I really like how she grows into her own strength, and how she feels comfortable expressing her shyness without ceding that integrity. One thing I've noticed that I love in relationships is this ability to air grievances in a playful way, where the stakes are low--but the person can still express their feelings and be comforted. I think I like how it's not about putting pressure on the person, but getting it out in the open and resolved all the same. It just fills me with warm fuzzies c:

Also. "If you can’t manage to walk alone--I’ll be there to hold you up, and walk alongside you." Like not to beat a dead horse, but wow. Pretty sure this metaphysically changed me as a person. Thanks, I will never be the same. True love exists, [unhinged barking noises], etc etc

[opposums-love-arson]

Scream Queen Book 1: Conventional Final Girl

Chapter 3

Chapter 2 / Chapter 4

Stu Macher x Reader x Billy Loomis

  Once we got off the bus a few people said bye to  Sid and I. “Can you check the mail?” Sid asked, I can see why she wouldn’t want to. “Mhm,” I said as she walked ahead. It was as empty as Michael Myers’ soul. I instantly zipped upstairs and to the bathroom, “Calling dibs on the shower!” Nothing followed, wow not even a small ‘Whatever!’. 

  Once I was out I pulled my hair up into the towel and wrapped another one around me before heading to my room. Maybe I was just a bit too paranoid after today but I thought I heard something coming from the living room. “Hello?” I asked, no answer. “God if this were a horror movie I would be so dead…” I trailed my words just like I trailed the weird noise, quickly snatching up a vase from the hallway. I crept down the stairs and to the living room when I heard a crash. I jumped out ready to hit the culprit! Only to find Sidney picking up the phone. “What the hell are you doing?!” She exclaimed, obviously shocked to see her usually collected sister wielding a vase above her head. “I thought you were the killer!” I shouted, trying to keep the laughter of this humiliating moment at bay. Both Sid and I busted out laughing before she said, “I’m going to call Tatum now, why don’t you go get dressed and make some snacks?” Of course I was going to do what she said, she was doing me a favor for many things. 

  In the kitchen I still felt a little uneasy, like someone was just lurking around the corner ready to stab me from behind. “I’ve been watching too many horror movies…” Then I stopped to think for a minute. “Well actually the last movie I watched was Psycho with Stu and Billy when they invited Sid and I.” I know I’m just talking to myself as I make peanut butter sandwiches but who doesn’t? “Ya’ know honestly if I could’ve I probably would’ve kissed Stu, right in the scene where Norman is cleaning the hotel room but he’s completely oblivious to the newspaper carrying all the money. Much like Stu is completely oblivious on how to go about things correctly…” 

  My little monologue must’ve sucked me in a little too much considering I didn’t hear Sid laughing on the couch. “Oh my god, don’t do that! You scared me!” I shouted in total shock just holding up the kitchen knife, bread crust crumbs still covering the blade. “Are you all packed for tonight?” She asked me as she put her things together. “Uh good question,” I said as I put down the plate of PB&J’s on the coffee table. Sidney turned on the tv and started skimming through the channels as I ran up the stairs. Every channel she landed on was talking about the murders. 

  Coming back down the stairs I ran to the living room where Sid placed her things, not even noticing her in the other room until I went down the hallway. “Hey Sid-” Oh, she’s asleep, seems like she just fell asleep too. I quickly grabbed a blanket for her and laid it over her as she snored a little. I take this time to go to the living room and catch up on some sleep of my own. The past few nights have just been feeling weird and off so I’ve been staying up late.

  When a loud ringing from the other room blairs through the house I jolted up, ready for action! That was until Sid picked up the phone. 

“Hello?” She groggily asked.

“Who is it?” I whispered as I peaked out from the wall. 

Completely ignoring me, Sid takes hold of the small clock on the side table and says, “It’s past seven.” 

“Ugh oh that’s comforting,” She said to the person on the other line. At this point I’m pretty sure it’s Tatum. 

I sit down on the couch swinging Sid’s legs onto my lap. 

“Whatever, just hurry, okay?” Sid said, stifling a laugh before hitting the end call button and placing the phone back on it’s base.

I looked over to her and asked, “So what was that about?”

“Hmm? Oh i-” Before she could even get a real word out the phone rang again. 

When Sid picks up the phone she immediately says, “Tatum just get in the car-”

Now that I’m closer to her I can hear the other line and that definitely doesn’t sound like Tatum. 

“Hello Sindey,” A familiar oddly pitched raspy voice called to her. This made me roll my eyes, the boys again. 

“Uh hi, who is this?” She asked, moving her legs and sitting upright. 

“You tell me,” He says in a nonchalant tone. 

“Well I have no idea?” Sid said, her voice starting to quake a little. I’m tempted to just take the phone from her and yell at the person on the other end. 

“Scary night isn’t it? With the murders and all it’s like right out of a horror movie,” His words slither out, creepy and cold like ice. 

Sidney’s expression lightened as she said, “Randy you gave yourself away, are you calling from work cause Tatum’s on her way over.”

Walking around her I go turn on the lamp when I hear, “Do you even like scary movies, Sidney?” That’s the worst question to ask Sid of all people. 

“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice Randy, it’s sexy.” Sid says, her own voice going a little deeper. 

Now this made me laugh a little, “Randy and the word sexy in the same sentence, now that’s weird,” I said just above a whisper. 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, this made me roll my eyes since he asked me the same question last night.

“Oh come on Randy, you know I don’t watch that shit.” She said, fidgeting around in her stance now. 

I myself felt offended and shot her a look, this made her throw up her one free hand. 

“Oh why not, too scared?” ‘Randy’ asked. 

“No no, it’s just- what’s the point, they’re all the same,” She said as she threw her arm outward, “Just some stupid killer stalking some big breasted girl who can’t act. Whose running up the stairs when she should be running out the front door, it’s insulting.” 

They’re not all like that, I think to myself 

“Are you alone in the house?” ‘Randy’s’ question made me stand up straight and look over at Sid. 

“Randy that’s so unoriginal, I’m disappointed in you,” She said looking over at me as she faced the window at the back of the couch. 

“Maybe that’s because I’m not Randy.” He said, I could feel my heart beat pick up… this is getting a little too close for comfort. 

Sid gets up from the couch placing her hand on her hip and asks, “So who are you?”

“The question isn’t who am I, the question is where am I?” The caller said, okay now this isn’t good. 

Snatching the phone out of Sid’s hands I aggressively asked, “So where are you?” 

“Your front porch,” The caller said as if he were still talking to the same person. 

Staying in the same spot but keeping an eye on Sidney who was no doubt going to the porch I asked, “Why would you be calling from our front porch?” 

“That’s the original part,” he says. 

“Oh yeah? Nice fucking try.” I said as Sidney opened the door, “Calling your bluff.” 

“So where are you?” I asked, feeling the wind from the cold night already telling me Sid was outside. 

“Right here.” The caller said, startled, I spin around only to be met with empty space. 

Walking to the porch myself I asked the caller, “Can you see Sidney right now?” 

“Uh-huh,” he says in confirmation. 

“What is she doing then? Hmm? Tell me,” I said. If it weren’t such a serious situation I would’ve gotten the camera at the sight of Sidney picking her nose. 

“HELLOOO” My big sister called out. 

“Nice try Randy, tell Tatum to hurry up. Bye now” I chimed to the other line with a giggle escaping my throat. Sid linked arms with me.

“If you hang up on me you’ll die, just like Sidney’s mother!” The caller shouts, loud enough for Sidney to hear right next to me. 

We both freeze in our tracks equally scared and appalled by the words that just left his mouth. 

“Do you want to die, (y/n) , her mother sure didn’t?” They asked me. Sid’s grip on my arm tightened. 

“Fuck you, you creep!” I ragefully whispered into the phone. I rushed both Sidney and I into the house before locking the door. That wasn’t enough though since the supposed caller jumped out of our closet. Sid and I ducked but not before he landed a blow on her. Not on my sister you don’t! I hit him on the back of the head but this caused him to turn around and shove me back, making me hit my head and everything started getting dizzy. The killer was on top of Sidney before she kicked him off. As fast as she could she grabbed me as I was trying to open the door, not realising it was latched. 

  Running up the stairs with the killer on our tail Sid flung me into her room first before she did the same to herself and closed her door. The great thing about Sidney’s room is that her bedroom door and closet door were right next to each other so if the closet door was open the bedroom door couldn't. The killer did his best by swinging his arm trying to attack Sidney and I. Doing the smartest thing I could right now I picked up the phone and dialed 911 while Sid failed at shutting her window. To no avail though, the phone line was dead. Sid pushed me aside and went to her computer inputting the numbers 9-1-1. Then it stopped, the killer was gone. 

  A loud thud at Sidney’s window sill startled us before we realized who it was. “Billy!” Sid exclaimed, relieved to see her boyfriend. I just stood there with my guard still up..

“The door was locked, I heard screaming, You alright?” He asked Sid as he looked over at me. 

“The killer’s here, he’s in the house.” She said as she hugged Billy tight, sobs just releasing from her mouth left and right. 

