#have a wonderful rest of your day folks! be seeing you!

[rivendell-poet]

Good *time of the day at your country*

I would like to make a request now that you posted a list full of ideas.

Could you write from the Fluff/romance list 7 and 19 with Legolas and a human!reader?

Soo the idea is that reader have body image insecurities ( because she doesn't have flat belly or something idk) and.. since Elves are literally the image of Perfection, reader often feels that Legolas deserves better. Even for the humans reader isn't something special. She feels unworthy every time people look at them surprised about how they ended up together and that an elf deserved better. One night when she cries about it in her room Legolas happens to hear her when he comes back (you can't never be quiet enough to hide form an elf) So yea i think i gave too much information, I'll shut up and leave the rest up to you :) have a good day.

Hi anon! First of all, thank you so much for your request - and trusting me to write this! The greeting made me smile as well, so thank you for that. Secondly, (and more importantly), I'm so sorry for the extended wait. Hopefully you still enjoy it, although be mindful of the angst.

(also don't worry about the info - as long as you've not written how the fanfic should go line-by-line I welcome more detailed requests <3)

❝𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭) 𝐲𝐨𝐮❞ « one-shot »

Pairing : Legolas X Reader

Wordcount : 2.6k

Gender-neutral reader | TWs : Crying, the first half of this fic centres around negative body-image & reader disliking their body. Although this is countered, if it's something you're struggling with please don't force yourself to read <3

Summary : As a human, you sometimes struggle when comparing your body to Legolas. And sometimes it can get bad. Luckily, he is always there to reassure you that he loves you - no matter what.

A/N : Was feeling angst-y at the start, so if you want to read but skip to the comfort keeping going until you see the ✧ paragraph break (although this will skip some fluff/a good portion of the fic). Also sorry if this is somewhat disjointed. It has been edited, but was written over a longer period of time.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you try not to wince as you eagerly let the fabric fall back down over you. You don't look like you've been a member of the Fellowship, like you've fought Sauron's forces directly, you look like you've sat around and done nothing. Even after days of running and taking part in battles, your stomach doesn't lie flat - let alone have defined muscles. And the parts of your body that are more curved don't have that extra weight in muscle.

Even the bits that are more elven, more lithe and made of muscle, are still marred. This time by scars, a few raised and rough but most simply discoloured. All are eyesores, drawing attention immediately to the imperfections on your skin. It's even more obvious when you stand next to Legolas, his skin glowing and youthful. Even from centuries with a bow, his fingers remain uncalloused and smooth like silk. He doesn't seem to mind the contrast when he holds your hand. The silkiness against the craters on your skin. He also doesn't seem to mind the stares you two get when you're together. When he's close to you, and you're so obviously in love.

There are two types of stares you notice when people see you two like that. The first starts off fawning and admiring, and then you enter their gaze as well as Legolas. Then the positivity changes to more of a sneer, looking at the flawed shape of you compared to his perfection. The second type of stare is confusion, when their eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you as they wonder how you managed to convince him to like you.

It's even worse when you and Legolas go to the more formal dinners, when folks have to be polite with their words - so show even more disdain with their actions. The ones who know of Legolas's social status are even worse; how could someone of his noble lineage marry a commoner? It's one of these dinners you're about to be forced to attend, and one of these dinners you're dreading.

A soft knock on the door breaks your eye contact with the mirror, and you step away just as Legolas enters your room. His eyes light up when he sees you, looking you up and down before smiling. "You look beautiful."

"You're only saying that because I'm dressed in your colours." You tease, trying not to let your worry - that that is the reason he said - seep into your voice. He looks gorgeous in your colours, of course, they only serve to compliment his natural colours, making him look even more gorgeous.

"Not at all." He offers you his hand, immediately holding you tightly when you put your hand in his. "I hope you will enjoy this ball, some of my kin will be here."

"Elves?"

"Yes, from as far as my home." He pauses for a second, then smiles, "From Eryn Lasgalen."

"That's great news. Do you know any yourself?" You ask, trying to put the conversation on him. He thinks for a second, before telling you of the first elleth - a captain of the guard. In the meantime, you attempt to listen while trying not to think about what elves being with you means. If humans judge you as being unworthy of an elf, how will elves judge you when they find out you are with their prince?

Eventually, you manage to listen to Legolas again - hoping you haven't missed any vital information. His stories, and genuine enthusiasm, soon manage to lift your spirits and distract you from your worries. It works so well you're able to walk into the ball, not even noticing the others as you get to your friends. Aragorn welcomes you with a smile, you can tell he's grateful when genuine friends come over, and looks at the two of you. "By Valar, with the two of you and my wife I think everyone on my council has outdressed me."

He's lying, of course, dressed in a beautiful robe of wine red and forest green that somehow does not clash on him, but the words warm your heart. Aragorn has reason to lie about your appearance, but not as much as Legolas does. You offer him a compliment as well, "Nonsense - you both look lovely tonight. If you were not King of Gondor I'm sure many would think you an elf."

"Except for the beard, of course." Aragorn points out, eyes briefly flickering to where you assume the elves are.

"Then we have found an advantage for you not to be an elf." Legolas smiles, "It suits you."

The three of you begin to talk, not quite flouncing etiquette with the time you're spending with him, but getting close. Arwen catches your eye, and you see her begin to move towards you - Legolas murmuring in your ear that he will be back soon, unless you need him. You wave him off, before offering a smile and small bow to Arwen. With a laugh that sounds like music, she returns your gestures. "There is no need to bow to me. Your actions have put your standing well beyond mine."

"And the scandal when I don't bow to the queen?" You respond, trying to keep the mood cheerful while anxiety begins to swirl in your stomach. Realistically, Arwen doesn't mean anything by it - but the dip where velvet sits on scar tissue instead of regular skin goes from unnoticeable to uncomfortable. The wound on your finger almost seems to catch on something, even though it is long healed, and you're reminded of the perception of elves. It is said that scars tell a story - does that mean your mistakes are imprinted on your body for any elf to read?

At exactly the wrong time, Legolas appears again with an elleth maiden. No - not a maiden, a captain of the guard; except you would be forgiven for mistaking her to be a noble, or a muse for some talented artist. You recognise the name when Legolas introduces her, and your mind connects her to stories he's told - stories of grave danger. Except they've made her glow while they would have made you bruise. What would have been a scar on your face is not even an imperfection on hers. Taking a deep breath, you bow before introducing yourself.

You can see recognition in her eyes before she bows back, eyes flickering from you to him as she stoops. The action only worsens your nausea, and not even the presence of your love can alleviate them. Surrounded by three elves (and a man who is so fair he may as well be one) you feel even worse, and you duck to excuse yourself from the conversation.

Lost in the ballroom, you try to judge where you should go based on the presence of people. There are very few people near the food, and you realise you've missed the window. Not that the nausea would help in keeping any food down. Instead, you gravitate to a place with a manageable amount of people - easing into making small talk with other humans. As the conversation ends, a shock greets you as your next companion appears. Another elf.

She's just as beautiful as Legolas' friend, and is wearing a tight-fitting robe of pure white. Keeping up conversation decently well, you manage to hide your nerves until Legolas suddenly appears by your shoulder, holding a plate of food. It's a mixture of proper meals and canapes, but nonetheless a gesture that warns your heart. Swallowing whatever he'd been eating, he holds the plate closer, "For you."

"Thank you." Going for whatever he's eating, you come away with only a small bite - a biscuit-type thing that's thinner than a coin with a patte that tastes like spring. Perfectly elvish food. He doesn’t need to eat as much either, yet another difference. Finishing it, you swallow and smile at him politely while somehow hoping for the elf to come back. To your surprise she does, and you take advantage of the opportunity.

Some architect in Gondor was looking out for you, and you’re soon able to slip away from the crowds. You almost bump into a few people, but you’re elegant enough to not cause too many difficulties. None of the servants running the place stop you either, although there are a few eyebrows at someone dressed in such finery being around there. In fact, you make it all the way to your room before the first ragged breath makes it way out of you - tears threatening to spill, while breathing heavily to stop them. Not that anyone could hear you in your chambers. More tears water your eyes, and you think about letting them escape when a servant knocks on your door.

“Prince Legolas has sent up food, if you would like it.” You can hear the awkwardness in the messenger's voice, “And he wishes to inform you that there is no pressure to rejoin the event. He shall be up with you soon.”

“There’s no need.” You go closer to the door, “Tell him he can be as long as he wants. And you can take the food, I’m not hungry.”

“I will inform him now.” The servant leaves, and you listen to their footprints slowly fade away until you're alone again. Which is when you feel ‘safe’ enough to begin to break down.

✧

It feels like only a second ago you were by his side, but when Legolas looks around the room he cannot see you anywhere. The plate of food he still has for the two of you feels heavy in his hand, but he keeps hold of it while scanning the ballroom and walking around it. The two of you need to eat, after all. On his second lap of the ballroom Legolas realises that you’ve left, properly, and goes to one of the servants - asking for them to deliver the food and inform you that he’ll come to you shortly, and that you should feel no pressure to attend this event.

He excuses himself as quickly as he can, citing the ball as becoming overwhelming to the few who ask and hurrying up the stairs. The turns to your shared chambers are becoming muscle memory to him, although normally the two of you make this trip together - sharing your thoughts on whatever you’d just done, or talking about nothing in particular to not focus on the stresses of the day. As he approaches your floor he realises he hears no movement, and the only sound is him opening the door.

Until Legolas keeps moving forward - and his ears begin to pick up the stifled sound of sobbing. Of your crying. It makes him hurry up, going towards you as fast as he can until he truly realises that something is seriously wrong. The steps are still quick, but not running, and his mind begins to pace through what could be happening so that he may try and comfort you.

When he sees the plate outside your door, untouched and discarded, an idea of what’s happened begins to come to him. He knows the food that he’s picked out is your favourite, and so it won’t be that that’s stopping you. Getting to the door he gently knocks on it, and hears your cries suddenly begin to halt. He can hear the constricted breaths, and rushes to reassure you, “You can cry, meleth nîn. And please, may I come in?”

There’s silence at first, and he adds to his statement. “If you truly don’t want me here you can say, but I cannot hear you cry and do nothing about it. I want to help.”

Although there’s still no verbal response from you, he can hear a slight shuffling - and there is no voice of protest. Legolas begins to open the door, just enough to slip in before letting it shut behind him. As soon as he’s in the room his eyes go to you, heart slightly breaking as he sees the red rim around your eyes - the way they are still glassy. He can see your light tremble, as you stop yourself from crying in front of him, and he instantly goes to your side. “Please, never be afraid to cry in front of me.”

Legolas begins to pull you into him, and that’s what finally breaks the dam as you feel yourself begin to sob as tears stream from your face. He still holds you close, pulling you into a warm hug - letting you hear his steady heartbeat. He doesn’t force you to stop crying, merely humming and gently tracing circles on your back. “You can let it out… I’m here… don’t worry, I’m not going to leave.”

He holds you in his arms for as long as you need, until you finally stop and begin to shuffle out of his grasp - realising you’ve wept all over his shirt. He begins to let you go, but doesn’t let you stray far. Watching and waiting for you to be ready to talk. “I’m here for you.”

“I know.” You try to give him a smile, but it comes out watery - and you can feel the puff around your eyes, the fact they must be red and horrible. Some of the thoughts must show on your face because he frowns slightly, pulling you closer again.

“You know you are beautiful, meleth nîn.” When Legolas says it to you he says it with such sincerity, gently kissing you on the forehead. “You are beautiful like this as well, and I love you like this.”

Although it makes you smile, you try to protest. “I’ve just been crying-”

“And?”

“And my eyes will be horrible and red-”

“They look perfect to me.” His interruptions are gentle, but you can tell he means them. “All this shows is emotion, emotions like sadness, or like love. If you stop your eyes from shining in happiness it will be a bad day for all.”

“I’m not crying in happiness.”

“I’d rather your eyes show all emotion than none.” He seeks out your eye contact, and now that he’s mentioned love being visible in your eyes you can see it in his. In the way they round slightly with care, but have a faint shine in them that gets larger as you begin to smile - a shine you can only interpret as love. It is steady, and ever present, but seems especially obvious now.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“When all my imperfections disappear?” You try to put on a teasing tone, but it falls slightly flat.

“Imperfections?” His head tilts in genuine confusion, eyes searching your body but never landing on a specific place, almost as if he cannot find them. “If even elven eyes cannot see them, I begin to doubt they are there.”

The gesture makes you laugh, but you still hold out your hand to him - palm up for him to see the callouses. When he sees them a hand instantly closes around them, his fingers joining and resting against yours in a familiar position. Simply, he says, “The callouses by which I know it is your hand I am holding? The ones that show the dedication you have, the time we’ve spent together?”

Eyes searching, he follows your gaze to the other parts that stick out to you, resting a hand there or giving it a small kiss - each time with only love in his gaze, and no disgust. Then you realise you’ve run out of places, and Legolas can look into your eyes again. “I don't think I've ever loved someone like I've loved you."

A/N : Hopefully you enjoyed, and the comfort at the end as worth it. Finally getting back into writing one-shots, so will be attempting more of my inbox. Thanks so much for reading to the end, and feedback is always welcome!

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @ferns-fics / @chewgazellechew / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 / @raikan624 ✧ wish to be tagged/update your taglist?

[flockrest]

well. we done did it! thank you @gloryseized for volunteering your link ( you didn't even need to say anything. i just took your like and ran with it <3 ), muses' thoughts under the cut :)

[undiscovered-horizon]

[It’s considered good etiquette to ask a man about his wife’s wellbeing. Except if the man in question is Dracule Mihawk.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Garp hates having to call Mihawk, mainly because of the warlord's attitude. Used to the usual "yes, sir!" of the Marines, a man with his own will and agenda is not something he entirely knows how to navigate. Especially since both of them know that the World Government needs the warlords more than they need the bureaucracy. And that doesn't exactly help in exercising power.

His attempts at diplomacy have burst into flames each time and today isn't going to be much different:

"How’s the missus?" Garp asks in the nicest tone he can force although he's aware that Mihawk knows how much the vice admiral hates asking for Dracule's assistance.

Mihawk only scoffs. "Are you calling just to spoil my mood or is there another reason for your impertinence?"

"I was just trying to-"

"Don't," he cuts him off in a stern voice. "If you have business with me, speak fast. If you're interested in my wife, I know where you live, Garp. I'd suggest losing your unwelcome nosiness before you lose something else."

Little did Garp know at the time but his little question was possibly the worst strategy he could think of. Dracule Mihawk is not like most men and the mere mention of his wife by acquaintances only enrages him. Work and private life do not ever mix. And he'll be damned if someone tries to breach that, even in the form of a courtesy. Therefore, the rest of the call was filled with openly insulting answers that were bold even for Mihawk. A veiled threat or two also found their way into their rather tense conversation.

You know he's done with Garp when he lets out a frustrated grunt. Sometimes you wonder if this grumpy, forever dissatisfied version of him is the only side of Mihawk his acquaintances know. Maybe he really is two men in the form of one.

He's sitting at his desk, thinking about something and not bothering to get up for now. Considering the fact that his hat is lying on the table and not on his head, Mihawk is probably not planning on going out anytime soon. Then again, judging by his spoiled mood, his homestay is a blessing for the first poor sods that would cross his path.

In slow steps, you stroll to his side, letting your hand brush through his hair. He doesn't say anything, only leans his head further towards you. The thing about Mihawk is that he loved to reject and decline but he never does so to you. No, in your case it's the opposite - he revels in allowing you whatever you want.

So intimidating and combative, yet soft and looking for intimacy. Truly, two men with the face of one.

"My mother used to say that each grey hair is one thing we worry about," you say quietly. "At this rate, love, your whole head will be white by noon."

"Your mother also says that milk goes sour because gnomes piss in it," he retorts. Yes, your mother and her strange folk beliefs... She's probably the only person Mihawk can force himself to be nice to despite his dislike.

His response earns a hearty laugh from you. Clear as day, you can see his posture relax as he listens to the music of your happiness. If he even thinks about the possibility of Garp or any other of his acquaintances hearing it, he might just get furious again.

"Well, nobody's perfect," you say between chuckles.

Then, Mihawk gently grabs your hand and lowers it to his face. With softness and passion that hardly befits a man of his infamy, he kisses the inside of your hand. "You seem to be doing so effortlessly."

[water-to-drink]

If Only I Can Turn Back Time

(Pairing): Zhongli x gn!reader x Childe (separate)

(Synopsis): After taking the life of his lover thousands of years ago, Zhongli finds your current incarnation without another lover

(Tags/Warnings): Angst no comfort, blood, pet names (sunshine, darling, & babe), non consensual touching, not beta read (wrote this instead of sleeping), might feel rushed, (if I missed something lmk)

(Word Count): 1.1k

(A/n): It’s sad bitch hours folks

𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍

“Morax…? Why?” You gurgled due to your blood coming up to your mouth due to the gaping hole in your stomach

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I told you I would do anything for my people.” The god you used to call your lover replied coldly

You grit your teeth to say something to the stone god, but you decide against it instead opting to let tears run down your face as your vision gradually fades

The mystery of what you were originally planning on being your last words still plagues Morax to this day, in his new life stepping down from his role as archon and living the rest of his days as the mortal known as Zhongli. Were your final words going to declarations of love or hatred? He wouldn’t blame you if it was the latter, he would hate himself too

For years he tried to justify it by telling himself that it was the best for his people, but after the years of self reflection he realized it was only to protect himself. Truly thinking that if you died by his hands then it would save him from the heart break Osial’s betrayal caused him

Letting his paranoia get the best of him after Osial’s betrayal and Guizhong’s death he killed the last pillar holding up his life

“Hey! Are you listening?” The familiar voice of a ginger haired man brought Zhongli out of his bout of self-loathing

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“As I was saying my amazing wonderful beautiful finance is coming to Liyue!” Childe smiled and continued. “Their boat is arriving today and I’m so excited, I wish to have them in my arms and listen to talk!”

Zhongli sipped his tea as the young man continued to gust about you and how much he misses you. Reuniting with your lover is beautiful thing, he remembers the times where you would run into his loving embrace. Spinning you in his arms, hearing your melodic laughter, seeing your precious smiling face, feeling the softness of your lips. Sweet memories that will always be close to his heart

“Ah! Their boat is arriving now!” Childe looked at his watch and quickly ran down to the harbor, leaving his tea on the table. From his seat he spotted the distinctive mop of ginger running to the docks as a boat arrives to port

Though he is not a nosey person, Zhongli couldn’t help himself to hone his hearing onto Childe. Who is this person that captured the bloodthirsty man’s heart and made him giddy like a schoolboy? His curiosity was peaked

“Sunshine!”

“Gingersnap!” A familiar voice rings throughout the dragon’s ears

Hesitantly turning his head he sees a sight that he thought he would never see again. There you are, walking and talking like how you used to before the war. Even the smile he vividly remembers is still the same, only that it’s made for someone else

The Harbinger you’re currently hugging

Still in a state of shock Zhongli didn’t register that you and Childe were making your way up the stairs, until the both of you were right in front of him

“As I told you before, this is my fiancé (Y/N).” Childe introduced

Your name was different but still beautifully matched you, a name he wouldn’t dare shorten it to a nickname. A name that every syllable should be worthship whenever it rolls off his tongue

“Zhongli, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tartaglia has told me a lot about you.”

As the days progressed he got to learn more about this current incarnation of you, there were many things that remained the same yet, some things different. Learning about your new likes felt like he was falling in love with you all over again

“You know Zhongli, it feels like I known you for a long time.” You mention offhandedly

Oh how much he wants to hold your hand and tell you it’s because the two of you were lovers in the past. To beg for forgiveness for what he did to you and promise that he would devote his entire existence to protecting you

Despite priding himself on his patience Zhongli feels it wearing thin with each pasting second. There’s a constant conflict going on inside of him, one side wanting to leave you alone and let you enjoy your new life and the other side wanting you to remember the time where the two of you were lovers. It feels like a kettle that’s about to explode

“Goodbye, Zhongli.” You said, heartbreakingly similar to the way you said your last goodbye to him

Against his better judgement he reaches towards you and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace

“H-hey! Let go of me!” You said as you struggled against his grip

“Please. Please, remember.” He uncharacteristically pleaded as he began to use some Adeptal magic on you to share some of memories with you

Memories of your first time meeting, your conversations that would last til the sun sets, him confessing his feelings to you, your first time being intimate with each other. Every memory that he has involving you being shared, from the first moment to the last

Slowly you stopped struggling against him and he releases you from his grip. You pushed him away and turned to face him, your eyes had a glint of recollection yet confliction to them signaling that your old memories are flooding back into your mind

“Morax…”

“Darling.” Zhongli whispers as he opens his arms and slowly approaches you

Extending your arm out you stop the former archon from coming closer

He wanted to asked what was wrong but the look of betrayal on your face, the same expression you wore the day he used his spear to strike you down, told him everything that he needed to know

You don’t love him like you did before

Rapid footsteps alerted the two of you to the upcoming presence of another. A mop of orange hair pops up before the harbinger makes his way up the stairs and kisses you on the cheek

“Hey babe, is something the matter?” Childe asked, sensing the tension between the two of you

“Oh I was just saying goodbye to Mr. Zhongli.” You stated with a smile to your lover

Heartbroken he watched as the two of you walked down the stairs, your words getting out of ear shot

You turned to glance at your former lover one last time before returning your attention to the young man

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[harmonysanreads]

OMG could you just imagine how smug wanderer will be if he gets to lay on darlings lap? A dream come true for him, as for the other party members.... well-

It's almost comical to compare Wanderer's past deeds to the shenanigans he's pulling at present. Make no mistake, he's completely lucid of his actions and how unbefitting it should be for him to do them. But there's the matter of you, with your annoyingly endearing kindness that attracts all sorts of malicious attention. He can't quite complain about it either because it saved him as well and even though Nahida emphasized how relationships aren't about balancing the books — his mind convinces him that that's why he's doing all of these. But in truth, he leans into that perception only because it suppresses the smidgen of guilt that gnaws at him (ew). Wanderer knows there's a boundary and he treads carefully around it. In any case, as long as he's cautious, he knows you'll always be his shield.

Kaveh is so flabbergasted, astonished and dumbfounded at the uncensored audacity of that brat that he chokes halfway through his sip of the wine — but even if the beverage wasn't in his hand, he's sure he would've choked on his breath anyway. To this day he's still dreaming about holding your hand and here's Wanderer, showing him the thumbs down while soaking in the comfort of your lap! His shock gradually fades as he wonders if he needs to pretend to be sick or something to get that treatment. But, knowing his luck he's sure it'd backfire as well. So he just seethes in his seat, for now.

Alhaitham doesn't even give the impression that he's looking at the fiasco — except he is by the rim of his book, more keenly than the rest present at that. To be even more honest, his eyes have never left you since the moment he entered the tavern so, he's acutely aware of every moment that lead to this... display. While the rest watch in disbelief, he's taking mental notes and running various simulations in his mind to picture the perfect scenario where he will instead be in the position of Wanderer. Or at least, doing so distracts him from succumbing to the less than pleasant feelings that arise at the sight.

Tighnari is exasperated. Yes, no dramatic response, just exasperation at its purest form. He's a busy person and it's only because of you that he's made his visits to Sumeru city regular. He does not have the time or energy to tolerate such incidents every single time. He's tried to convince you that the harmlessness of Wanderer is faux and just an act, but for whatever reason, your trust in the boy seems to be resolute. So he can do nothing but bear witness to these stunts with increasing audacity and that makes him want to tear his hair out at this point. Just you wait, he will find a way to expose the brat one day.

Of everything Cyno was expecting to see this evening, this was not at all in that list. He's not unaware of how touchy Wanderer tries to get each time he and the others are in the vicinity. A seasoned Matra's senses are far sharper than ordinary folk and Cyno is the only one that gets the message of this gesture immediately. He knows it's a warning and a claim. He can tell that there's something off about Wanderer and no, it isn't his act of being a goody-two-shoes. This stunt further justifies his suspicions and paired with the strength he displayed at the last round of the InterDarshan Championship — Cyno has made up his mind. He will challenge Wanderer to a duel right then and there, have fun settling this dispute.

[devourable]

† church boy

[ sfw | tw : religion (not named but heavily implied), sacrilege, potential religious trauma? as well as general yandere content but it’s v tame ]

male yandere x gender neutral reader! only pronoun used for reader is ‘you’. i havent written like this in a very long time so i apologize if this is bad ;_;

abraham lived a simple life for the majority of his 21 years on this planet. he was born and raised in a religious household, the only son of a wealthy pastor, surrounded by typical bible-thumping folk who taught him that *** was above everything, above him, above the things he loved, and putting anything (or anyone) above his faith would surely result in his damnation. and his whole life, he believed that.

that was… until you entered his life.

it happened at a fundraiser he was volunteering at. it was any other day for the boy, handing out advertisements and chatting with everyone that came and went. an average, mundane event for him where he’d talk about the same things he did every day, smile, wave, everything that was expected of him.

after the last person in his line had left, he looked down to begin organizing his things so he could join the rest of the party. when he was shadowed by someone stepping in front of him again, he expected to see a familiar face — maybe someone that might’ve forgotten something? but when he looked up…

abraham’s breath caught in his throat. he swore the earth had stopped spinning the second your eyes locked.

whether if you were there because you shared the same religion, was dragged there by a friend/family member, or simply because there was free food, he had no clue - but it didn't matter. your looks, the way you moved, the sound of your voice — why was it all so... enchanting?

he couldn’t help the slight stutter in his words as he hastily offered you a pamphlet, quickly introducing himself and inquiring about you. what was your name? were you new to the church? why haven’t you met before?

the soft laugh you emitted as you spoke and the feeling of your skin grazing his felt like fire. and your name... oh, the poor boy didn’t even realize it, but he couldn’t help it — within moments of knowing you, he had grown totally enamored!

abraham found himself hovering by your side for the rest of the event. he was awkward, you’d quickly realize, but it was in that sort of sweet, inexperienced way. he was desperate to know you, to get closer to you, hoping that maybe if he could understand you, he’d figure out how to quell these intense feelings that had built within him — but to you and everyone else, he was simply making sure a new face wasn’t alone during the event. he was just being a good little pastor’s boy! that’s what he told himself too, over and over again.

he was being good by making you laugh. he was being good by giving you his number. and it was good that he grew elated by the idea of getting to see you again after this. he was a good person, so what if he was neglecting his duties to be around you? he did what he was supposed to all the time, surely he could be forgiven just this once.

right?

his obsession with you didn’t take long to blossom after that first meeting. you started to infiltrate every part of his life in one way or another. his prayers became tangled up with thoughts of you. rather than reading the bible, he’d reread the texts between the two of you while he waited for you to respond to them. when he went to church, he found himself scanning the pews in hopes of spotting you among the congregation rather than finding a seat right away. when service began, he couldn’t focus on the preaching taking place because he was too busy thinking of ways to see you again.

despite the utter adoration abraham had grown to feel for you.. at some point, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but wonder — was he becoming sinful? was he growing gluttonous for your attention? he couldn’t have been, he had been so devout his entire life! it was fine for him to miss a few services to see you as long as he made up for it later…

he couldn’t tell if you were an angel, as heaven-sent as he felt you to be, or if you were the embodiment of temptation, pulling him away from his faith and beckoning him to sin. were you both? could you be both? with the progression of his obsession with you, his conflicted feelings about his relationship with his faith grew alongside it.

maybe you just weren’t any good for him.

but your name and god seemed to always come up at the same time…

so maybe, it was a sign that he had someone new to worship.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— Come get yer' kid!

brace yourself folks, this is a long one!