“He’s gone, he’s gone.” Billy cooed into her ear as she hugged him. The expression on his face gave me goosebumps. 

All was fine until Billy dropped something… a small black compact cell phone. Oh shit. 

In a mad frenzy I rush towards Sidney tearing her away from Billy’s grasp and run out of the room with her hand in mine. 

“Wait, Sid, no! Wait wait wait! (Y/n)!” We heard Billy shout as we reached the front door. 

Sydney opens the front door in a hurried panic and we’re met with that same white ghostly mask again! We both shriek out in pure terror! And so does… Dewey. Nevermind the day is saved…

  It felt so surreal to be sitting here on the tail of the ambulance with Sid while Billy is getting forced into the back of a cop car. They just got done checking me and Sid for any bruises or contusions. Billy wailed for Sidney much like the car sirens wailed to alert danger. Walking up to us the sheriff said, “Well, we’re seeing a lot of you today.” Then Dewey spoke up asking, “You girls going to be able to come down to the station and answer a few questions?” 

“Oh shit, Sydney, (y/n)!” Tatum’s voice made me pop my head up. Happy to see a face we can comfortably trust. 

“God I’m so sorry I showed up late,” Tatum continued, holding Sid’s hands and cupping my face. 

“Tatum you can’t be here it’s an official crime scene.” Dewey said as he grabbed hold of his sister to escort her away. 

“No!” I shouted, everyone looked in my direction before Sid said, “It’s okay.” 

“Their parents are out of town, alright? They’re staying with us tonight.” Tatum said as she scoffed at her older brother. 

“Does mom know?” Dewey asked, for what reason? I’m not sure. 

“Yes dufus,” Tatum said, pretty sure she just wanted to get us out of there at this point. 

I could see the Sheriff holding the costume the killer wore as Sid and I got into the back of the car. This has officially become the most terrifying night of my life. I grabbed onto Sidney’s arm for comfort as she petted my hair on the way to the station. As we were about to pull away from our house a news van came rolling in. Out hopped none other than the devil herself, Gale Weathers. We could hear her call out for Sid as we drove away. 

[mayfieldss]

Fake - Isaac Lahey | Part four

series masterlist!

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Kissing woo yeah

AN: the reader is so dumb in this chapter good lord poor Isaac.

You decided upon keeping your expectations low. You didn't know what Isaac had planned, were walking in blind to something you had no control over. The best thing for you to do was expect the worst, so as the clock ticked over to the hour eight, you walked toward the school’s field, envisioning the worst that could happen.

The floodlights were on, their brightness providing you with a clear path to Isaac, who stood in the middle of the field beside what looked to be a blanket. As you got closer you noticed a basket by his feet, like one from old stories of little red riding hood.

"Isaac, what is all this?".

The boy smiled, though you could see the nerves seeping through his confident façade. "If we're going to do this, we may as well have fun with it right?".

It was then that you frowned, though, a smile was threatening to creep upon your lips "If we're going to do what?".

Isaac took a few steps toward you, grasping your hand before leading you toward the blanket, "Date," He paused letting out the smallest of chuckles, "Or at least pretend to".

He gestured then for you to sit, and when you did, he followed suit, getting comfortable on the blanket. The night air was cool, and you hadn't at all dressed for the weather, but Isaac seemed to notice, pulling another blanket out from nowhere.

"Here" Isaac handed you the material, and though you were still confused beyond that of proper thought, you accepted it, draping it over your shoulders and pulling the edges close to your chest.

"I still don't understand Isaac" Your words came laced with the bewilderment that you felt, and you watched as Isaac reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"It's a date, kind of, or whatever couples are supposed to do".

You couldn't lie about the fact that your heart skipped a beat at his words, thoughts blurring at the thought of Isaac organising a date night just for you. For your counterfeit romance.

"Whatever couples are supposed to do?" You were cautious with the question, head tilting involuntarily as you eyed Isaac with a thousand thoughts in your mind. He just nodded before pulling out another blanket for himself. You didn't know how you hadn't seen the pile of things before, but you couldn't help but smile at all the random objects behind the boy. Isaac packed for every situation and your heart warmed at the thought.

"So, what's all this?" you made your best attempt at breaking the silence, a smile still hanging on your lips as you gestured to the things surrounding you. Isaac watched as you moved, eyes shifting to everything he'd brought with him.

"Well, it was supposed to be a picnic," Isaac picked up the basket and flipped up the lid to reveal two bags of chips and one of the packaged cakes from the grocery store beside two plastic forks. "But I also brought games, you know, for if we got bored talking to each other".

You let out a laugh, lifting the cake from the basket and removing it from its packaging. "I could never get bored talking to you Isaac". He passed you a fork as you spoke, eyes reflecting the floodlights.

"Did you want to play a game anyway?".

-

The two of you decided upon battleships and wrapped in blankets you fought each other with your plastic boats until all the cake was gone, and all that was left of the chips were crumbs. You stayed on the field with Isaac until you were yawning, body pleading for sleep, and it was then that Isaac packed up the game, to your protest, insisting that he get you home before the sun started to rise.

"Well, you were cheating anyway Lahey" You quipped to which Isaac turned to look at you in mock offense.

"I was not".

Rolling your eyes, you picked up the empty picnic basket as Isaac finished collecting his array of items, all of them packed into a bag at his feet. "You could totally see where my boats were" crossing your arms you waited for Isaac's response, to which he gave you in no time.

"Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I'm just really good at battleships?" He took a step toward you, abandoning the bag at his feet with a grin. He was relaxed now, not at all the tense boy he had been at the start of the night.

"Isaac Lahey? Beating me at a board game without cheating? I don't think so". It was then that Isaac shook his head, a laugh escaping him before he grabbed you, pulling you into his chest. You laughed with him, trying and failing to wriggle away from his hold.

"Admit that I won fair and square, and I'll let you go"

You looked up at him, frowning as you feigned deep thought, "How about no?" You smiled before slipping free of his hold, dropping the basket as you leapt away from him with a laugh. His face contorted in surprise before he readied himself for the game, giving chase as you ran across the field. Of course, Isaac caught up to you in no time, but you liked to think you put up a good fight as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for the second time that night.

Spinning around in his embrace you refused to give in, grinning wildly as Isaac stared down at you. "You still cheated Lahey".

Isaac didn't respond, eyes locked on yours as if it was the last time, he would see you. As if he wanted to commit you to memory. The closeness of your bodies was distracting, but nevertheless, you wanted to ask a thousand questions, try to understand what was happening. Isaac beat you to breaking the silence with a sentence you never thought you'd hear.

"Is it okay if I kiss you again?".

Isaac was still looking at you, eyes scanning your features as you shifted your gaze to the surroundings. The place was empty, save for the wind and the cold nipping at you through your clothes. "There's nobody around". Your voice came quiet, carried by the breeze as it waved over the both of you on the field.

Isaac smiled then, only slightly, but it held the hint of confidence that had been missing from before. He shifted his eyes from you for a bare moment, taking in the empty school buildings some distance away.

"You never know when someone's watching, they could be in the trees for all we know" but the school was empty and so were the trees, except for a few tired birds waiting in the branches. You knew that, and Isaac did too, but somehow you found yourself nodding.

"Okay".

Isaac shifted, his arms circling your waist "So, can I kiss you again?" His voice was soft, telling you you could say no if you wanted to, giving you the option to back away from all of this and carry on like normal. Though, none of this had been normal in the first place. None of it made sense, but somehow, you found it in yourself to speak.

"Yes Isaac, you can".

Isaac needed nothing more, placing his lips on yours within seconds, bringing you closer than you ever thought possible. It was exciting, kissing him with no one around to witness, just you, the boy you'd loved for years, and the floodlights of the lacrosse field. One arm around you and holding you to him, his other reaching up to cup your cheek through the kiss, Isaac warmed you more than any blanket could in the cool night air. Pulling away for air was the greatest crime, and though breathing was nessacary, Isaac hardly seemed to think it worth it, eyeing your lips even as you parted for breath.

"This is great practice" You were panting through your words, air sucked from your lungs at the excitement of what you'd just done. "You know, for when we have to kiss in front of people" You paused, letting yourself exhale before finishing your sentence "for the plan".

Isaac didn't seem to be listening, out of breath himself, but he couldn't remove his eyes from you. "I just need one more" his voice was a mere whisper as he pressed his lips to yours again, smiling when you draped your arms over his shoulders.

-

Kissing you was Isaac's new favourite thing. It was as if you mended all his wounds with one press of your lips to his, creating a whole new world for him to explore. He was calmer, more sure of himself. Kissing you was something Isaac couldn't get enough of, and as you pulled back for air once again, he wondered why he'd never done it before. You were beautiful, like a thousand stars compressed into one person, beyond anything Isaac deserved. Maybe that had been a part of it, his not feeling good enough pushing down everything that would have made him want you, out of the fear you wouldn't want him the same. Or maybe he had lost all sense until this moment, only now coming to understand just how perfect you were for him.

"I really like kissing you" The words slipped from Isaac's lips before he could stop them, your laugh pairing with the words as they reached your ears.

"I really like kissing you too Isaac" You were smiling, and Isaac loved that he had made it so, the sight of your lips upturned in a grin that matched his own, beyond anything he could ever want.

"What happens now?" Isaac had to ask, even though there was a little voice in the back of his mind begging him not to. Insisting that he wouldn't like your answer.

"Well, we've had our practice, so I guess tomorrow we try the real thing" your arms were still over his shoulders, the weight of them comfortable and something Isaac didn't want to forget.

"What exactly is the real thing?" Isaac feared he knew the answer and once again the voice in the back of his mind was ripping its way to the forefront of his thoughts. He couldn't let it win, because that voice couldn't be telling the truth.

"Allison is the real thing Isaac".

Isaac let his heart drop from his chest, trying to steady his breathing as the reality set in. It wasn't real to you, all that had happened tonight. The voice in the back of his mind had been right. You didn't want him as anything other than the friend he'd always been, and though he'd tried to show you how he felt, the plan was all you assumed his efforts were for.

It made Isaac mad, just slightly, at the fact he couldn't bring himself to correct you. To tell you that Allison didn't matter to him anymore. He wanted to say it, to kiss you again and show you that he didn't want to pretend. Somehow, the smile on your face and those doubts that surfaced, the ones that told him he wasn't enough for you and never would be, pushed back everything he wanted to say, until he was nodding.

"Yeah, the real thing".

-

The next day was torture. Isaac lay in wait for the disappointment that would be when he saw you, the way it would mix with his newfound feelings. His anger at not being able to tell you how he really felt combined with that burning passion that begged him to hold you in every passing moment.

He met you at your locker, like you'd planned the night before as he walked you home, even then he had sensed something in you, disappointment similar to that of his own. Maybe it was because he wasn't a good kisser, though your heartbeat hadn't indicated anything close to a lie when you told him you liked kissing him just as much as he did you. It was all so confusing, and Isaac could hardly bear it.

"Hey" Your voice was cheerful, and Isaac forced himself to copy your demeanour even though it hurt him to do so. You took his breath away, and you were in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans. There was nothing extravagant about your outfit, nothing to make him look at you in the way he was, but you yourself were the spectacle Isaac couldn't pull his eyes away from. Everything he wanted and more stood before him, and he had to pretend he didn't desire you at all.

"Hey, you ready?" Isaac forced himself to ask the question and you nodded, though Isaac could sense something else there. He couldn't question it more as you grabbed his arm, Allison close approaching. She was still as gorgeous as before, but Isaac wasn't pulled to her like he had been. Nevertheless, he followed the plan made the previous night. As Allison came down the hall still not having given either of you a second glance, Isaac leant in to kiss you.

He got lost in it as soon as his lips met yours, the warm feeling from the night before returning with the force of a hurricane. Soon, he had his arms around you, your body pressed up against your locker as your lips melted into his own. He wanted to savour every piece of it, the feeling of your cheek against his palm, the small of your back against his hand as he gripped you tight. Just like always, it ended all too soon, and Isaac was brought back to the reality that was. It wasn't real, all but an act for someone he had long ago lost interest in. The fact that he wanted you and nothing more wasn't enough to please whatever gods Isaac found himself praying too, and it tore him up inside.

When Allison passed, Isaac turned to you, not trying to hide his lack of interest in the Argent girl. His eyes were on you, and he couldn't think of anything else he would rather look at. "It really sucks wanting someone you can't have".

Isaac watched as you nodded in understanding, sensing something like sadness within you before you sent him a sweet smile. "I know, but Allison is into you, I can tell".

Isaac wanted to shout, to scream that the one he wanted, the one he couldn't have was standing right in front of him, but instead he pulled you into his side, your arm sliding around his waist as you walked down the hall together.

-

AN: not happy with this, but alas it's here.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreads

TEEN WOLF TAGLIST: @arignipanja574 @noonesheren @multiplefandommess

[emyluwinter]

If you play, seen or heard Twisted Wonderland the White Rabbit Festival have you seen Decue mom if kind hot if was guy marry her or ask her out.

Always it's cute that yuu knows how to play bugle

Hello, my dear!

Sorry it's going to be a long post, I just want to discuss this event.

Yes, I am following the latest updates of the game! This event is charming from which side not to look. There are many references to Alice and the white rabbit. A whole city dedicated to him and the clock! I wonder if there are still cities that carry the "symbol" of a particular character from Disney cartoons. Ace's hometown is the city of "magicians"? Magic artisans? Or the most ordinary city? We need a separate book with more extensive information on the TWST world and characters.

A funny detail, but the event begins with "being late", just like the appearance of the white Rabbit from Alice, who was also in a hurry somewhere and was late.

OH YES!! I was pleasantly surprised that they showed us Mrs. Spade!! Because of the problems with the difference of languages, I can't be sure how to pronounce and write her name correctly. Dilla? Dira? Someone suggested that this is a reference to "Dina" - the cat that Alice had from the cartoon. (It remains to wait to see the rest parents…)

June - a month when they were preparing the documents for marriage with the young (fairy General Gunster) Lilia Vanrouge. July - the month when everyone wants to marry Mrs. Spade. Ahahaha. August - who will be next for the bonds of marriage and a happy family life?

Now we know that Deuce inherited his beauty from his mother. I think her hair is "Highlighted" if I remember correctly, and not gray. Maybe Deuce used the paint when he was a bully that his mother had. Because the color is very suitable. And she has an ear piercing! Quite non-standard for a lady and I really love this detail.

I still laugh so much when someone of the authors tries to "bring together" Lilia and Mrs. Spade. Due to the fact that both cherish their children and they both single parents.

I completely agree that this amazing woman deserves all the best. My favorite part of the event is where she tells all the awkward moments from his son's life.

DEUCE WAS TELLING ABOUT YUU GRIMM AND ACE TO HIS MOM!!

*SOLEMNLY* AND I TOLD YOU THAT THESE TWO TELL EVERYTHING TO THEIR FAMILIES!! It warms my heart so much.

No one can convince me that Deuce spent a lot of time at his Mother's work when he was little, and most likely sat on his mother's lap while Miss Spade had a break and "imagined" that he was a truck driver. Even if the engine is turned off, Dilla removed the keys and Deuce did not reach the pedals with his baby feet. To the little "rabbit" Deuce was definitely having fun.

I love it so much when Toboso-sensei introduces female characters to the plot. And they blow up the fandom brighter than any overblott. Give me a game/manga/comic by Tobosa-sensei with a purely female collection and I can retire.

Oh yes!It was a bit unexpected! Because the official information about the gaming Yu is very small. Literally collecting bread crumbs among wheat..

I think this is some kind of reference. Even a few!

Mickey Mouse could play a lot of instruments.

The piano appears quite a lot where (Azul would be surprised), there is also a trumpet and a horn, a violin (Hello Malleus)! And a lot of other tools. For example, in the 1931 cartoon THE DELIVERY BOY, Mickey plays the trumpet and Piano. (funny reference because Mrs. Spade works in delivery)

And he could also conduct an entire orchestra!

"Music" unites everyone regardless of any differences among people. Just like Yuu, they have the ability to "unite" and force NRC students to cooperate. It is a very good comparison that each instrument must follow a single musical note and the instructions of the conductor in order to create a symphony or music.

It could also be a reference that Yuu could have learned music from the Ghosts from the dorm. The same 1937 cartoon Lonely Ghosts.

The ghosts played wind instruments and a drum.

If you look, you can find so many references that the head will go rough.

It will be extremely funny to find out that Yuu is easily given to learn any musical instruments, and Azul could not get this ability.

I will add from myself, this is purely my invention. The game Yu has the following skills.

-Photography, very good pictures. Even won the second place in the competition! (Personal history of Rook card from the Portland event) -Repair and creation of things - guest room. You need to have a good enough imagination to create things. -Cooking - Chapter 7 Yuu mentioned that they often cooked in their dorm.

-Music. - the current event and the event with Epel. -Painting. - I'm haunted by the easel in their bedroom. Most likely they draw well.

[iphisesque]

hi gio can you please direct me to some jjk meta? honestly I did not notice the grooming thing with gojo and megumi and I want to talk about it with my mutuals, but none of them seem to have even considered this theme as well, I tried searching through the jjk tag but you and your circle are the only people talking about it 😩 also is it really true that gege said he hates gojo?

hi dear! starting from the easier question here, haha — gege has made reference to his dislike of gojo on several occasions, both in-story and in extra material! there's constant remarks in the text and paratextual materials on gojo's terrible personality and his creepiness and how much other characters dislike him (like nanami or utahime, characters gege writes as sensible and reasonable), and gege himself often makes sarcastic comments about gojo, i remember when gojo won some type of valentine's day contest in shonen jump gege's only comment was "well, i guess he's not dead yet" LMAO. i have seen some people say that in japan this type of needling from an author to a character can be considered a form of respect, but im doubtful as to how much water that holds, so take all that with a grain of salt.

as for the meta — i assume you mean meta about the relationship between gojo and megumi, of which there is a sore lack on tumblr! the jjk fandom on here is quite monotonous and self-righteous and it tends to coagulate around stsg, itfs or self-insert ships, and there's not many people who write meta in general (the most notorious one being lele of tempenensis), let alone meta for a "problematic ship" that doesn't have a large presence here in the first place. i myself emigrated to twitter to find more meta or analysis posts on gojo and megumi, where i encountered the proship side of the argument, or the people who are actually hardcore into shipping gofushi as a normal hot dreamlike couple while completely ignoring its canon aspects (here is why i don't "ship" gofushi); that said, there's a lot of people over there, even shippers, who are invested in dissecting their canon dynamic, such as seaurchincage who writes threads explaining nuances in japanese, or this specific thread by s0ftymegumi which is fairly thorough in collecting all the crumbs of gojo and megumi characterization. unfortunately there is no great big tumblr meta that i know of explaining why and how gojo groomed megumi yet, though we should probably write one at some point, but as you well know you can find a lot of smaller posts about it browsing me and my mutuals' jjk tags; it might seem silly, but the best advice i can give you is to reread jjk with this interpretation in mind and you will start noticing a lot of things to support it — this goes for anything really, i clocked the grooming subtext on my first read but i didn't clock the sukufushi subtext until my reread when i was already partially skfs-pilled.