Thank you to @alotofpockets for helping me through the writers' block with certain parts.

I was gonna just keep this as 5 parts, but I love writing choas fc so I'm just gonna continue to write it until I get bored of it, whenever that happens.

pairings: kim little x reader, leah williamson x reader, awfc x reader

summary: the flight back to london and kim still can't catch a break, much to her surprise it's not reader causing the chaos this time though.

"Aye, Kimmy. Yer kids' quiet," The ever observant Katie McCabe nudges the Scots' woman and gestures to the seated area in the airport where your all but practically glued to Alessia.

"Shes' missing Kyra," Kim glances over to see you as she makes the brief explanation to the Irish girl, knowing the truth behind the reason for your sudden withdrawn behaviour, "And shes' not my kid. I'm just babysitting until we get back to London and then shes' Leah's problem again."

Katie snorts in amusement, "Takin' it pretty hard to not have her partner in crime, ain't she? I bet Williamsons' ecstatic to have the little menace back under her wing." She jokes with your captain.

"She'll be alright as soon as we board the flight," Kims' more than observant with your lack of your usual chaotic behaviour, but somehow she still feels like she needs to be on high alert in case you decide to pull another prank.

Kim was right about one thing though, you were definitely in a sulk about missing your best friend.

After a fun filled few days down under in Aus with the overall win from playing against the All Stars team, you were all now heading back to London.

Unforunately due to the fact that International break was right around the corner, it meant that you would have to endure the flight without the older Aussie girl considering that all three Matilda's players remained in Melbourne to catch the connected flight to their camp.

It's safe to say that you do feel a bit mopey about the situation and of course its' not long before the rest of the girls start to pick up on your distant personna.

"We're goin' to be boarding the flight soon, Y/N/N," Alessia glances down at you from where you've shifted your body to lean up against hers with your head tiredly resting on her shoulder, "Is everythin' alright, kid?"

You just decide it's easier to sit with one of the girls, who wouldn't try and bother as much to get a conversation out of you and your pretty familiar with Alessia through the England side of things, so you know that shes' a safe bet to sit by.

"Mhm," You barely even have any energy to respond.

Your response peaks Alessia's further concer that there's something wrong with you because having known for you as long as she has done, the only times' you known to be this withdrawn is either when your sick, tired or just upset about something, "Are you not feelin' well?" She wonders.

"M' fine," You mumble with your head buried in her neck, you were keeping your hood over your head with the hope that everyone else will leave you alone.

"Are you sad about something?" Alessia frowns in deeper concern, trying to figure out the reason for your quietness; Yeah, you were definitely sad.

"I guess so," You murmer in response, your eyes feel hazy with the lack of sleep but that's purely down to your own fault of staying awake most of the previous night.

Damn TikTok being a bad habit, one minute your scrolling through videos and the next thing you know its' 5 am, the suns' coming up and your being woken up to head to the airport.

Whoops?

"What's goin' on?" Alessia leans forward to try and be more observant, "Are you missing Kyra?" She questions, trying to figure out what could be getting you so down.

Are you that easy to read?

"Uh huh," You mumble quietly in agreement, "I'm too tired, Lessi." You add, trying to fight the sleepiness.

Alessia chuckles slightly and pats your back with her free hand, "Thats' why you should sleep instead of being on TikTok, eh?" She jokes as you lift your head up to face her just as quick, "You made the mistake of posting one of them videos into the group chat."

"Awh shucks," You mumble in realisation; Fantastic, another reason for one of the older "responsible" girls to lecture you, ie. the blonde English skipper, otherwise known as Malfoy to you now, "I'm not in the mood for one of Malfoy's lectures."

"What?" Alessia asks, confused, "Whos' Malfoy?" She's bewildered by the name.

"Le, Malfoys' her new code name cos' of that god-awful hair cut," You explain in the state of being half asleep.

The blonde couldn't help but stifle her laughter, "I don't think she'll be too happy to hear that." She jokes.

"I'm willing to take that risk of her shouting, because its' funny at least," You mumble tiredly as you let out a yawn, "Lessi? Can I sleep on the plane? I'm so tired."

"Sure kid, you can sleep on the plane," Alessia chuckles and pats your back, "Just try and stay awake until we board the flight at least. None of us want to carry you onto the plane." She adds.

"I can't promise that," Your voice is once again muffled in the crook of the older blondes' neck as you fight the urge to stay awake, "I'm so tired, but TikToks' addictive though to give up watching it."

"I don't think I've ever seen Y/N be this quiet before," Teyah jokes as she glances over to where your sat watching a movie on your iPad while still being leant up against Alessia.

"Unless shes' asleep," Katie remarks.

"Or she's sick," Vic chimes in, remembering the time where you came to training before and were too stubborn to admit you were feeling unwell.

You were more than aware that they were talking about you, but you were much too engrossed in the current Avengers film to even care about it.

The first flight from Melbourne had been fine, you had been able to peacefully sleep practically the whole flight; Luckily enough Alessia had taken pity on your tiredness and allowed you to all but lie right on her to snooze away, also making sure that nobody else woke you up either.

The connected flight from Dubai to London was a little different and with your newfound energy, you found yourself growing bored, fidgeting in your seat and being quickly aggitated when you couldn't get comfy until Alessia suggested that you watch a film to try and distract yourself for a bit, so therefor you're now sitting beside the blonde-- more like practically leaning on her while you watch the first Avengers film.

"She's too quiet. Are we sure that shes' not secretley plotting something?" Teyah wonders, hesistantly.

Katie shrugs her shoulders, "I'm not sure."

"You know how much she loves them Avengers films," Vic all but rolls her eyes; Its' true that you were a massive Marvels' fan, you wouldn't ever deny that - You bedroom walls were covered with posters, amongst other things and any time that you needed to wind down, you'd take yourself off to your bedroom, or a quiet place where ever you were to watch a film.

The Irish girl hums and tries to observe you closely, "Ere' Y/N! What's up with yer, kid?" She shouts across the plane to you.

"Leave her be, Katie, shes' fine," Kim gives the bruntte a pointed look.

Teyah snickers, "Are you sure? Shes' actually not being a pest for once!" She makes the snide remark.

"Yeh, only cos' she doesn't have her sidekick by her side. I've never seen her look so depressed..."

You finally had enough of the constant back and forth chat about you, besides they were ruining the perfect film.

Making sure to pause the film first so you don't miss any of it, you whip your head round to face the girls, "I can hear, you know!" You shout at them.

"Now look what you've done," Cloe pipes in, shaking her head.

"Y/N," Alessia tries to divert your attention back to the film rather than arguing with the older girls.

"What? They're talkin' about me behind me back-- And they're interrupting one of the greatest films made!" You whine in protest, shooting a glare at Katie and Teyah.

Kim exhales a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose, "I knew it was too good to be true," She thinks to herself, "Y/N, just ignore them and watch the film. Katie, Teyah, you girls are old enough to know better than to wind her up!" She scolds them both.

"Y/N is the same age as Teyah," Katie reminds the Scots' women.

"Are you sure? The way she behaves sometimes says different," Emily chips in, amusedly.

"She has a point," Frida adds in.

Kim starts to rub her temples, "Just a few more hours, just a few more hours until we're off the plane," She repeats to herself. "Lets' just leave Y/N be, alright?" She tells the rest of the girls, sternly.

"Yeah," Katie and Teyah mumble in sync.

You can't help but help look Katie dead in the eye and stick your tongue out at her before you go back to watching the film.

"Y/N," Alessia chides, catching the rude face you had pulled at the Irish.

"What? I didn't do out," You protest innocently, trying to act like butter wouldn't melt.

Alessia definitely knew different as she laughed and slung her arm around your shoulder, leaving you to be so watch the film and enjoy the peace and quiet for the remainder of the flight, hopefully.

"Wha... What was that?" Kim shoots up from her seat and immediately sets her eyes' on you.

"What was what?" Cloe asks, confused.

"I just felt something hit the back of my neck-- Y/N!" Kims' straight to blame you for whatever it was that happened.

You poke your head up from your iPad to see your Captain looking less than happy, "What?" You question.

"What'd I tell you? No more pranks, or else!" Kims' still quick enough to scold you, thinking it had something to do with you.

"That weren't me, Kimmy. I've been watched the film-- Ask Alessia!" You protest, turning to look at the blonde for her to back you up.

Kim turns to look at the blonde girl, "Alessia?" She questions.

"Shes' right, Kim," Alessia nods in agreement, "Y/N has been practically glued to be the whole flight." She teases you, ruffling your hair which she knows' you all but hate when someone does that.

The Scots' women looks more than confused now, "Then who was it?" She wonders.

There's a few snickers around the plane and you poke your head round to spot where the laughters coming from; The Young Guns.

You weren't going to rat them out, you were actually quite impressed about being able to pull the prank off, even if it did mean that you were the one to get blamed for it.

"I don't know. Sure you're not imaging things now, Kimmy?" You joke with the older women, sure enough you were in sulking still about the lack of your best friend this flight but you had a spark of energy after your nap and would you really be yourself if you didn't act up even the slightest bit?

"Wha-- I know you had something to do with this, Y/N!" Kim is lost for words as shes' more than convinced it was you pulling the strings on the chaos.

"It wasn't me. How could I do that when I've been sat here the whole time?" You tell the Scots' women as you give her one of your famous cheeky grins.

"Yes, well-- Urgh. Enough of it, anyways. I don't want any more trouble the reaminder of the flight," Kim states sternly, wagging her finger in your face, "The sooner this plane lands, the better." She mutters to herself, walking back over to her own seat.

"It weren't even me!" You protest, miffed about the fact that you were automatically the one to get the blame for this.

Are you that predictable?

"Back in a minute. I need to loo," You make the quick excuse to the blonde, clambering over the seats before you head to where the academy players are all huddled around together, "Young Guns!" You shout in a low whisper.

"Hi Eagle 1," Mini Viv greets you.

"Whatever it was that you did, I got the blame for!" You huff in protest.

"We don't know what you're talking about," Noami replies.

You can't help but scoff and glance between all 6 of them who're trying to stifle their laughter, "I know you definitely did something. I know that look!" You insist.

"We didn't do anything," Maddie snickers.

"Yeah and well, if we did then we just learnt from the best," Laila remarks.

"Yeah but that's not the-- Wait, really? You really think I'm the best?" Your sidetracked by the compliment to continue to point your point across, "Seriously?"

"Yep," Maddie agrees.

Freya shrugs her shoulders, "We just wanted to have some fun. The flight is boring otherwise." She admits.

"I told them it was a bad idea," Mini Katie chips in, looking more apologetic than the other 5 of them.

You can't help but grin feeling a certain acomplishment, "Right, okay... I'm goin' back to my seats, but no more pranks. Mother Kimmys' convinced it' me and I'm toast if anything else happens!" You warn them.

Mini Viv mockingly salutes you, "You've got it, Eagle 1. No more pranks."

"Good," You glance between the 6 of them with a certain look, hoping it looks at least the bit immidating; After all, you have a great mentor when it comes to it, "I'm going back to my seat before Less starts to wonder where I am."

"Guys, should we have told her about us switching the luggage or leave it as a suprise for her to find out?" Noami questions in a hushed whisper.

"Nah, leave it. At least we won't be in the firing line then," Laila jokes with the rest of the Academy players.