[darkaviarymc]

this series is filled with so much divorce energy already. suffering from the consequences of double life... and dl ALREADY had enough divorce in it

OMG, when Joel killed Etho's cow and Jimmy shouted, "Sorry, Rancher!" as they ran away... I had to pause the video and collect myself for a moment. Just... ghhaahh!

At least Impulse and Bdubs' divorce was somewhat amicable with the clock, but I have a feeling that won't last.

And then there’s Desert Duo my beloved. My beloathed. I will scrounge for whatever crumbs, good or bad, I can get.

However this plays out, I will be WRECKED at the end. Fuck, I'm already wrecked.

[cherrycolafairy]

(Promises in Limbo)

There is solace in knowing that to love and be loved, is to rest. To be from this world but not of it, you must retire from your circus, there's so much to fight for, and to say that beautiful things don't fight for attention. What a hoax.

Maybe you can go one day or a week or few months without depending on strangers on the internet to feel better about yourself. Living invisibly, forgotten, like the dead. Wait for me, let our connection build slow and live forever.

I think a fourth wall is broken when you wake up and remember your dreams, call it delusion or a prophecy. A familiar face wasn't it? The streets in my hometown are never really safe. Even the numbers on the clock become signs when you're waiting for someone endlessly, unabashedly, foolishly.

I used to just know but now I'm not sure, I use to try frantically, dancing like a mirrorball with my head under water to amuse my love interests, to be in your presence and have your eyes was enough, collecting bread crumbs of romance, and putting them in time capsules, because wanting was enough, for me it was, but now I just wait. Detaching, a menace first and a woman second.

Nothing that was ever mine, could be stolen, because you don't pursue promises in limbo. That's just the way things go. What day of the week was it? What year? life is about talking to your best friend on the phone and what there is for dinner. How long will this last?

There is solace in knowing that to love and be loved, is to rest.

[modularelevatormanufacturing]

Ghosts of Christmas Elevators

Ghosts of Christmas Elevators - With this Thanksgiving being one of the weirdest in holiday history, I felt moving right into Christmas was a great idea. By the way, be patient I will get to elevators. One of my favorite collections of holiday movies comes from the time tested Charles Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol. Whether it is Bill Murray in Scrooged, George C. Scott, Reginald Owen or Scrooge McDuck it is a great story. It tells of a bitter, greedy and disillusioned Ebenezer Scrooge and the four apparitions that visit him. The ghosts are charged with the last ditch effort to reclaim Ebenezer's soul from an eternal, tortuous walk in chains around the earth as penance. It is a story of hope and reclamation. “I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate." Marley said. But would Scrooge heed the words of the mercurial spirits that came to sway his life decisions? Can You Change? We all would like to think that we have the ability to change our minds or reform our thinking. However, part of the appeal of Scrooge is it hits closer to home that we would like to acknowledge. Ultimately, we all tend towards intransigence in our lives. Unfortunately, much like the lead character of the book. We walk the same paths, and make the same decisions over and over. In other words, we start doing something a certain way and there we are, stuck in the mud just like good ol' Ebenezer. Change? Bah-humbug! In my shortened version of the "movie" in this blog, I get to play the part of Marley. There I am wandering about with an over-sized ring of elevator keys jangling from my waist as I materialize in your presence. "You will be visited by elevator consultants of the past, present and future at the stroke of one, two and three." I moan with my mouth agape. Unlike in the classic you get to decide whether you will change your mind or perspective on the past, present and future of the elevator industry, and thank goodness not the fate of your potentially wandering soul. And so it begins. The Clock Strikes 1 As the clock strikes one, you feel a nervous sweat drenching your brow. What will the early morning hold for you and your visitors or was the first visit all a dream just brought on by a bit of "undigested beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese or a fragment of an underdone potato"? Could it all be true? But then with great fanfare enters the Ghost of Elevator Consultants Past. This jovial spirit reminds you of the elevators of years ago and how you were once filled with joy at the prospect of considering new and exciting technology in the industry. Thinking outside of the box was a delight. Now it seems the business is the same old, same old, cut and paste and you are part of it. The life of exploring a better technology and improved methods was not something to hide from just a few years ago; it was something to embrace leading to newer and better. You are then shown through the spirit, that the old-fashioned conventional elevator model as a broken down relic of times past and a new faster, safer, greener and less expensive alternative, off the building project's critical path is available if you are willing and able. You are reminded that elevators have not changed in how they are built since the 1860's...or have they? 2 AM - Ghost Number 2 At the strike of two the Ghost of Elevator Consultant Present takes you by the hand and whisks you away to elevator projects in the midst of the building process where unsafe conditions of heavy lifting, scaffolding in hoistways and open shaft entrances make for unnecessary injuries. On that conventional job-site the sounds of drama and argument fills the air as bickering constantly exists between various trades. They squabble over pit ladders, electrical runs and limited site storage. But, then in a flash, you see with your own eyes a complete elevator set in place (hoistway and all the components installed inside) in a couple hours, up and running in a couple of days. No arguing, no waste and no unsafe conditions. You can't help but shed a tear over the waste of time, materials, general costs and resources when you compare one with the other. Last But Certainly Not Least Finally, at the strike of three the third ghost appears. He quietly points a bony finger to the factory where modular elevators are manufactured. You effortlessly glide overhead to see there is less waste and more efficiency. The team on the factory floor work together in harmony on the production line with jigs, templates and quality control measures that ensures a plumb and square hoistway every time and easy installation of components. The only heavy-lifting is done by cranes and forklifts making everything safe and easy. Time then passes forward in a blur revealing the elevator being trucked to a job site and swung into place. The process is done in a flash; safer, faster, greener and less expensive. Is this future just a dream? As you and the apparition drift weightlessly over the job site and back towards the factory, you see smiling faces of the elevator technicians, the building owner, the architect the project manager, and GC. They have seen all the benefits of the high-quality commercial elevator made in a most unconventional way. Modular elevators have changed their lives for the better. It is a reality. You release the robe of the last phantom and realize it is again the present day and now you recognize where he has placed you, at the door of MEM the most experienced and best modular elevator manufacturer in the world. Now the choice is yours, do you reject the past and embrace the future of building today? It is not too late! You still have time! Merry Christmas! And if you choose modular as it says in the Christmas Carol (with my changes), "some people may laugh to see the alteration in your thinking, but let them laugh, and heed them little; for you were wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset." But in the long run they and others as well will come to know that for any low or mid-rise building a modular elevator is the absolute best choice. If you are curious, but don't want me to show up in your bedroom with three ghosts or if you are ready for a change feel free to contact us for more information. And for a Fast Track budget number click the button below. Hope you liked the story! - Happy Holidays from your MEM - Quality elevators taking you to a higher level. Request a FAST TRACK QUOTE Read the full article

[luminary-sunflower]

Journal, 12/8/2023 (cw grief, climate change, animal abuse, child abuse, religion)

I can barely remember any gifts I got except for a few - my 13th birthday, for example, I got Hunger Games in an accidentally large print. It was how I realized I actually had astigmatism because it made me start reading again (much easier). I also remember really liking Webkinz and Littlest Pet Shops. Isn't it weird? How so much of our childhood is defined by our toy franchises but when you're an adult you don't even remember the toys you needed so badly? Actually, I still like Littlest Pet Shops and collecting stuffed animals. I follow some on Tumblr. But I feel like there's a big gap there where it actually wasn't all that important. 

When I think of times I remember most vividly and fondly, it's incredibly boring. I mean that in a good way. I miss sitting on the porch with crackers and a pull tab of tuna, sharing with the stray kitten I had named Billy Joe from Green Day. Before he destroyed it in a fit of rage for BJ using the plot as a litterbox, planting the tomatoes with him was a bittersweet memory. I wonder if he ever regrets how good of a child I could have been if he was safe enough to be around. If you walked towards the cows in the summer after a long rain, you'd have to be careful not to step on any tiny baby toads (the size of fingerprints) hiding in the grass. It makes me upset to think about all the dragonflies, cardinals, salamanders that are dying off. 

I guess it is the animals I remember most. You can still go outside but it feels lonely. When I wanted to end my life, I would sit outside and see all of these animals living and just living for the sake of living, because they hadn't forgotten life was good. How we're killing ourselves. Pesticides and pavement are terrorism. You can only take so much you know. Before you want to go back home. And you know where home is. And you know it looks different now. And yes you'll find joy away from it because you have to, because you don't have a choice. I'd like to think if heaven is being outside without ever being cold or thirsty. 

I would love a job like that. Just the gardener, the tender. Taking care of all of the Earth and the lonely, curious spirits within it. A little less than an angel is all I'd have to be. No one thinks of animals when they read "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares". But I see clips of videos of people rescuing deer from their antlers tangled in fences and that's what reminds me. 

Wouldn't that be such a thing to do? To be an angel and disguise yourself as an animal to ask for mercy? God already did that as a human being. 

What are we doing? Why are we so cruel, not even cruel, but just apathetic? I am not alone in remembering the family and love of wildlife. Even those who say they want to protect animals in the highest think of humans so bitterly. We aren't supposed to be this way. It isn't hard to understand. That's why it hurts. That's why it all hurts. If we believed this is how it ought to be, then no one would be sad over it. We're sad because part of us knows better. We are killing ourselves just as much. There isn't going to be a time when climate change and mass extinction doesn't end the lives of human beings. We're not going to live happy, productive lives without our family. I can't tell you how empty it feels to sit outside to eat without a bird nearby asking for crumbs. I still think of the bee who took my tea as a friend.

I'm not supposed to have an alarm clock. It's supposed to be a Kentucky warbler. 

Do you think people are afraid to believe in God because it means they have to accept the things they've done to creation? As not meaningless, as the horror it is, the horror humanity is capable of against it? To each other? Nihilism would be so easy, wouldn't it? You don't have to mourn a thing. You don't have to accept responsibility... It meant nothing. I think every human dying means the world. It means we failed the world we had. 

You know for the longest time I hated Jesus. Because I was jealous. Honestly. I can say that now. I like to say it, maybe I crave humiliation. 

Let's take everything at word and there was a man who suffered as much, but it was for a good cause. Was my suffering meaningful? What did I sacrifice for? At least Jesus had "good damage" as Diane from Bojack Horseman would say.

I have to believe that despite all I've suffered I have an opportunity to use it for good. To waste it on pity or ending my life would be selfish. It was just an example maybe. We can give it meaning too. We have that right, don't we? Because if we take it at its word: "to the extent that you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to Me" that would mean Jesus already suffered what I did. And that sounds a bit silly, but let's explore how everyone hates themselves! It's natural. Treat yourself as you would... a good friend...

Why would my mom's ex husband poison Jesus' beloved kittens? But he did. And that's the only answer I have. But he did.

I have nothing to be jealous of. It was already done, at the same time. 

That makes it easier for me to conceptualize just how cruel those things were. To beat a dead horse, a dead man, a dead God. To harm a child. You were already forgiven for it. Why must you make it worse? Why must you bury the hole deeper? Can you not appreciate the grace you've been given? The opportunity to have a family...to have me. To have me as your child with all I know now I have to offer my loved ones. I could have been loved by you. But you wasted it because you... Did. You wasted it because you did. I will never know why.

Did it go something like this, though, I wonder:

I have plenty of towels so I will spill as much as I want. 

I have plenty of thread so I will tear as much as I want.

And to that I would respond: “A blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it.” 

And 

You didn't not expect for the tools you put your faith in to be used to heal you. You're the one who has to live with what you've done. I've hurt people. And I've hurt the ones I loved most. I know forgiveness the worst pain. I can only beg for it now. I am the one who has to live with what I've not done.

I'll never see BJ the kitty again. I am so happy I have met him. I'll never see my pappy again. I am so happy he took care of me when his son couldn't. That was all I needed to get where I needed to be. And I have to have faith in that.

[total-lost-boys-simp]

SCREAM QUEEN Book 1: Conventional Final Girl

Okay so basically let’s just cut to the chase, the main character “(y/n)” is Sidney Prescott’s little step sister, yeah? Well what happens when she takes Sid’s place as the final girl? A whole lot.

Disclaimer: this follows the movie very closely with little change other than the reader insert portions, so like I’m not trying to be like “Oh yeah this is all me” bc it’s not (RIP Wes Craven 😔🙏🏻🕊⚰️)

—————

Chapter 3

—————

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Once we got off the bus a few people said bye to  Sid and I. "Can you check the mail?" Sid asked, I can see why she wouldn't want to. "Mhm," I said as she walked ahead. It was as empty as Michael Myers' soul. I instantly zipped upstairs and to the bathroom, "Calling dibs on the shower!" Nothing followed, wow not even a small 'Whatever!'.

  Once I was out I pulled my hair up into the towel and wrapped another one around me before heading to my room. Maybe I was just a bit too paranoid after today but I thought I heard something coming from the living room. "Hello?" I asked, no answer. "God if this were a horror movie I would be so dead..." I trailed my words just like I trailed the weird noise, quickly snatching up a vase from the hallway. I crept down the stairs and to the living room when I heard a crash. I jumped out ready to hit the culprit! Only to find Sidney picking up the phone. "What the hell are you doing?!" She exclaimed, obviously shocked to see her usually collected sister wielding a vase above her head. "I thought you were the killer!" I shouted, trying to keep the laughter of this humiliating moment at bay. Both Sid and I busted out laughing before she said, "I'm going to call Tatum now, why don't you go get dressed and make some snacks?" Of course I was going to do what she said, she was doing me a favor for many things.

  In the kitchen I still felt a little uneasy, like someone was just lurking around the corner ready to stab me from behind. "I've been watching too many horror movies..." Then I stopped to think for a minute. "Well actually the last movie I watched was Psycho with Stu and Billy when they invited Sid and I." I know I'm just talking to myself as I make peanut butter sandwiches but who doesn't? "Ya' know honestly if I could've I probably would've kissed Stu, right in the scene where Norman is cleaning the hotel room but he's completely oblivious to the newspaper carrying all the money. Much like Stu is completely oblivious on how to go about things correctly..."

  My little monologue must've sucked me in a little too much considering I didn't hear Sid laughing on the couch. "Oh my god, don't do that! You scared me!" I shouted in total shock just holding up the kitchen knife, bread crust crumbs still covering the blade. "Are you all packed for tonight?" She asked me as she put her things together. "Uh good question," I said as I put down the plate of PB&J's on the coffee table. Sidney turned on the tv and started skimming through the channels as I ran up the stairs. Every channel she landed on was talking about the murders.

  Coming back down the stairs I ran to the living room where Sid placed her things, not even noticing her in the other room until I went down the hallway. "Hey Sid-" Oh, she's asleep, seems like she just fell asleep too. I quickly grabbed a blanket for her and laid it over her as she snored a little. I take this time to go to the living room and catch up on some sleep of my own. The past few nights have just been feeling weird and off so I've been staying up late.

  When a loud ringing from the other room blairs through the house I jolted up, ready for action! That was until Sid picked up the phone.

"Hello?" She groggily asked.

"Who is it?" I whispered as I peaked out from the wall.

Completely ignoring me, Sid takes hold of the small clock on the side table and says, "It's past seven."

"Ugh oh that's comforting," She said to the person on the other line. At this point I'm pretty sure it's Tatum.

I sit down on the couch swinging Sid's legs onto my lap.

"Whatever, just hurry, okay?" Sid said, stifling a laugh before hitting the end call button and placing the phone back on it's base.

I looked over to her and asked, "So what was that about?"

"Hmm? Oh i-" Before she could even get a real word out the phone rang again.

When Sid picks up the phone she immediately says, "Tatum just get in the car-"

Now that I'm closer to her I can hear the other line and that definitely doesn't sound like Tatum.

"Hello Sindey," A familiar oddly pitched raspy voice called to her. This made me roll my eyes, the boys again.

"Uh hi, who is this?" She asked, moving her legs and sitting upright.

"You tell me," He says in a nonchalant tone.

"Well I have no idea?" Sid said, her voice starting to quake a little. I'm tempted to just take the phone from her and yell at the person on the other end.

"Scary night isn't it? With the murders and all it's like right out of a horror movie," His words slither out, creepy and cold like ice.

Sidney's expression lightened as she said, "Randy you gave yourself away, are you calling from work cause Tatum's on her way over."

Walking around her I go turn on the lamp when I hear, "Do you even like scary movies, Sidney?" That's the worst question to ask Sid of all people.

"I like that thing you're doing with your voice Randy, it's sexy." Sid says, her own voice going a little deeper.

Now this made me laugh a little, "Randy and the word sexy in the same sentence, now that's weird," I said just above a whisper.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" He asked, this made me roll my eyes since he asked me the same question last night.

"Oh come on Randy, you know I don't watch that shit." She said, fidgeting around in her stance now.

I myself felt offended and shot her a look, this made her throw up her one free hand.

"Oh why not, too scared?" 'Randy' asked.