"Freedom!" You exclaim, jumping up from your seat the minute that you touch down in Lonndon; You couldn't wait to be off the plane and be able to run around again.

"Someones' eager to get off, huh?" Cloe jokes, spotting you from her seat as she watches you to try and rush off the plane the second you can.

"It's almost hard to believe that Y/N was this quiet on the plane," Emily chimes in.

"Yeah, you wouldn't think it now," Vic snickers, noting your usual energetic self again.

"Lemme off! I need fresh air!" You insist, wanting nothing more than to be off the plane, having had enough of being confided inside of it.

With that being said, as soon as the moment came where you could exit the plane, you pretty much sprint from your seat and out of the door, running down the steps onto the tarmac ahead of the rest of the girls.

"And shes' off," Alessia chuckles, shaking her head.

"Y/N! Don't run off!" Kims' back to stressing about you as she rushes to try and catch up with you, knowing the busy airport that you're no doubt bound to get lost inside if you get far, "Come back here!"

"Freedom!" You exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air as you run around like a complete maniac in that moment.

"Run, Y/N. Run!" The Young Guns shout in encouragement.

"Y/N! Come 'ere!" Kim shouts in frustration, trying to get a hold of you while your running about.

"I'm free!" You shout aloud like a mad man.

"Y/N, come back here-- We're about to go into a crowded airport!" Kim continues to shout frantically, catching up with you and taking a hold of your upper bicep.

"Ay, Kimmy-- Lemme go, I want a taste of freedom!" You whine and try to wriggle away, all you want to do is run around but the Scots' women is pretty reluctant to let go anytime soon.

"I'm not letting go, I can't trust that you won't run off again!" Kim states, sternly.

You still continue to try and break free from her grasp, "I won't do it again. Lemme go!"

"Mhm, I don't believe that-- Come on!" With that being said, Kim tugs you in the direction of the airport with the rest of the girls.

At least while you went through security, the Scot' had the kindness to realise her grip before you all head over to reclaim your baggage.

Low and behold did you or the rest of the team know what had happened to it.

Of course you were the one to get the blame for it without even a second thought.

"Oh hold on, I need to grab my power bank before we leave the airport," Katie speaks up in realisation, "My phones' almost dead."

"There's always one," Teyah jokes, rolling her eyes.

Katie unzips her suitcase, or at least what she thinks is hers, "Why can't I find it? I swear I packed it-- Hold on, this one ain't even mine!" She exclaims, confused as she continues to dig around in it, "Who's is this?" She questions, turning to the rest of the group.

"That's mine," Sarah chimes in.

Katie huffs and passes the suitcase to her, "You must've got mine then?" She questions, accepting the suitcase before she opens it up to have no luck there either, "What? This ones' not even mine!" She states, annoyed about the situation.

With that being said, Katie begins to start literally ripping open each and every suitcase, scouring through to find the correct one.

"They've all been messed up!" Vic points out in realisation.

"Really? No shit sherlock," Teyah teases the Dutch girl.

"What's going on?" Kim asks, confused as she overhears the commotion.

"The baggage has all been mixed up," Alessia exhales a sigh.

"Y/N," Kim mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose; At the news of this, your Captain is literally stood there seething in anger while you're non the wiser, distracted by the colourful logos' in the airport of a nearby shop where you spot lego.

"Of course it was her," Katie remarks, huffing in annoyance.

"Ah, no. Y/N, come back here, right now!" Kims' quick to spot you making a run for it in the direction, "Y/F/N, get back here!" She shouts through the airport.

"O... Ow, Kimmy!" You flinch in shock as you feel the pain of your ear being yanked, "Lemme go! Lemme go, I just want the Lego!" You state, not seeing the big deal about it; In your opinion, it looked so cool!

"Absolutely not! No!" Kims' firm in her words as she believes your the one thats' behind the whole mix up of the bags, "Why can't you not just behave for once? This is gettin' beyond a joke now, Y/F/N!"

"O... Ow! This hurts-- Lemme go!" You continue to whine and writh around in pain, your definitely not a fan of this but you don't see what the huge fuss was about you running off to look at the Lego, "I just wanted to look at the Lego, its' not a big deal!"

"I'm not talkin' about the lego, Y/N. You mixed up the bags!" Kim points the finger at you for the blame, "Don't even try to deny it-- I knew you were up to something!" The Scots' women scolds you.

"What? That wasn't even me!" You whine, trying to break free from the Scots' women.

"Like I believe that, Y/N-- This is completely out of order!" Kim states, sternly as she drags you in the direction back to the bags, "I can't believe you-- You can't ever stop causing trouble!" She scolds.

Your at a complete loss for words, you had no idea what she was talking about but the pain in your ear really was hurting a lot the more that Kim continued to hold it tightly, "I don't... I don't-- It wasn't me. Let go, it hurts!" You complain.

"The Young Guns have a confession," Katie speaks up as you both approach them all again; It turns out that while Kim was chasing you around the airport, the Young Guns decided to come clean.

"Oh?" Kim blinks and looks between the 6 academy players.

"Go ahead," Teyah nudges Freya to speak.

"Uh... It's about the baggage..." Freya begins.

"That wasn't Y/N," Maddie continues to say.

Mini Viv scratches the back of her neck, "Er, yeah, it was us instead."

"We just wanted to have some fun," Laila chips in.

"Yeah, the flight was borin' and wanted to do something," Noami states.

"I was completely against it-- I told them it was a bad idea!" Mini Katie insists, seeing the fury in the Scots' facial expression and not wanting to be on the wrong side of her Captain.

Kim exhales a sigh, easing her grip on your ear as she pinches the bridge of her nose, "Right, I see. Well, thank you for being honest," She states.

You stare at the Scots' women in disbelief, "Thats' it? That's all your gonna say-- You yanked me by me ear across the airport and they just get off scot free? What the actual fuck!" You exclaim, annoyed.

"Calm down, Y/N," Alessia can clearly tell your annoyed and tries to defuse the situation.

"Calm down? Nah, sod that! If... If that were me then I actually would've been in trouble-- That's not fair!" You whine, huffing and puffing and stomping your feet around to cause a scene.

"That's enough, Y/N," Kim cuts in, her voice remaining firm, "I don't care who did it, they've admitted it now lets' grab our things and get out of here so we can go and meet the rest of the girls.

"I didn't... I didn't even get to look at the lego!" You huff in annoyance, kicking the ground beneath you as you sulk behind the rest of the girls, "I want to at least look at that!"

"I don't think so!" Kims' quick to grip a hold of your ear again as you're reluctantly pulled in the direction of where Leah, Lia, Beth and Viv are all waiting for you, "Leah! Come get yer' kid. I'm done babysittin' now!" She exclaims.

"Kimmy, lemme go-- This hurts!" You still try and break free from the Scots' womens' grip, but to no avail shes' still reluctant to let go.

"Hi, girls. Good trip?" Lia greets you all as you walk over to them.

Katie scoffs, "You could say so."

"It's been eventful," Alessia chimes in.

"So, we heard you might need one of these?" Beth smirks, holding up one of Myles' leashes in her hand as she looks you dead in the eye.

"What-- No!" You protest against the idea, scowling at the blonde, whos' finding complete humour in the situation.

Leah furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she catches up to you all, "Dare I ask what happened?" She asks.

"Y/N's just having a tantrum over lego and other things," Vic jokes.

Judging by Leahs' stoic facial expression, you guess that shes' less than happy to hear that.

"I'm never babysittin' again!" Kim states, releasing her grip on your ear as she pushes you in the direction of the blonde, "Shes' your problem now."

With that being said, Kim all but takes a hold of her luggage and starts to walk off from the rest of the group.

"Wait, no-- Hey Kim, hold on!" Leah calls out to her in sudden realisation, "We still need you to babysit when we go to camp!"

"No, no, nope. Absolutely not!" Kim shouts back in response without even turning round, "Theres' not a single chance that I'm taking care of that menace any time soon-- I need a break!" She exclaims.

"C'mon Kim, we can hardly take her to camp with us!" Beth pleads with the Scots' women.

Kim scoffs and shakes her head, "That's your problem girls, figure it out yourself!" That being said, shes' quick to make her exit out of the airport and you bet no doubt the first place shes' heading to is the nearest off license.

"You know I'm 19, right? I can take care of myself just fine-- Alright, I'll just shut up then..." You go to protest, but judging by the look that you get from all four older girls, you just decide to shut up.

"Poor Kim," Lia exhales, shaking her head.

Viv hums in agreement, "Yeah, poor Kim indeed."

"I thought I told you to behave?" Leah exhales a sigh while she looks at you in disappointment.

You were now back home, you had to deal with the scolding of a lifetime which still didn't end even when you arrived back at the flat you shared with the blonde.

Which led you to know, where the blonde was still telling you off for everything dumb and idiotic in her own words that you've done over the past few days.

"I did-- I just wanted to look at lego!" You whine, trying to justify the reasoning for your need to run off in the airport.

"Oh, really? So Kim literally dragging you through the airport by your ear was for no reason at all, was it?" Leah questions with a raised eyebrow as she unlocks the front door.

Busted.

"I hope you know that you're grounded," Leah states, firmly.

"What! Why?" Your eyes widen in disbelief.

"Because I quite clearly remember telling you to behave and you clearly didn't," Leah explains the reasoning as she continues with her usual stern facial expresion, "Therefor, you are grounded."

"You can't ground me-- I'm 19!" Your quick to protest, knowing there was probably no use in even doing that.

Leah has the audacity to smirk at you, "Oh, well that's where you're wrong there, sunshine. My house, my rules."

You continue to widen your eyes in disbelief, "What!? That's not... That's not even fair!" You whine, like the ever mature adult you are.

"It is more than fair, Y/N," Leah states, firmly as she looks you dead in the eye, "From what it seems like, between you and Kyra, you've both tormented Kim the whole trip. We had a conversation about this, didn't we? The reason for you being grounded is more than justified and I'm not going to change my mind anytime soon."

"Meany," You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

"Great, so we can't leave her alone and nor can we take her with us," Leah huffs aloud, talking about you like you weren't even there with Lia, Beth and Viv who also came back to the flat with you both since they all seemed to have shared one car.

"What do we do?" Lia questions.

"Well, there is a third option," Beth chimes in.

"What's that?" Leah furrows' her eyebrows in confusion.

Beth starts to turn to look at Viv with a coy smirk on her face, "Viv could you..."

"No, no, definitely not!" Vivs' quick to catch on to what her girlfriend was about to say and protests against the idea, "You heard what Y/N was like in Melbourne, I'm goin' to Scotland-- I'm not dealing with that!"

Spoiler alert, you do in fact end up going to Scotland.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[roboticchibitan]

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

[moonstruckme]

hi!! first of all, i am a frequent reader(???) of your blog because your writing is immaculate and you seem so sweet and fun to talk to you, thank you so much for all the work that you do

second of all, i really hope your request are indeed open so that i am not spamming you🫶 in case they are closed, i am so very sorry and freely ignore this

I was wondering if i could request a little reader x either james or if the spark comes to do poly! i will NEVER say no to that lmao, where the reader seemingly out of nowhere starts feeling down, voicing that she doesn't think she's a good person? because she thought of all the friendships and extremely close people that left her and she just feels hurts and confused?

need some hurt/comfort rn, i know i am a little mean, and probably not the nicest person out there, but thinking of all the failed friendships/folks that i loved so dearly makes me feel like perhaps i am not a good person and that thought plagues me a bit ng

either way, thank you so much in advance, i hope you are well, getting to take care of yourself and have a lovely rest of day, evening of whenever you are reading this!

Thanks for requesting honey, love you <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

James is talking to you about the movie he wants to go see, and if you were a better girlfriend—if you were better, period—you’d be listening, chipping in occasionally but mostly just letting him talk with the same adoring attentiveness he always gives you. But instead, you’re still stuck in the pub you’d left a few minutes ago, watching the surprise play over Sirius’ features. The flash of something you suspect might have been hurt in his cool gray eyes before he covered it up with skillful quickness. 

“And whatever I say, I can’t seem to lure the boys to another sci fi film,” James goes on, “so I’m afraid you might be conscripted for that one.” 

“Okay.” 

“Really?” The disbelief in James’ voice brings you back to attention. “I thought you’d have more qualms after that last one.”

You did swear to James that he’d never be dragging you to another of his nerd movies again. But maybe this is your opportunity to turn over a new leaf. “You want to see it, right?” 

“Well, yeah.” 

“Then we’ll go.” 

The two of you walk under a streetlight, giving you a clear view of your boyfriend’s skeptical expression. “You’re really alright with it? We can go see that new rom com instead, if you want.” 

See, this is the problem with being around James. He’s so, so good. It makes you seem even worse in contrast. And he makes it impossible to be selfless, because he always has to be the most giving person in any situation. It makes you want to cry from both love and frustration. 

“Let’s just go to the one you want to see,” you say, and despite your best intentions the words come out with a slight edge. 

“Alright,” he says slowly. Now you can feel his eyes on you, your own gaze vaguely ahead as you keep pace alongside him on the sidewalk. You live in a more shadowy part of town, but the clouds obscuring the moon make the darkness complete. James’ voice is tentative. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You chew your bottom lip. “Do you think I upset Sirius earlier?”