"No no, it's just- what's the point, they're all the same," She said as she threw her arm outward, "Just some stupid killer stalking some big breasted girl who can't act. Whose running up the stairs when she should be running out the front door, it's insulting."

They're not all like that, I think to myself

"Are you alone in the house?" 'Randy's' question made me stand up straight and look over at Sid.

"Randy that's so unoriginal, I'm disappointed in you," She said looking over at me as she faced the window at the back of the couch.

"Maybe that's because I'm not Randy." He said, I could feel my heart beat pick up... this is getting a little too close for comfort.

Sid gets up from the couch placing her hand on her hip and asks, "So who are you?"

"The question isn't who am I, the question is where am I?" The caller said, okay now this isn't good.

Snatching the phone out of Sid's hands I aggressively asked, "So where are you?"

"Your front porch," The caller said as if he were still talking to the same person.

Staying in the same spot but keeping an eye on Sidney who was no doubt going to the porch I asked, "Why would you be calling from our front porch?"

"That's the original part," he says.

"Oh yeah? Nice fucking try." I said as Sidney opened the door, "Calling your bluff."

"So where are you?" I asked, feeling the wind from the cold night already telling me Sid was outside.

"Right here." The caller said, startled, I spin around only to be met with empty space.

Walking to the porch myself I asked the caller, "Can you see Sidney right now?"

"Uh-huh," he says in confirmation.

"What is she doing then? Hmm? Tell me," I said. If it weren't such a serious situation I would've gotten the camera at the sight of Sidney picking her nose.

"HELLOOO" My big sister called out.

"Nice try Randy, tell Tatum to hurry up. Bye now" I chimed to the other line with a giggle escaping my throat. Sid linked arms with me.

"If you hang up on me you'll die, just like Sidney's mother!" The caller shouts, loud enough for Sidney to hear right next to me.

We both freeze in our tracks equally scared and appalled by the words that just left his mouth.

"Do you want to die, (y/n) , her mother sure didn't?" They asked me. Sid's grip on my arm tightened.

"Fuck you, you creep!" I ragefully whispered into the phone. I rushed both Sidney and I into the house before locking the door. That wasn't enough though since the supposed caller jumped out of our closet. Sid and I ducked but not before he landed a blow on her. Not on my sister you don't! I hit him on the back of the head but this caused him to turn around and shove me back, making me hit my head and everything started getting dizzy. The killer was on top of Sidney before she kicked him off. As fast as she could she grabbed me as I was trying to open the door, not realising it was latched.

  Running up the stairs with the killer on our tail Sid flung me into her room first before she did the same to herself and closed her door. The great thing about Sidney's room is that her bedroom door and closet door were right next to each other so if the closet door was open the bedroom door couldn't. The killer did his best by swinging his arm trying to attack Sidney and I. Doing the smartest thing I could right now I picked up the phone and dialed 911 while Sid failed at shutting her window. To no avail though, the phone line was dead. Sid pushed me aside and went to her computer inputting the numbers 9-1-1. Then it stopped, the killer was gone.

  A loud thud at Sidney's window sill startled us before we realized who it was. "Billy!" Sid exclaimed, relieved to see her boyfriend. I just stood there with my guard still up..

"The door was locked, I heard screaming, You alright?" He asked Sid as he looked over at me.

"The killer's here, he's in the house." She said as she hugged Billy tight, sobs just releasing from her mouth left and right.

"He's gone, he's gone." Billy cooed into her ear as she hugged him. The expression on his face gave me goosebumps.

All was fine until Billy dropped something... a small black compact cell phone. Oh shit.

In a mad frenzy I rush towards Sidney tearing her away from Billy's grasp and run out of the room with her hand in mine.

"Wait, Sid, no! Wait wait wait! (Y/n)!" We heard Billy shout as we reached the front door.

Sydney opens the front door in a hurried panic and we're met with that same white ghostly mask again! We both shriek out in pure terror! And so does... Dewey. Nevermind the day is saved...

  It felt so surreal to be sitting here on the tail of the ambulance with Sid while Billy is getting forced into the back of a cop car. They just got done checking me and Sid for any bruises or contusions. Billy wailed for Sidney much like the car sirens wailed to alert danger. Walking up to us the sheriff said, "Well, we're seeing a lot of you today." Then Dewey spoke up asking, "You girls going to be able to come down to the station and answer a few questions?"

"Oh shit, Sydney, (y/n)!" Tatum's voice made me pop my head up. Happy to see a face we can comfortably trust.

"God I'm so sorry I showed up late," Tatum continued, holding Sid's hands and cupping my face.

"Tatum you can't be here it's an official crime scene." Dewey said as he grabbed hold of his sister to escort her away.

"No!" I shouted, everyone looked in my direction before Sid said, "It's okay."

"Their parents are out of town, alright? They're staying with us tonight." Tatum said as she scoffed at her older brother.

"Does mom know?" Dewey asked, for what reason? I'm not sure.

"Yes dufus," Tatum said, pretty sure she just wanted to get us out of there at this point.

I could see the Sheriff holding the costume the killer wore as Sid and I got into the back of the car. This has officially become the most terrifying night of my life. I grabbed onto Sidney's arm for comfort as she petted my hair on the way to the station. As we were about to pull away from our house a news van came rolling in. Out hopped none other than the devil herself, Gale Weathers. We could hear her call out for Sid as we drove away.

[sunlightwoo]

san francisco vapor

☀︎ pairing: apollo!eric x fem!reader

☀︎ genre: reincarnation au, fluff and angst, slice of life au, greek mythology au, enemies to lovers au (sorta), immortals au (WARNING: mentions of arrows being shot from a bow)

☀︎ wc: 1383

☀︎ plot: It was coincidental that you ended up being in the mortal world because of the punishment that you had implemented on yourself. However, for some reason it seems as though fate had other plans, because now you were stuck on Earth with the one person that you were running away from in the first place.

☀︎ a/n: hey guys!! welcome to week 2 of my summer project, aka the storms of broken hearts collection!! for this week, this is my piece that is a part of @wavesmp3​​​‘s tale as old as time collab, in which it is the modernized version of apollo and daphne’s myth. i hope you guys like this piece for this week, since next week i’ll be posting the prequel to ride along!!

STORMS OF BROKEN HEARTS | TBZ MASTERLIST

San Francisco, the Golden City.

You were currently writing the rest of the menu for your cafe onto the chalkboard that was supposed to be hung on the wall as you felt some sort sensation at the edge of your fingertips. The start of a new season was always an exciting time for you as the thought of the new customers that were already lined up at the start at the door after hearing about the new boba place that you just so happened to own.

After years of perfecting different recipes and creating different pieces of baked goods and drinks, you were finally able to open the little cafe that you named, Sunlight’s Apollo. The cafe was meant to heal people, as a way to put them at ease of their troubles and worries of the world, but for some reason you wanted to stick with the concept of the sun and Apollo since it felt more familiar to your heart that way.

You wanted to remember your first life, for as many centuries that you have remembered living through in multiple lives, but nothing had worked. Not a single memory of your first life could spark, and you wonder if it was because of something that might’ve happened back then that might be preventing you from remembering. 

However, all that you could think of was how excited you were to open your cafe in a few moments of time, and how accomplished you felt for just doing so all on your own with the help of your friends that just so happened to be your coworkers as well. 

The day already flies by like a blink of an eye as customers come and go, waves of these individuals rushing in and out of the small place with smiles on their faces made you feel pleased. You were doing something right, you think to yourself as you glanced at the clock to see that it was already 6 in the evening, the golden hues of the sunset falling in through the glass windows and into the place.

It was quiet and peaceful as there were probably four customers that were enjoying the last few sips and crumbs of their treats, your two friends already leaving since it was almost time for closing and you wanted to close for the night. You could’ve sworn that one of them, Sunwoo, had turned the sign to close, because the moment that you see the next minute pass by, a new individual walks in with a step in his pace.

You looked up from where you were cleaning the back counter to make eye contact with them, ready to greet them when you suddenly noticed something as soon as you locked eyes. A wave of nausea somewhat hits you as flashes of memories started to appear in your mind, from sitting by a body of water to being shot with an arrow that you presumed to belong to Eros, you assumed that this was your first life as you remember begging your father to turn you into a tree to run away from him. 

Him, who had finally walked through the door of your cafe with pride on his face. 

“It seems as though I have found you again.” He greets with a smile on his face, stopping in front of where the register was with a flower in his hand, and you could only let out a scoff at his manner, your entire happy mood from the entire day being ruined with his presence alone.

“You have some nerve to show your face here, Apollo.”

His human form seemed to scream everything about his God counterpart, which made you realize that it must’ve been the reason why the sun suddenly seemed brighter today and how familiar the name of your cafe seemed. Everything about him was everything that you could think of from all the times that you’ve described to your ‘friends’ the ideal boyfriend that you wanted, but it was all wrong in your eyes. You despised him for as long as you remember, and you could only think that it might be because of all the right reasons.

He seemed more confident in this form, ready to have stuff given to him at the tip of his fingers and you didn’t want to fall apart at that and become his victim. However, deep down on the inside you knew that there wasn’t a reason for him to show up unexpectedly if he didn’t want anything, and something in you had a hunch that it had to be about you. 

“You can call me Eric, you know, just like how people call you Y/n, rather than Daphne,” He muses, leaning against the counter and you raise an eyebrow at how forward he was being, and for once you were intrigued with what he might’ve wanted, but it was all shut down with the next few words that left his lips.

“I want to talk about what happened to us, because it’s my fault that you ended up like this.”

Your face contorts with confusion with a hint of anger, eyes tearing away from his to realize that there weren't any more customers, but instead a locked door as it was now only the two of you in the cafe. Your eyes go back to his and there was something about the gaze of his that made you feel as though you should give him a sliver of a chance to explain, given that he had used all this time to find you once again in this life. 

It wasn’t until you saw that there were two arrows that appeared into his hands and you recognized it to be the arrows that were used to be hit the day that it all happened; a golden one and a lead one. He holds them out for you to see and a moment of silence passes by, until he decides to break both of them against his knee and as if it were magic, all the hate and spite you held for him was gone.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why it had vanished, but you notice how his eyes had watered as he gazed at you with a longing look, making your heart beat louder in your chest as you weren’t sure what this could mean for you both. The silence felt overbearing as you didn’t know what to do, or whether or not you should move closer to him, however you could tell that there was some sort of tension that was present between you two that was ready to be broken by the sound of one’s confession. 

“I spent millenia looking for you, from the moment that I heard you reincarnated… If I had known that I was the one making you suffer the entire time… I would’ve never tried Eros in the first place.” He whispered quietly, his voice slightly cracking at his own words and you could feel a lump in your throat as the urge to wipe his tears away felt overwhelming. 

“I’m sorry that you suffered because of me.” You whispered back, looking away from him momentarily to collect your thoughts when suddenly he flashes in front of you as you blink, where you were now just inches apart from one another.

Everything seemed to flash in your own mind as you stared into his golden brown eyes, pieces of what could be your future together and it seemed risky. You were technically a deity, even though you had been reincarnated after being a tree for many centuries, and you could live for as long as you wanted if you stayed with Eric, but you wondered what would happen if you didn’t stay with him as well. 

A touch of his lips onto yours had seemed to make your mind even more hazy as you felt as though kissing him was the missing puzzle piece your heart had been yearning to find. It was intoxicating, a vapor that seemed to have filled your lungs as you could only think that he was the one person that you wanted forever, no matter how bad your past might’ve been together.

“Want to start over again, and rewrite our history?”

[lcvemalfcy]

Mosaic || D.M.

summary: the different ways you and draco have incorporated one another into each other’s daily lives

warnings: mentions of food, eating, germs ?

word count: 1k

a/n: got inspo from that one tiktok trend lolol hopefully the format of this isn’t too confusing

"human beings are a mosaic of everyone they've ever met. if you look close enough at a person you'll see all the pieces of everyone they've ever met incorporated into a beautiful and unique work of art. you are the living memory of every person that has ever mattered to you."

your hands were always decorated with rings.

in the fifth year, you noticed how draco started to accessorize his hands with them. you fell in love with the way the silver metal would shine in the sun and how they were so fun to play with and twist around his fingers whenever you were bored.

noticing your attraction to them, draco gave you one of his rings. the silver serpent ring with emerald embedded eyes gained a permanent spot on your middle finger and you developed an impressive ring collection since then.

whenever the homework load builds up or studying for exams becomes too stressful, draco plans a midnight trip to the kitchen.

this is because one night in the fourth year on exam week — you and draco were having a "study date." it was 1 am, none of you could understand the material and with the hours of relearning information building up your brains were now overflowing with new concepts you just couldn't grasp onto.

needing a break, you tried to convince draco to sneak out the common room with you to the kitchen. he was reluctant at first, but he eventually caved in and enjoyed roaming carelessly around the corridors with you.

sometimes draco will enter through the portrait hole after tickling the pear on the painting that hides the kitchen entrance just to see you already sitting there on the counter, lips around your fingers as you cleaned the leftover crumbs of your snack off your fingers.

draco was in your dorm hanging out with you when he noticed the pink, worn-out bunny slippers worn on both of your feet. there was never a day where you didn't wear them, and he wondered why you always had them on.

"y/n, why do you always have those slippers on?"

instead of giving him a simple answer, you suddenly went off about how dirty the floor was, covered in dust as well as crumbs left by others and how you would never allow your feet to get so dirty.

you truly despised the idea of getting into bed with dirty feet, allowing the floor germs to come in contact with your bed sheets. your solution? slippers.

ever since then, the thought of the dirty floor germs sitting on top of his bed sheets irked draco. that's when he went out and bought himself a pair, the pair which was now always seen on his feet when he was out of his school attire.

his friends would make fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. he wasn’t the one walking with cold feet on the bedroom or common room floor and he also wasn’t the one with dirty bed sheets. must suck for them.

if someone were to ask you what your favorite drink was besides butterbeer or pumpkin juice, you would always answer with green tea.

if you were being honest, you always hated green tea as a kid. draco on the other hand loved it. when you had told draco about your dislike for the tea, he was in shock. he was sure you just weren't brewing it right, how could someone not like his favorite tea?

he started listing the many benefits of green tea and even offered to make you some, he was committed to getting you to like it. intrigued by its benefits, you wanted to give it a try again.

he brewed the tea and brought the mug over to you. you gently grabbed it and took a sip of the warm liquid, surprised at its sweet taste. you actually liked it.

afterwards, draco taught you how to correctly brew it and it was now one of your favorites.

every morning, draco wakes up exactly one hour and twenty minutes before breakfast. twenty minutes to get ready and an hour of free time to walk around and enjoy the morning atmosphere.

it started when he accidentally fell asleep in your dorm one evening and woke up to you scolding him for "sleeping in so late."

he looked at the clock to see there was still an hour left before breakfast began. "it's so early, y/n! what are you on about? let me sleep some more!"

unfortunately for him, you continued to bother him, throwing pillows at him and snatching the blanket off of his body in attempt to get him up. no longer being able to sleep under these circumstances, he finally got out of bed.

after getting ready, the two of you went for a stroll to the black lake. you told him how you did this every morning, explaining to him that it was nice to have time for yourself and to not have to immediately rush to class right after waking up.

he wasn't going to lie, the walk was very calming and he enjoyed it. after that morning, he decided he was going to start going for a walk every morning as well.

occasionally the two of you would go on walks together, but most of the time the two of you just wanted some time to just enjoy yourselves alone.

growing up side by side, it was no surprise to see little bits of each other in one another. you found it amusing to catch draco unintentionally mimicking your habits, and the same could be said for him towards you.

draco thought it was adorable to see how much of an influence he had on you and how you easily picked up on his mannerisms.

there was something precious about it — knowing you held a special piece in someone’s mosaic. who knew these small habits of your everyday lives could mean something more.

tags: @sfdlm @marrymetheonott @wh0re4blaise @axgelre @dracomalfoys-wh0re

click here to be added to my taglist!

[mollygetssherlockcoffee]

For You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N waits all night for Spencer to come home

Warnings: Angst... maybe swearing, but I honestly can’t remember

Words: 2,451

A/N: My LPC and Masters are kicking my ass... I hate it here :)))))))

PART TWO HERE  PART THREE HERE

Master List     Permanent Tag List

Shoving the last Dorito in your mouth, you leaned off the couch to grabbing your phone from the coffee table. Your thumb swiped across the screen to accept the call. Muting the TV, you sat up and put the call on speaker, smiling as you heard his voice.

 “Hey, Y/N/N” Your boyfriend of three years greeted you.

“Spencer” you smiled into the phone, more than happy to hear from him. “I didn’t speak to you yesterday, I missed you.”

“Yeah, sorry, we caught a break in the case” he apologises. “Did you know, only ten-point-seven percent of murders are committed by women, who tend to kill for reasons such as personal gain or jealousy. Our unsub actually went against the statistic.”

“So, you caught them then?” you asked, biting your lip to conceal your hope.

“Yeah, yeah, we did!” he confirmed, and you were sure that he was nodding. “We’re at the station at the moment but we should be leaving soon. I’ll be home around-” There’s a moment of pause while you assume he looks at his watch. “Around seven, seven-thirty. Definitely no later than eight.”

“Oh, Spencer, that’s great!” you grinned, standing up from the couch. “This week has dragged by without you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon” he assures you. “I have to go though, there a bit of paperwork that needs to be finished before we can leave.” “Okay, no worries. I love you, bye” you say.

“See you soon, love you” he hangs up.

 You turned of the TV and quickly got to work cleaning the apartment. It wasn’t dirty, not really, but your breakfast dishes were in the sink and you didn’t take the trash out last night. You had also neglected putting away the laundry and had thrown your coat and bag over the back of a chair, rather than hang them up.

 Coming home to an empty apartment had demotivated you this week, making you not bother to keep up with the little things. Though you always missed Spencer when he was away on cases, this week had been especially trying.