“You mean that joke you made?” It doesn’t help your anxiety that he knows exactly what you mean. No chance it flew completely under everyone else’s radar, then. “No, he was fine.” 

“You don’t think he looked…I don’t know, shocked? Like his feelings were hurt?” 

James’ gaze burns into the side of your head, but you won’t look at him. “No, angel. I think your sense of humor can be a little…” he fumbles for the right word, and a worm of unease writhes in your gut “...brash, sometimes, but Sirius is made for that stuff. The last person you’re going to offend with that is him. He gets it.” 

You sigh and nod, doing your best to convince yourself he’s telling the truth. 

“Hey.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What’s going on in that head of yours? I can hear you thinking.” 

“I just don’t really know if I’m a good person.” 

Your voice is quiet, but you know James hears you perfectly. His steps actually fumble for a second, like he might stop in his tracks. 

“Of course you are,” he says. “I mean—listen, of course I would lie to you even if you weren’t, though I guess we probably wouldn’t be together if I thought you were a bad person, but—anyway, you are. You are a good person.” 

You force a laugh, ignoring how your throat contracts around it. “Sorry. I know you’d lie to make me feel better, Jamie. You’re too nice.” 

“I would,” James acknowledges, following as you go up the front steps to your apartment and dig around in your bag for your key. “But I’m not right now.” He ducks his head as you twist your key in the lock, jockeying for a view of your face. “Sweetheart, why would you think that?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble as you step inside. You set your keys down on the table by the door and knead at your chest, but it does nothing to relieve the hollow ache forming there. 

“Yeah you do,” James says softly, hot on your tail. “I know you, you don’t just say these things. Come on.” He takes your shoulders in his hands, trapping you, and you drop your gaze to avoid meeting his eyes. (You know how that goes. They make you feel all soft and melty and get you to talk and talk and talk.) “I can’t be fully honest with you if you’re not honest with me,” he says. 

“I just know—I know I can be really mean sometimes.” Your voice cracks on mean, and James tightens his grip on you, holding you together while you crumble. The pressure in your throat is hot and thick, but it feels so good to cry. Like your outsides finally match your insides. “I want to be better but I don’t know how.” 

“Sweetheart.” James’ voice sounds like heartbreak. His hands slide from your shoulders, wrapping around your upper back and squeezing painfully. “Darling, you don’t need to be better. Or, not more than anyone else. You’re already a good person.”

You make a miserable choked sound, frustrated with him for only telling you what you want to hear and frustrated with yourself for not knowing better.

“You are,” he says, half desperate. “Know how I know?”

You take your face from his shoulder, eyeing guiltily the glossy wetness of your tears and snot on his jumper. James takes your face in a big hand, finally succeeding in angling it towards him. 

He’s giving you a little smile despite his own watery eyes and the deep crinkle between his brows. He takes your look as enough prompting to go on. 

“Because bad people don’t worry about if they’re good people, angel.” The words are emphatic, beseeching. Begging you to understand. “They don’t try to do the right thing. You being worried about Sirius is just proof that you care. Do you think a bad person would get themselves so worked up” —he thumbs at the wet skin underneath your eye, smiling thinly— “over whether they’re being too mean? That just doesn’t happen, love.” 

You swallow thickly, letting James press a solid kiss to your temple. He holds your face between his hands like you’re something special. Something worth having. 

“I wouldn’t be with someone who was always being actually mean to my friends,” he tells you, voice dropping into a lower register. You know he’s being sincere. James would never let anything happen to Sirius or Remus, certainly not by someone he’d brought into their orbit. “But we all know you don’t mean anything cruel by the things you say. It can be a little…” 

“Brash?” you supply, and James smiles. 

“Yeah,” he admits, “sometimes. Anyone who knows you doesn’t take it personally, though. You’re kind in your own way, it’s just not always what people are used to.” James tilts his head, assessing your expression and giving you full view of the earnestness in his in turn. “You’re a good person, sweetheart. And please don’t worry about being that kind of mean to Sirius, alright? He can take it.”

[zepskies]

Hello! I was wondering... kinda cringy but can I request comparing hand sizes with Soldier boy headcanons

Hey love!! ❤️

Aw, it's not cringey. That's actually really cute! Let me see what I can do for you...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only on this one, folks! For some smutty musings on those talented fingers.

Headcanon: The way you love Ben's hands.

You love playing with his hair, slipping your fingers through the soft strands.

But you also love his hands.

Despite the pampered lifestyle he led growing up, Ben is a very tactile person. He likes working with his hands.

You like to catch him when he's cleaning his weapons. He takes them apart and puts them back together expertly. His smooth hands and long fingers glide as they polish metal with a small rag.

You like to watch him try and fail to cook, ultimately burning the eggs. You like the way his hands move quick yet awkward with the wooden spoon scraping across the pan.

(He burns the bacon too. "It's better that way, extra fucking crispy," he grumbles, when you tease him.)

You like the strength in his hands, tempered just for you.

When his fingers brush across your cheek. When they graze your arm absently while something plays on TV. When he comes up behind you and rests a heavy hand at the small of your back. Or when they grip your hips and thighs and ass hard enough to bruise.

When those talented fingers tease you, slipping between your legs and finding the source of your pleasure with ease.

Long fingers slowly dipping inside your wet heat, exploring your inner walls with the practiced patience of a man fully familiar with every part of you.

They know where and how and when to twist and curl, making you utter broken gasps of his name and shudder from deep within.

And Ben gets something he loves: the sound of your voice as you come hard on his fingers, and make it known in his ear...

But sometimes, it's just as simple as laying with him in bed, afterwards, holding one of his hands in yours.

Your fingers trace over each and every one of his, noting the differences of his larger hand in your smaller one. You compare them in your mind: both different versions of smooth, his masculine to your slender. His blunt nails to your longer ones.

One night, you even line up your hand against his, like Tarzan and Jane.

His brows furrow. "The hell're you doing?"

A smile tugs at your lips. "Nothing. You've just got huge hands."

He snorts. "I have a man's hands."

You roll your eyes. Right. But your smile deepens when you bring the back of his hand to your lips. You turn it over and press a sweet kiss into his palm, closing your eyes.

Ben tolerates it.

Or so he'd have you believe.

Really, he just watches you as a tendril of warmth plumes in his chest. His lips hint at a smile.

There are wordless moments when he knows you love him.

He'll probably never tell you out right, but times like these are some of the ones he likes most with you.

They stay in his memory long afterwards. And when the darker ones threaten to cloud his day, he pulls these moments out like old photographs, imprinted on his mind.

AN: Hehe, hope you guys like this one! ❤️

Just so you know, there's a longer SB imagine coming soon (either this coming week or next), and it is ✨Angsty.✨ 😅

I'll probably release an interesting one next. Though the request was a bit niche, I really got into it! So I'm hoping you all will enjoy. It includes reactions from Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, and Soldier Boy (Ben)...

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

@agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @lacilou

[mojoflower]

So You Want to Tumbl?

There are lots of newcomers here these days, and I thought I'd spell out how to begin and what it means to ‘curate your own dash’ for folks who haven't grown along with Tumblr for the past decade.

If you're coming from a platform where content is fed to you, Tumblr can seem barren and intimidating in the beginning.  But that's actually a good thing!  What it means is that you will see what you want to.  If you're in a fighting mood, go find political discourse.  If you're feeling fragile, make your dash nothing but art and nature.

How to begin?

You’ve made your blog and picked out your icon (seriously, choose an icon:  otherwise you’re indistinguishable from bots).  Feel free to be anonymous.  Most of us are, and it’s wonderful to have a place that’s not tied to your Real Life.  Here you can be a fandom freak (like me!) and no one judges you and your boss will never find out.

Now seek out tags that interest you.  For example, I was just looking through #moss because I like peace and green things and old-growth forests.  (And, apparently, beautifully naked fae-men, heh.)

Now you follow that tag (if it's a popular tag, it'll say how many followers the tag has, which is beneficial to know if you're making a post that you want to reach all its interested audience) and posts with that tag automatically fill your dash. Voila, you have begun to curate your experience!

Do Follow:  tags; blogs in that tag that you like; people who comment on posts in the blog/tag you follow that seem like they’re up your alley.  The more people you follow, the more varied and nuanced your dash is.

Don’t Follow:  people who make comments or posts that raise your blood pressure.  Topics that upset you.  Discourse that has you arguing in your head for the rest of the day.  PLEASE avoid toxicity.  Real Life is hard enough.

How to be Social and Interact

If you want to find your tribe and interact, it’s best to start following individual blogs.  (If you follow a blog, they have an opportunity to follow you back.  Simply following a tag is a passive, one-way street.)  To Tumbl is to be in a vast cocktail party, and you need to mingle and eavesdrop to find the things that galvanize you.

How to be seen and heard

💬Comment on posts (please always stay positive and enthusiastic:  we really try to avoid toxicity).  You can read other comments (and reblogged comments) by clicking on the notes:

🔁Reblog posts you like, both to show your support and to show other people what kind of things get you excited.  Reblogging is essential to the tumblr ecosystem, because it’s the only way posts move around and get seen.  You can also “like” posts, but that's a much more passive way to interact. Also, reblogs and your own original posts show up on your blog and prove that you're not a bot.

Create your own posts and remember that the first 20 tags you use are essential, because that’s what gets you seen (and followed) by strangers.  Tags 21-30 are good for searching and archiving on your own blog, but they don’t count on the dash.  Instructions on how to Make A Post.

Participate!  Once you find your crowd, you’ll discover that there are always things going on.  For example, in fandoms, we’ve got writing events, art events, crafting and cons.  The more you try to be involved, the more new friends you’ll discover.  Tumblr allows for such an organic community.  One person has a thought, and many others build on that thought, creating something far greater than the sum of its parts.

There is no real algorithm beyond using those first 20 tags.  This may be discouraging to folks who are used to working an algorithm, but we like it fine here, because it keeps everyone real and keeps obnoxious social climbers/capitalists out of your face.

Be patient!  Just like in real life, when you find yourself in a crowd of people you don’t know, it takes a while to form connections.  Watch and listen, and learn to read the room.  Honestly, the thing that will win you the most friends/followers is honest enthusiasm about your space.

Don’t aim for the big names to become your new buddies.  You’re more likely to find a thriving coterie among other fresh faces.  Don’t assume that because they’re small or new they have nothing to offer you.  Often, this is the fire that keeps any given corner of Tumblr going.

Tumblr Etiquette

NEVER REPOST (without explicit permission).  Reposting is when you cut and paste from someone else’s content and then make it into a brand new post under your own blog name.  That is stealing and is very condemned.  Reblogging is when you use 🔁and the OP (original poster) remains attached to their post and continues to see and be in charge of interactions.  

Reblog in addition to Liking. A post that you 'like' is static. You are not helping it to get to a broader audience. If the post or poster is something/someone you support, then REBLOG that sucker: it deserves to fly!

Reblog and add your own content.  One of the best parts of Tumblr is that you can comment on a post, or even add to it in your reblog (as long as you’re not being a dick, okay?  Or changing the topic, which is known as ‘hijacking a post’).  Here is a wonderful example of the Tumblr ecosystem at work, where someone had a thought, other people had thoughts about that thought, and then a bunch of artists jumped in.  Tumblr posts BUILD COMMUNITY, and you can be a part of that conversation.  (Do try to refrain from reblogging with vacuous comments just because you want people to notice you rather than because you actually have something to add, though.  That’s just clutter.)

The most important part of “curating your experience” is learning to Block.

You can block individual blogs, Anons, people in the comments that you find upsetting.  Here's a post on How to Block.

Block entire tags or keywords if they are triggers for you.  (Here is a post on how to do that.) 

Blocking is self-care.  It is not a platform to demonstrate to the community how much you hate someone and how they should, too.  Usually the blocked person never even knows you’ve blocked them.  If they do something egregious (like tell you or someone else to kill themselves), then ‘Report’ them.

You can block something (like #US Politics) if you can’t handle it at the moment, and then unblock it later.  Block a friend if they’re spamming something you don’t like and then unblock them later.  It’s all good!  You are in control of what shows up on your dash.

But doesn’t this mean my dash will be single-topic and boring?

The simultaneous joy and pitfall in following individuals is that MANY blogs are not single-topic.  You will be exposed to all kinds of reblogs/ideas/other people from the folks you chose to follow, and can decide for yourself if you (a) want to be involved in that topic, (b) are indifferent to that topic, or (c) want to run from it screaming.

Also, the blogs you follow will move from hobby/theme/passion over time, and you can move with them, appreciate their new topic without vibing with it, or drop them altogether.

And THIS is how you curate your dash, my friends.

***Install New XKit extension.  It’ll make your life easier!

***Here's the Tumblr Help Center, where you can learn more details.

[yestrday]

–BLUSH BLUSH ! anemo | hydro | geo | pyro

⤷ yan! hybrid! kamisato ayato, childe, xingqiu 

summary ! your aquatic hybrids are just as playful as the ebbing tides of the sea, and very much in love with you. the prime residents of your manmade lake just behind your house, you foolishly trust them enough not to question why the water’s surface grows red when they submerge into its depths.

content ! inaccurate demonstrations of their animal’s physical traits; any science majors this is the time to not read any further lest you want a headache; mentions of murder; thoughts of corruption; sadism; mentions of a leash; toxic behavior

notes ! uh wow did not notice theres like only 3 hydro men and yet it took me five business days to write this lmao.. anyways enjoy

AYATO scares you the first time you meet. on that particular day, the sun is bright and makes the man-made lake behind your house glisten ever so beautifully. it’s a sad attempt on your father’s part to appease your loneliness, but you can’t deny how happy you are when you find out about it. riding a rowboat into the center of the lake, you enjoy the wonderful weather as you relax under your parasol, alongside the tea and biscuits aether has prepared for you…

that is, if the tea hadn’t ran out when you weren’t watching. you swear there was tea in the thermostat just awhile ago. as you ponder in confusion about its sudden disappearance, you spy a pair of glowing eyes peeking at you fro just under the ripples of the water. when you try to lean in closer, you scream in shock when the creature’s head pops out from the water and nudges your head. “hello~” the creature, covered in glistening blue scales and sporting a coy grin, greets you even as you jump back. “my, that’s not how you greet a tenant of your lands, do you now?”

AYATO helps balance the rowboat when you almost tip it over from your shock. in fact, he actually helps push the rowboat towards the shore so that he can finally have a proper conversation without you almost falling into the water every now and then. now that you’re on stable ground, you can finally get a good view of him– inhumanly white skin tinged with the undertones of blue, and shiny blue denticles covering his limbs and temples. and when smiles, it’s rather… deadly, if the sharp rows of teeth have anything to say for themselves. he leans casually on a rock, and lets his fin (your anxiety increases when you begin to realize it’s shaped like a shark’s) rest under the sun.

you quickly find out the sawshark hybrid has been living in your lake just a bit after it was finished building. he was busy running away from something, and he wasn’t about to pass up a good lake. it unsettles you when he tells you that he was there from the very moment your father’s driver dropped you off at the mansion and could even recount the day you met aether. his shark’s grin grows larger when you shudder.

when you bring him back to the mansion, everyone is on their guard against AYATO. his eye smile seems cunning, and he touches you a tad too flirtatiously for everyone’s taste. the only one who seems happy about his appearance is thoma, who apparently has a shared history with the man, and they quickly adapt a master-servant relationship. thoma seems to be at his every beck and call as he is at yours, and sometimes you wonder if you’re sharing the title as ‘master of the house’ now.

AYATO seems to have a strange fondness for teasing you. as his long fingers trail your cheek and lift you by the chin, he delights in seeing you all flustered and stammering. he finds you adorable, like one would do a pet. he finds it fascinating how so many hybrids, both mythical and normal ones alike, have become so subservient to you. he understands them though, really– after all, how could one not fall for a human as sweet and genuine as you? you take care of them even though you could easily exploit them, and you have no ulterior motives like the rest of your folk.

AYATO likes to watch the events of the house unfold from the shadows. he’s not one for actually being part of the drama, but if there’s something going on, he’s sure to know about it. in fact, some of them may even be orchestrated by him. but whenever the involved hybrid angrily comes up to confront him, all they are left with is a coy smile and the very damning fact that they have no evidence on him.

if you’re thrusted into the elite life, you can come to AYATO for guidance, but do be wary when doing so, though. in his home country, he was one of the more important elites, so he’s well-aware of the trickeries and betrayal that comes with this sort of lifestyle. he finds it very amusing that your loaf of a father would push a greenhorn like you into such an intricate environment. it’s like he wants to see your downfall. but no worries~! mature and responsible AYATO is there to guide you!

beware though, AYATO is very strict when it comes to your training. after all, you are sort of his master, no? and he can’t have an incompetent buffoon for a master. he’ll make you repeat and repeat his lessons until you’re crying and your hands are sore from raising the teacup the right way. at his side, thoma wants to come forward and soothe you, but all it takes is a knowing glance from ayato to make him stop. tsk tsk… come on, master. you’re the child of a billionaire as well as the beloved human of sooo many hybrids. these trials are for your own good…

or so he says, with a sadistic grin on his face. his blue eyes shimmer as you rub your tears away and continue on with the training. ah… you really are quite the adorable pet. sharks don’t easily bow their heads to anyone, you know? much less filthy, corrupt humans. he doesn’t understand why your hybrids are so eager to lay their head at your feet, when you’re soooo much prettier with a leash around your neck ♡

RELATIONSHIPS: ayato is never seen without thoma by his side, and many of the hybrids actually seem to pity the dog hybrid as he’s the number one victim of ayato’s pranks. the inazuman hybrids are actually quite respectful of him, minus itto who has no sense of wariness and just ropes ayato in whatever game he has in mind. sometimes, he manages to involve aether in running an errand for him, much to the chagrin of the catboy.

AJAX shows up at your house as he’s tagging behind a disgruntled aether. you swear you could mistake him for a fox hybrid had it not been for the pointy horn (er… tusk?) on his head. he just… gives off that aura, like the coy smile on his face and the fluffy ginger hair. from what aether tells you, they met while aether was out for a walk and the man just immediately pounced on him and challenged him to a duel. judging by the injuries, it was a close fight, but aether ultimately came out the victor. you catch aether sending wary glances towards the narwhal, who ignores this in favor of smiling at you.

AJAX immediately greets you, a friendly and curious look on his face as he inspects the master of the hybrid who bested him. "hello there~" he's intimidatingly tall, and a closer look at him lets you see the faint shimmer of the mottled skin from his neck to around the edges of his face. "you wouldn't mind sheltering me for a liiittle bit, won't you? i can't seem to rest until i've bested my comrade over there! that, and–" his eyes glint with a crude expression as the shadowy eyes of your hybrids glare from the corners. "– you've got a pretty interesting cast here."

when AJAX joins your crew, it seems like there's a plus one headache for aether. he's challenging every other hybrid he comes across, but he seems like he's pestering aether the most. he always gets his ass beaten, and though he isn't actually upset about it, he uses this as an excuse for you to comfort him. he comes running to you with fake tears and rushes to hug you— much to aether's chagrin— whining about how your cat was bullying him (not minding the fact that you've been watching them from when AJAX challenged him out of nowhere). hugging you from behind, he fake sobs into your neck, all the while locking you into place with his thick thighs.

AJAX takes good care of you, like how an older brother would. when he's not purposely irritating the other hybrids by being overly clingy with you, he's gentle with his touches. he's also a good help with chores and he'll make you your favorite foods! it's quite obvious that he loves to dote on you, and that's one quality the others can respect. oftentimes, however, you become too adorable for your own good and he can't help but squeeze you in for a hug! that's when the other hybrids swoop in to pry him off you.

he finds the thought of pretty little you sequestered away in some mansion away from the cityscape somewhat… romantic? or more appropriately, appealing. his sick perversion convolutes your pitiful situation when he thinks of how easily he can just take you for himself. those with similar delusions may want to preserve your innocence, but AJAX fantasizes about how far he can corrupt you. did you really plan on staying quiet in this lonely mansion all your life? are you not angry at how easily your father can abandon you? you’re the heir to multimillion corporation, for goodness sake! you deserve more than this!

AJAX is more than willing to bloody his hands for you, should you ask of him. in fact, he already does so without you ever asking for it. he truly cares for you, and he can eliminate any threats to your life and position while laughing as he does so. if you’re a bit more innocent and sheltered, he won’t really let you know about his doings. however, if you’re the one who explicitly ordered the strike… well, AJAX will definitely seek your praise. clinging all over your, soaked in the blood of your enemy, he near grinds his body against you as he begs for your sweet, sweet praise… although it’s also sexy when you ignore his pleas.

RELATIONSHIPS: zhongli and ajax are a strange pair often seen together. while they talk over tea together, there is a stifling atmosphere as they passive-aggressively one-up each other. xiao is wary of him and is only second in beating him up. aether, of course, takes the number one spot, as ajax holds him in high regard than anyone in the house.

a rare trip to a lake– not your lake, but another one– greets you with disaster. the wind blows too hard, and your boat is swayed by the wind until you topple over and crash into the water. your hybrids are on the shore, none of them too adept at swimming, and strain as you might, you find that your underused limbs aren’t strong enough to pull you to shore. but suddenly you feel a pair of arms embrace you, before quickly swimming back up.

your savior drags you to shore, where your hybrids fuss over you while you cough up the water in your lungs. when you turn to meet your savior, you don’t know why you’re surprised when you meet another hybrid– an otter, he introduces himself, if it wasn’t evident enough by the long, fur-covered tail on his back. XINGQIU greets you with a gentlemanly smile, and you find yourself gaping at his pretty face before you suddenly thank him and call him your hero. XINGQIU is pleasantly surprised at this— so pleased, in fact, that he decides to come home with you.

seeing your collection of hybrids, XINGQIU is excited at the thought of meeting so many mythical as well as heroic entities. not only that, but he’s plenty delighted at your personal library. he’s usually engrossed in fiction about heroes and whatnot, and more often than not you’ll see the boy cuddled in the library’s sofa with his nose in a book. if he’s not in the library or playing another prank on chongyun, then he’s at the lake, floating contentedly on the water or reading a book on the riverbanks.

just on the foot of the hill your mansion sits on top, XINGQIU is well-known in the local village for his chivalrous deeds. it’s a quiet rural town, and he delights in its simplicity. when he’s down at the village for the walk, he’ll catch thieves and turn them or pay for the food of a hungry group of children. he’s among the well-liked hybrids of yours, and is a favorite by the local mothers. he’s not so much a favorite back at the mansion though. him being cheeky as well as prone to mischief has made the other members grow wary of him, even his best friend, chongyun. all this he laughs at, and continues to play pranks when other’s aren’t looking.

XINGQIU often shows an eagerness to do what’s good— for humanity, for his friends, and for you. while he’s a bit lazy when it comes to actually helping with the housework, he won’t stand for any sort of injustice that happens to you. whether you are falsely slandered or attacked by paid assassins, XINGQIU makes it his mission to save you. he’s so caught up in the thrill and pleasure of being your hero— the day you first called him that replays in his mind over and over again.

he’s so caught up in playing your hero that XINGQIU willingly blurs the line between chivalry and self-serving. is he really doing this because your opponents are unjustified in attacking a naive and defenseless person like you? or is he doing this because he enjoys you clinging to him and thanking him, singing his praises as you call him your hero over and over again.

XINGQIU loves you, that much is true. he loves you the point of never wanting to let you go, and he truly means to become the chivalrous hero he reads about in his books. but his more… playful (?) side wants to see you tear up a bit more, as you sit dazed on the floor with your attacker’s blood all over you and him at your front as he slices them up in the name of justice.

RELATIONSHIPS: he and chongyun are best buds, but it seems that xingqiu always has the upper hand in their relationship. zhongli sometimes acts as a mentor to the both of them as he trains them in the martial arts. he tags along with aether when he makes grocery runs down the village, as well as shows off his training to him every once in a while to show how much he’s improving.

tags: @probablynoposts​

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.9k (each individual around 170~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : References to a dead spouse/parent having a new partner after other parents death (Bard)

« 1, 10, 11, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ You two weren’t sure how to tell the Fellowship, especially when your main problems centred around saving Middle Earth. Surely a relationship was inconsequential?

✧ In the end, it was Merry and Pippin who discovered your relationship by walking in on you kissing.

✧ You didn’t even know they were there until you heard the excited gasps, before Merry eagerly asks if he can tell everyone.

✧ Aragorn and you have talked about this before, but he still checks with you again to make sure you’re absolutely comfortable with it.

✧ The two of you give your agreements to the hobbits (and you still don’t think you’ve ever seen them happier).

✧ One of your highlights comes from Merry running up behind you and saying you and Aragorn are together before he realises who you are.

✧ Sam and Frodo awkwardly come up to you at one point and ask if Merry and Pippin have permission - it’s very sweet to see them blushing and trying to keep eye contact with the two of you.

✧ The rest of the Fellowship briefly acknowledges it, although it’s generally with just a nod to the two of you or a few words.

✧ The only exception is when there's sparring training - in which the men sometimes tease Aragorn for focusing on your match slightly too much.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ You both ask each other who they’re ok with knowing, and both of you agree that with the lists you provide - but you don’t want to publicise it needlessly.

✧ Boromir is the first person you end up telling, after he not so subtly nudges you while you’re (also not subtly) staring at Legolas.

✧ He teases you a bit, but you know it’s in good faith, and when Legolas appears to ask if you’ll join him he instantly pushes you towards him, bidding you to have fun.

✧ On his part, Legolas actually forgets to tell anyone. It isn’t until he’s asking Aragorn about if his date idea is acceptable with mortal customs that Aragorn interrupts him to confirm the two of you are dating.

✧ Legolas stands there for a second, and then he realises he hasn’t told anyone.