 You hung your coat up, moving your keys into the little bowl by the door. The laundry was seen to next, the tops separated and hung up while the pants were neatly folded and placed in the draws. Plates were quickly cleaned and dried, put into their place. You wiped down the sides, brushing the crumbs into the bin before quickly running the trash out.

 Coming back into the apartment, you washed your hands before moving to the fridge. Having only went shopping a few days ago, it was still well stocked, and it had all the ingredients for Spencer’s favourite meal.

 You had grown up with a dad who loved to cook, who had wanted to be a chef. Due to his severe eczema, which he used to tell he had to be ‘wrapped up like a mummy’ for, he was unable to pursue his passion. As such, he had cooked delicious meals at home for you and your mom, passing on recipes and filling you with a passion for food.

 Cooking was something you found relaxing. You knew enough recipes by heart to not follow a recipe, but, instead, a pattern within your mind. You could cook your favourite dish without the need to measure herbs or spices, mind zoned out while you prepared the ingredients.

 When you had began dating Spencer, he was basically living on coffee with the occasional take-out. Within two months of your relationship, his freezer was fully stocked with frozen home-cooked meals. While his slim physique remained, he did gain a healthy amount of weigh and appeared to look healthier.

 It hadn’t taken you long to find out that his favourite was a slow roasted rack of lamb, with rosemary roasted potatoes, butter roasted carrots, broccoli, peas and mash potatoes. You had served the roast lamb at Easter, where Spencer proceeded to spend nearly thirty minutes telling you about the origin of eating lamb at Easter.

 “It’s actually related to the Jewish Passover, from when the Egyptians painted lamb’s blood on doors during the plagues of Egypt. When some Jewish people converted, they caried on the tradition. In fact, in Christianity, Jesus…”

 Coming from a diverse background (various religions were practiced in your family, some married and converted, others converted, an adopted cousin kept practicing his religion, thus you celebrated many different religions) you knew the some of what he was saying. However, you loved to hear Spencer talk.

 Spencer could talk about anything and you would listen. You loved to hear his voice; the way his voice became higher when he got excited. You liked to lean back against the couch, your feet in his lap as he read to you. His voice lulled you into a calm and relaxed state, it put your mind at peace and made everything seem right in the world.

 You cleaned the lamb, patting it dry with paper towels become setting it on the chopping board. You trimmed the fat, leaving only a small layer which would cook and add flavour to the meet. Pouring a tablespoon of oil into your hands, you gently rub it into the lamb before adding the spices, careful not to overwork the meat.

 The meat was transferred into a dish before moved into the hot oven.

 You then moved onto the vegetables. You coated par-boiled potatoes with oil, salt, pepper and rosemary become adding them to the oven. Carrots were peeled and cut, put into a tin-foil bowl with a teaspoon of butter and a sprinkle of sugar. Folding the tin-foil closed, you slid that into the oven too.

 Potatoes were peeled, chopped and put on to boil. You cut the broccoli into smaller pieces and add them to a pot and put them onto boil too. Peas remained in a saucepan, covered in water, but you would turn them on in a little while.

 You grabbed the latest Doctor Who DVD that Spencer had brought the week previous. You put the first disk into the DVD player and set the box beside the TV. Leaving the screen on the menu page, you left the room and went for a shower.

 You looked at the clock again.

 20:37

 You sighed and looked down at your food which was damn near cold. Your stomach rumbled and you picked up your fork. You weren’t going to wait any longer. While the food is delicious, you don’t enjoy it. You don’t focus on the flavours as you chew and swallow, your mind focused on your thoughts.

 Where was Spencer?

 You had called his phone multiple times, but it had just rung out. You had called JJ, but she had left work before him. When you had phoned his work and spoken to his boss, Hotch had told you that Spencer had already left for the evening, and suggested you call Derek as they left together. Just like Spencer’s phone, Derek phone had rung out too.

 Finishing your food, you took your plate to the sink. Rising the plate, along with the pots and pans, you then filled the sink with bubbly water. Grabbing the sponge, you began to clean.

 Your mind was torn on whether to be worried or not. One the one hand, Spencer had said he’d be home – you checked the clock – over an hour ago but he still wasn’t here. He wasn’t at work and he wasn’t answering his phone. You bit your lip. Anything could have happened to him. There could be a problem with the subway, maybe he got injured on the way home, or something else could have happened.

 Spencer’s an FBI agent though and is licenced to carry a gun. Not to mention, he’s a literal genius. If he got into trouble, you had no doubt that he would either be able to get himself out or be able to contact someone to raise an alarm.

 Your mind told you that he was with Derek, that they were together and gotten distracted one way for another. They were like brothers, and easily got carried away and forgot about the time.

 Spencer had to be fine. He had to be.

Hanging his bag on its hanger, Spencer closed the door. He toed off his shoes, pulling his arms from his cardigan. It had been a long night, a long week, in fact, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He smiled at the thought of crawling into bed and curling around you, of cuddling into you and breathing in your scent as he fell asleep.

 Spencer used to love going on cases but after he met you, that changed. Now, he wanted to get them over and get home as soon as possible. He missed you every moment he was gone. He missed waking up with you, with your toes pressed into his leg as you sought out his warmth. He missed reading to you in evenings, gazing at your peaceful face as he spoke the words from memory. He missed the kisses before bed, the giggles you’d make when he would tickle your side as you both laid beneath the duvet.

 He walked down the small hallway and into the open-plan living room and kitchen. The first thing his eyes land on is the small dining table. His mouth parts a little as he looks at the single plate of food, a knife and fork beside it. it was his favourite meal but he knew it was stone cold, yet he remembered the taste and his mouth watered at the sight.

 You had cooked for him.

 His stomach began to twist as he turned towards the front room. The TV was on, displaying the menu for a DVD from his new Doctor Who collection, whose box sat beside the TV. Then he saw you, sitting on the couch and watching him.

 His stomach dropped. You had been waiting for him. You had cooked him his favourite dinner, put on his favourite show and were waiting for him. He had told you he would be home by eight, and it was nearing one-thirty in the morning. The guilt in his stomach twisted like a knife as you stood up.

 He knew you were mad; he could see it in the hard set of your jaw. He could also see the sadness swimming in your eyes as you looked at him. He had let you down, and he knew it wasn’t something you were easily going to forgive him for.

 “You said you’d be home at eight” your voice was low, soft, but he could hear the sadness in your words.

“Yeah…” he agreed, he had said that. He had promised that.

“Where were you?” you asked. “I was worried, you didn’t call or anything.”

“Erm… Derek, he…erm… wanted to go to a bar” Spencer replied, looking down at his mix matched socks.

“So you went? You went, knowing that I was here, waiting for you” you shook your head, looking away from him in an attempt to hold back your anger. “You went to a bar with Derek, after telling me you would be home by eight? You didn’t even let me know! I’ve been waiting for you, Spencer, I cooked you dinner and everything.” “Y/N… I’m sorry” he reached out to you but you held up your hand, taking a step back.

 He had gone to a pub. A pub. He didn’t even have the decency to call you, or even text, to say that he wasn’t going to be coming home when he said. He had left you to wait for him, to worry for him. And though you’ve hurt, you’re angry. Angry that this is the way he is treating you. He doesn’t even like pubs, so why would he leave you to go to one?

 This isn’t the first time he’s done this either. He had done the same thing a month ago, just went out with his team after telling you that he’d be home for dinner in an hour. You had fell asleep on the couch waiting for him that night.

 “You always do this to me” You shook your head, looking at him in disappointment. And, looking at your face, Spencer thought that was worse that seeing you angry.

“What?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Abandoning me, you do it all the time!” You say. “You get called on a case and you don’t tell me, you leave me waiting at a restaurant. Stood up. You don’t tell me when your cases get extended, you tell me you’ll be gone two days but its six.”

“Y/N-” he begins, but you quickly cut him off.

“I don’t mind you going to clubs with Derek. I’m fine with cancelling plans because of work, I don’t mind that you’re called away” you tell him. “However, you don’t communicate with me. You stand me up, all the time. You don’t even call, and I’m tired of it. I did this for you Spencer.” You spread your arms out to gesture at the food and TV. “I try to do stuff for you and it goes to waste. Dinner reservations, movie nights, personal museum tours. They could have been rescheduled or the deposits refunded, if you had spoken to me. I… I’m tired of this Spencer. A relationship can’t work without communication.”

 Spencer’s mouth is dry at your words, his own eyes stinging as he gazes sadly at your face. He can see how much it has affected you, how hurt you are but his actions. You were right though, he never called or texted you to let you know he wouldn’t be there for any of those things. His mind played over your words and his stomach twisted as the final sentence registered in his brain.

 “What are you saying?” his voice is scratchy as he forces the words out, his fists clenched as he struggles not to cry.

“Maybe… Maybe we should take a break… for you to consider whether you can be committed, in all aspects, to this relationship” your voice is quiet as you answer him, your own eyes swimming with tears. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight, and then tomorrow… Well, Natasha said that I Could spend a few nights at hers.”

 Spencer watched as you turned away from him, walking towards the spare room. You didn’t look back as you closed the door, and, finally, the tears fell from his eyes. This was it, he had lost you because he failed to do the most simple thing in a relationship. You were leaving him.

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