✧ Proceeds to go into a long and slightly unnecessary infodump about you, and all of the things he loves about you, and why he’s honoured to be dating you, and-

✧ Aragorn actually doesn’t interrupt, and it’s only when Frodo and Sam come over that Legolas realises just how long he’s been talking.

✧ Word spreads from Frodo and Sam to the rest of the hobbits, and the hobbits make it everyone's business. And soon enough the whole Fellowship knows.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ When Frodo had first talked about you to his friends, everyone wanted to know who the big-folk in the Shire was, they had been able to tell Frodo was a little star-struck.

✧ They’d also been able to tell it hadn’t exactly gone away, even after you’d been meeting for a while.

✧ Eventually Frodo tells them he can’t come to one of their regular meetings, and that same day the Shire reports seeing you and another hobbit go in the direction of the flower fields.

✧ It only takes the next time they see Frodo for Merry to give him a grin, and Pippin to give him a ‘subtle’ jab to the ribs.

✧ Frodo laughs at them, “You were right. They said yes, and it was wonderful.”

✧ The two immediately start cheering, and Sam congratulates him more quietly - although with just as much sincerity.

✧ Bilbo greets it only with a nod, and mutters to Frodo that it certainly took him long enough.

✧ (Pippin attempts a whistle the next time he sees you and Frodo in public. It starts out well, and then he laughs too hard to finish it. Especially when you start laughing while Frodo turns red.)

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ They’re the ones that finally convince Sam to ask you out, and they’re all hoping for you and him to work out - it’s just obvious to them that you belong together.

✧ They don’t see him for the entire day he asks you out, except very early in the morning to wish him all luck.

✧ And then they see him the next day.

✧ With the largest grin on his face, from ear to ear. As well as what might be a semi-permanent blush.

✧ The friends look around at each other before realising what that means.

✧ Pippin immediately rushes over to congratulate their good friend, with Merry right behind him.

✧ There’s some teasing but it’s all in good faith - they’re all relieved that you two are together.

✧ Although they tease Sam they’re a lot nicer to you, letting you know they know with smiles and a nod across the room.

✧ Frodo congratulates you on your courting.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ One of the first things he, seriously, asks you is if he can tell his friends.

✧ Your confused as to why he asks, and he explains he doesn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position - and he’s more than happy for it to be just the two of you if that’s what you want/

✧ You reassure him that you’re fine with Pippin, Sam, and Frodo knowing.

✧ There’s obvious relief and joy on his face - and he grins before pulling you into a hug and thanking you. “Don’t worry, I won’t let Pip be mean.”

✧ The two of you actually see them the same day and Merry immediately runs over to Pippin.

✧ He almost tackles him into a massive hug, a huge grin on his face before glancing back at you with shining eyes.

✧ “They said yes!”

✧ (Although you find Merry’s excitement at telling others the sweetest, you have to admit hearing Pippin woop makes you smile as well.)

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Everyone in the Fellowship knew that he had a crush on you, because they all had eyes, although it was slightly less known you liked him back.

✧ Merry is the first to realise you’re probably going to end up together because Pippin asks him for a pep talk on the day.

✧ (Which Merry gives, of course.)

✧ The following breakfast he subtly goes up to Pippin and nudges him, to which Pippin gives a faux-wise nod before smiling and whispering ‘thank you’.

✧ Frodo and Sam both know him well enough to realise what’s happened, although they wait until you confirm it to say anything or make any comments.

✧ In the end you’re the one to ask if he wants it spread around, to which he answers of course - he just wasn’t sure if that was something you wanted.

✧ You reassure him that you’re fine with it, and you’d never be ashamed of this relationship.

✧ With your permission, he quickly gets around to telling everyone what’s going on.

✧ Even with every person he tells, the wonder that you’ve chosen him doesn’t diminish in the slightest.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ You can't help smiling about Boromir asking you if you'll be his partner.

✧ Of course, the next day this does creep out while you're running drills with the rangers.

✧ Even Anborn's frankly terrible warm-ups don't get rid of it, something that is quickly noticed by your comrades. And commented upon.

✧ Not telling them who it is, even when pleading with you to say who's making you smile that widely, just makes them more persistent.

✧ Faramir denies all knowledge when they ask him, although of course he knows about the two of you in.

✧ In the end they take to calling him mystery man.

✧ Two days later all soldiers are together again, and Boromir discreetly buys you a drink and you plan to real later.

✧ As you turn around you can see your troops grinning, one of them mouthing 'mystery man'.

✧ Being the fair second-in-command you are, it only results in one extra lap next meeting.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ He's, understandably, nervous about telling others about your relationship. ✧ Not because he isn't completely committed to you, he'd hang the moon and stars for you, but because he's worried about what people will say. ✧ And not about him - but about you. ✧ Faramir doesn't particularly want to introduce you to his father, so instead he introduces you to his brother. ✧ Boromir recognises you, and is immediately very cheerful and welcoming of you - putting the both of you at ease. ✧ Although he's very supportive, he understands it being kept a secret and promises that it is your relationship to tell. ✧ Faramir also offers to introduce you to his rangers, to which you eagerly agree.

✧ It's in a more casual setting - just a tavern, without the formalities of titles.

✧ The rangers are just as welcoming and supporting of you two, although they tease Faramir more than his brother did. 

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Aragorn had been the first person to notice when you two had started to like each other, before either of you had fully figured it out yourselves.

✧ And when you come back from your talk with Éowyn, he can see your blush and the small smile you have - the way you’re almost glowing.

✧ (Although most people with eyes would’ve noticed it too.)

✧ As such you don’t need to tell him, he merely comes up and congratulates you after the fighting is over - saying that you seem right for each other.

✧ Legolas and Gimli are also both with you when you come back from talking, and they realise as well.

✧ The both of them are a lot more vocal in their teasing about it - and you keep from hitting them by telling yourself it’s just Gimli’s way of not freaking out about the Dead.

✧ To be entirely honest your partner, and the teasing that comes with that, is the topic you’d much rather be thinking about.

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ You don’t need to tell Éowyn, of course, as she’s the one who set you up in the first place.

✧ She’s also the one who, when you finally get back from your first date, whistles as Éomer kisses you hand in goodbye and looks entirely too pleased with herself when you both turn red.

✧ Théodred realises on the day Éomer first kisses you, as he too is part of the Rohirrim force that went out - following his cousin’s horse until he sees them jump off.

✧ As soon as he sees you two kiss he looks over to Éowyn for confirmation, who simply grins back.

✧ He congratulates Éomer in private, before asking when you two are going to inform Théoden about it.

✧ After asking his uncle for permission to date you, which Théoden gives freely, you are eventually formally introduced - although he recognises you as Éowyn’s friend.

✧ No-one else is personally informed, although word does get out about a prince of Rohan’s dating, and it becomes common knowledge that you two are courting rather quickly.

✧ For the most part there’s no bother, and the most comments you get are of people telling you how much they wish to be in your place.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ As much as Bard wants to parade you around the rooftops, walk with your hand in his and give you a small kiss when you’re close together, he does restrain himself.

✧ He wants to be with you, through all of this, but he also understands the importance of waiting and making sure something is real.

✧ The children love you, but he doesn’t yet want the children to know you two are dating.

✧ Bard knows he should probably wait longer than the three month mark, but he still loves you just as much as your first date and you feel the same.

✧ So over dinner he tells the kids that you’re courting, and feels a massive amount of relief when they all express enthusiasm.

✧ After that some friends and family are told, although most people become informed via the rumour mill.

✧ On a slow day, the news of you holding Bard’s hand or him kissing you goodbye becomes good gossip.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ It also takes Thranduil a while for him to be honest about your relationship.

✧ And again it certainly isn’t because of his lack of commitment. Because if you needed something done, he would do everything in his power to do it. To make sure you could smile.

✧ He does it because he wants you to be ready for the responsibilities and judgements that, unfortunately, are to come with you being with him.

✧ Judgements that mean nothing to him but that you don’t deserve, and therefore will help prepare you for.

✧ Thranduil will completely go at your pace for if things are moving too fast or too slow, constantly checking in and making sure you’re ok with what’s happening.

✧ Although, if things are going too fast he does generally slow them down. Making sure you’re not feeling pressured, and if there’s anything he can do to help you.

✧ It’s a small gesture in terms of what he could do, but when he sits next to you and looks into your eyes you know he’s sincere.

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ When Tauriel is finally courting you, she just wants to show you off.

✧ To show the world how amazing her partner is - and that the two of you are together.

✧ If you'll let here, she'll happily he attached to you - holding hands, or giving you a quick kiss before you go out on patrol.

✧ Then when she's asked she's happy to confirm it, and try to give the person a list of the best things you've done in the past day.

✧ But if you ask her not too she also understands, and tries not to draw attention it it.

✧ Instead it's whispered in her friends ears with a sparkle in her eyes.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Lindir is nervous about telling others, although handles it fairly well.

✧ He asks if you'll allow him to wait a week or so - both to figure out what to say and to make sure you want this relationship.

✧ You reassure him that you will, but that he can also take all the time he needs.

✧ All in all, Lindir is probably the one of the most mature when it comes to telling people.

✧ Simply asking for a moment of time from the people he wishes to know, and then informing them that you are courting.

✧ And trying to deflect all compliments onto you, while simultaneously trying to remember them all so he can tell you them later.

✧ For your part you tell the people that you know in Rivendell, and they congratulate you (and admit envy) that you've managed to court the elf.

✧ Everything goes fairly smoothly, although you can't fully contain your shock when the Lord of Rivendell comes to speak to you. Even if it's only to congratulate the two of you. Especially if it's that.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Unsurprisingly, there aren’t that many people that Haldir knows in the lands of Rohan or of Gondor.

✧ Although a letter is sent that way, filled with surprisingly romantic prose that you wouldn’t expect from him, you know he won’t be able to tell anyone in his life until you go back to Lothlórien.

✧ But you do have Legolas to tell - and the remaining two of the hunters.

✧ You tell Legolas first, as his guard you’ve known him much longer, and because you want this to be something special.

✧ As elves, this will be (almost certainly) the only times you can say that you’ve fallen in love.

✧ Legolas is very congratulatory, instantly pulling you into a hug and saying he’s happy for you. Before pulling out of it and making you swear to tell him if Haldir doesn’t treat you well.

✧ It makes you laugh before you realise he’s being serious.

✧ To your amusement (and gratitude) Legolas then leaves to talk to your boyfriend - and you eventually find them standing outside and speaking in Elvish in quiet enough tones for you to not hear.

✧ Going over to them Legolas gives you a small nod, and Haldir offers you a smile before saying he’s glad that you have chosen him.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ Both of you are comfortable sharing what’s happening almost immediately, because both of you have lived in Rivendell for practically your entire lives and have a similar circle.

✧ In a way, telling others is awkward - but more because of the knowing smiles you receive, along with the congratulations.

✧ Of all the elves in Rivendell it seems that either Elrohir has told them, or that they’d always suspected it.

✧ Because of course the two of you somehow manage to be the most oblivious to your own relationship.

✧ Nearing the end of the day, Elladan takes your hand and gives it a kiss as you leave.

✧ “My apologies for managing to be this clueless for so long. I hope the rest of our lives can make up for it.”

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Finds it far two funny that both him and Arwen have fallen for Gondorian nobles, and as such cannot wait to officially tell her.

✧ (Of course it was very obvious for a while before, and even more so when his courting proposal was during a public event - even though he made sure to catch you mostly alone.)

✧ Proudly tells his sister that he’s got the much better partner to become mortal for, and that she should be jealous of the two of you.

✧ And then only jumping a little when he turns around to see Aragorn behind him. Does not apologise for his statement, but does reassure him that he’ll always love his little Estel and-

✧ Aragorn cuts him off with his congratulations, before politely asking Elrohir to stop trying to steal you away from quite so many official duties.

✧ At which point Elrohir feels it only right to give a vague answer, before trying to locate you and the trusty pile of paperwork beside you.

✧ Comes into your room happily announcing the king has given his blessings. For everything.

« first scenario, previous scenario, masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @chewgazellechew / @nilintakan / @stormchaser819✧ wish to be tagged?

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne: "I’m screaming alongside the rest of y’all! It’s happening!!!!" [source]

Nathan: "Thrilled to share our latest trailer! Very proud of all these animators." [source]

Trick: "There we go." [source] / "I hear there's something at this [trailer] link now." [source]

Blair: "LIVE NOW! October 31st 💜🐉🐺" [source]

Brianne: "It's almost here... So close..." [source]

Corinne: "I’ve held the dagger in my hands, and well, needless to say I can’t wait until my own personal copy arrives. I’m definitely not going to be unhinged. 🤷‍♀️" [source]

Bryce: "if I may workpost for a sec, I'm forever grateful for days like today when I get to gush about dragon age with the fans. this community is so welcoming and my heart is so full today 💜" [source]

User: "Of the new companions, who do you think would have the best chance of beating you at pinball?" / Corinne: "Bellara, definitely. As an Elven tinkerer with a curious mind and playful spirit, I think she’d be so into it" [source]

Brianne: "So excited to share more of what we've worked on!" [source]

Corinne: "Some of the best moments I have is reading through the team’s experience, highlights, and feedback for the game. You’re right - we do love it! It’s a wonderfully talented group of folks I get the pleasure to work alongside." [source]

User: "MORRIGAN!!!!" / Corinne: "Keeping this secret has been KILLING me 😊" [source]. User: "I can't wait to find out all the other secrets that you've got in store for us." / Corinne: "Oh just you wait 😉" [source]

User: "HER CROWN I SEE THAT CROWN." [re: Morrigan] / Corinne: "👀" [source]

User: "CORINNE! It looks so good!! I can't wait to play it!" / Corinne: "Thank you so so much! The team did such a fantastic job. It’s been a labor of love for so many of us 💜" [source]

Corinne: "Can’t wait to hear about your adventures and the decisions you’ll make.I immediately preordered another copy of Rook’s Coffer even though we on the dev team get one 😅" [source]

Corinne: "I’m in awe of what this team has created 💜" [source]

Corinne: "We’re all so proud of this game and I mean it when I say we’re are just as excited to get it into your hands and hear about your adventures as your are to play it.This team is truly a wonderful group of creative people. 💜" [source]

Corinne: "The team has put so much of themselves into this return to Thedas, and believe me when I say that it means so much to all of us to see and hear about your excitement 💜" [source]

Corinne: "I’ll be honest, it still doesn’t feel real to me either that we are so close now. We all hope you’ll love this return to Thedas 😊" [source]

Corinne: "I hope you’ll share a pic of the Rook you settle on when you emerge from Character Creator. If you’re anything like me you’ll spend a loooot of time lost in the options 😉" [source]

Corinne: "Rogue is so so good. The Veil Ranger specialization is absolutely one of my favorites" [source]

Brianne: "I'm excited to see everyone's Rooks! I really like the ones I've made." [source]

Corinne: "Happy to say this time around we’ll be able to support those flowing locks in-game" [source]

The Codex is "vast" [source]

User: "question, of our 7 companions, which is most likely to be up early and watch the sunrise , which is most likely one to sleep till noon?" / Corinne: "When you see Davrin’s room, you’d certainly assume he’d be up watching the sunrise with that view. If only it weren’t in the fade 😅" [source]

User: "For purely scientific and artistic purposes....is Emmrich taller than a female elf or roughly the same height?" / Corinne: "Well… usually taller, but y’all can control your characters height now so 🤷‍♀️😅" [source]

Malcolm: "To all the people excited about the return of Her.... same, fam, same. And by Her I mean Morrigan. Just... just in case that wasn't clear." [source, two]

Malcolm: "The level art team for DA:Ve are incredible. The environments they've built are gobsmacking. I adore what they did for the Necropolis in particular." [source]

Malcolm: "And Rivain is just... 👀 Seeing this one go from early greybox to full art was such a delight" [source]

Malcolm: [image of bby Manfred] "That's my boy!" [source]

[textblock character limit break!]

User: "*remembering all those dang statues in my origin story in DAO* ah shit that’s a lot of gods" / Brianne: "You'll be fine. You... May want back-up 😁" [source]

Brianne: "While on the topic of Dragon Age: The Veilguard... I just adore him. [image of Assan]" [source]. / John: "the team's official Assan photographer" [source] / Brianne: "When I said I'd capture one, two, several more shots..." [source]

Brianne: "There are some spooky places to explore" [source]

User: "I'm so excited :)))))) I hope I spotted the bun hairstyle of one of my favorite hammer wielding characters in the world <3" [re: image of character who is probably Evka Ivo] / Brianne: "Well, would you look at that :)" [source]

Mary: "[Assan] is the best character in the game. We all know this to be true." [source]

Blair: "everyone went nuts about baby griffon, but Manfred is my boy, my sweet cheese, etc. ride or die, Manfred 💀💜" [source]

John: "am I playing our game for fun on a Friday night, I certainly am. romancing my own companion to do one last check to make sure all the conditionals work. folks it is a very strange thing" [source, two]

Trick thinks the Spellblade spec is delightful :D [source]

User: "Is Solas speaking in the Hallelujah cadence at the beginning of the Release Date Trailer ? I'm trying to match it up but the best I can get is opposite stresses although the meter is 8/8/11" / Trick: "In DAI, only a relative few lines were in that cadence. He hauls it out for special occasions. :)" [source]

Original post: "I know that the AP Stylebook says the proper possessive form of Harris is Harris'. But the AP Stylebook also says not to use the Oxford comma. It's not a serious publication, let alone an authority on punctuation." Trick: "There was an actual voices-raised argument among the BioWare Writers and Editors over S-apostrophe vs S-apostrophe-S, along with threats made to writers who proposed character names ending in S in the future. Question time: Can anyone think of an antagonist in DA:I whose name ended in S? Corypheus's assassins' scimitars's's'' blades are coated with poison." [source, two] User: "I make everybody mad by switching between -s' and -s's depending on if the "s" represents a voiced or unvoiced consonant: Anders', but Fenris's." Trick: "I think that was very close to the consensus we landed on." [source]

Mass Effect

User: "fully accept that the answer may be "that was 8 million years ago I have no idea" but did you unilaterally decide to make Thane hallucinogenic when licked while writing ME2 dialog??" / Trick: "Yes. My intention was always that Mordin was trolling you there, but I don't think everyone took it that way. 🤣" [source]

[xxoxobree]

His Perfect Girl

Yandere Miles 1610 x Fem Reader

Summary: A simple touch is all it took to gain a lover.

WARNINGS: Obsessive Behavior, Stalking.

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. Don’t come in my inbox on bs, I cuss folk out you have been warned.

A/n: I actually like this , I’m fucking mad that I have to put a disclaimer on my shit! Hope you like it too

Miles remembers it like yesterday, the day his perfect girl stumbled into his life.

He quickly adjusted his pants as he went to open the door to exit the main building to go to his last period. He felt soft warm skin in contrast to the cold metal he was used to, quickly looking up to see. You. It was as if time slowed when he saw you.

Who were you and where have you been all this time? He stood for a while just to stare, just to take you in, before the silence was broken by your beautiful voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you said, a small smile resting on your face to not seem awkward.

"Oh yeah," Miles said, standing straight before extending his hand. "I'm Miles."

"Y/n," you said, shaking his hand.

"So that's your name, such a perfect name for a perfect you," Miles thought to himself. He ingrained the feeling of your soft hands into his mind. Your hands felt so good, so right in his. He looked down at where you two held contact, feeling heat radiate throughout his body.

You scrunched your face up at how he looked at your hands and shook it for too long. "Nice to meet you, Miles," you said, trying to slip your hand from his firm grip. Miles looked back at your face, finally letting go before you pushed the door open, walking out of the building.

Miles watched you disappear before sprinting to his room. He had to tell somebody, anybody about you. And Ganke was his victim.

He closed his dorm door, back pressed against it as his chest rose and fell rapidly. His mind raced with thoughts of you, the encounter that just took place. The excitement consumed him as he looked over at Ganke, his roommate and closest friend.

"Ganke, you wouldn't believe what just happened," he said, dropping his bag and pacing back and forth in the room, a smile on his face as he tangled his hands into his hair.

Ganke looked up from his laptop, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What's got you all worked up, Miles?" he asked, intrigued by Miles' sudden burst of energy.

Miles, unable to contain his excitement, blurted out, "Her name is Y/n, and we're in love, Ganke!"

Ganke's eyes shot up, shocked by the sudden confession. "In love? Whoa, when did you two meet?" he asked, trying to make sense of it all.

"Just now," Miles replied eagerly. "But I can feel it, Ganke. She gave me this look, and she held my hand. It was magic."

Ganke paused his game, finally realizing the seriousness in Miles' voice. He looked at his friend, concern etched on his face. He wondered if the stress of school and being Spiderman had finally taken its toll on Miles' sanity.

Miles jumped into his bunk, a content sigh leaving his lips, his mind still locked on you. It hadn't been a coincidence that your hand fell into his, or that you looked at him so fondly. Miles could feel his heartbeat quickening; he had never felt this way about someone before, especially after saying so little to each other. But he was convinced that you were placed in his path for a reason.

As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, Miles couldn't help but envision your first date. He wondered what he would say and what you would say in return. He imagined introducing you to his mom and dad, the smiles on their faces, and the immediate connection they would feel towards you. And if you spoke Spanish, well, that was a bonus. His parents would absolutely adore you.

Lost in his thoughts, Miles picked up his phone and typed in "Pandora.com" because it was the only jewelry website that came to mind. Without hesitation, he clicked on the rings section. He wondered if you would want a big diamond, something that matched the enormity of his feelings for you. Perhaps engraved with the words "I love you," a constant reminder of the love you shared. He couldn't help but picture the two of you having a grand wedding, surrounded by adoring tios and tias, celebrating your love.

Feeling inspired, Miles reached for his sketchbook and started to scribble your name, adding his last name next to it. "Y/n Morales," he whispered softly, savouring the euphoric feeling that came with speaking your name out loud. He knew deep in his heart that your meeting wasn't a coincidence; it was a sign that your paths were destined to intertwine.

The next day as Miles walked through the halls, his eyes searched high and low for you throughout the sea of students. Unable to find you, he grew a bit frustrated. Why would you hide from him? Were you intentionally avoiding him? The bell rung, and he rolled his eyes, walking to his class.

He sat down, piling his books on the desk, lost in his thoughts. That's when you walked in, and his eyes immediately stuck to you, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He burned your entire being into his memory. He noticed that you opted to wear a sweater instead of the jacket today, and that your skirt rested a few inches above your knees. Your curly hair was pinned back with a clip, with two loose pieces framing your face. You and a friend sat at the desk in front of him, a perfect spot for him to keep an eye on you.

You could practically feel Miles' gaze boring into you, and you turned around, locking eyes with him. A smile on your face as you waved to be nice. Little did you know, Miles had more than just a little crush on you; in his mind, you already belonged to him.

As the class carried on, Miles couldn't focus on anything else. His head rested in his palm, his eyes fixed on you. His perfect Girl

The days passed, and Miles' obsession with you grew deeper. He would follow you from a distance in the halls, his eyes fixated on your every move. He knew everything you liked, from the music you listened to, to the books you read, all gathered by sitting nearby you and your friends, silently absorbing every conversation.

Miles was an artist, and you were his muse. His sketchbook was filled with pages and pages of intricately detailed portraits of you. But his favorite drawing was the one he did of you two on the first day you met, where your hands had accidentally touched.The connection that ignited his obsession.

He looked up from his sketchbook to see you, your pretty smile on display as you laughed with your friends. A tinge of jealousy hit him; he wanted to be the only one to make you laugh.

Again, you felt a slight discomfort, like someone was watching you, and caught Miles' gaze. You waved at him before turning back to your friends.

"Guys, isn't it weird that Morales is always looking at me?" you asked your friends.

They began to giggle. "That kid is practically harmless, Y/n. He's got a little crush," Sasha said.

You shrugged your shoulders, pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind.

"Dude, Y/n, I dare you to go talk to him," Yasmine dared, making the rest of your friends look at you mischievously.

Your eyes widened. "What?" you questioned. "Just go say hi or something," Chloe added.

Rolling your eyes, you agreed. "Fine." You got up and walked toward Miles, who noticed immediately. He noticed all your moves, and his heart thumped faster the closer you got.

You sat down. "Hey, Miles. I saw you looking from over there," you said, pointing to the table of your friends who were waving and smiling at you two.

Miles paused for a second, his eyes scanning every feature of yours. It had been a while since you two had been face to face, and he needed the memory to stick.

"Miles?" you said again.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, yeah. Hey," he stammered.

"Okayy..." you trailed off. "I'm gonna..."

"No, no, wait. I'm sorry. Can I have your number? You seem like a really cool person," he said with a smile that oddly made all of your weird feelings about him dissipate.

"Uh sure." You said pulling out your phone.

Being Spider-Man had its perks, and for Miles, that one special perk was being able to watch over you, to take care of you, to make sure you're safe. It was a responsibility he took seriously, and he would cross boundaries.

He would stick to the walls, invisible in the shadows, silently observing as you walked into your dorm. He listened intently as you talked, sharing the details of your day. He knew which teachers you liked and which ones you hated, the subjects you struggled in. It was a level of knowledge that went beyond mere curiosity – it was obsession.

He watched you undress, the feeling of being perverse foreign to him. He longed for the day when you would slip into his clothes and hold him tight as you both drifted off to sleep. But for now, he was okay with the stolen moments it was only a matter of time.

This nightly routine had become a constant in his life, and being a student at Vision made it all too easy. He had become great at picking the lock to your room's windows, sneaking in just to look at you. Your beautiful face, a face he was obsessed with, brought him both joy and pain. He listened to your light snores, cherishing every sound.

Sometimes, he couldn't resist getting ahead of himself. He would give you quick pecks on the lips, desperate for more but unable to risk waking you.

If you did wake it was nothing as he would cloak himself camouflaging with the surroundings.

You don't know how it happened but Miles Morales weaved his way into every part of your life it seemed like there wasn't a moment that you weren't with him. Everything was perfect in Miles' world and you were his Perfect Girl.