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naomi-nana · 2 days ago

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Firstly, your writing is amazing!! Secondly, this idea has been marinating in my head for weeks- Could you write how the housewardens would react to reader taking extra classes to get enough credits so they can graduate with the housewardens, so that they won’t be alone? Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, English is not my first language. Thank you!

✎ᝰ. just a little longer . twisted wonderland

in which you take extra classes to skip grades so you can graduate with them, but you ended up getting sick instead. how would they react?

featuring : housewardens

cw : gn!reader, might be ooc(esp vil, azul n idia because idk how to write for them), bad grammars, hurt/comfort angst

a/n : thank you, anon!! that means a lot to me T^T i changed it a little bit to reader becomes sick after all of that, if that's okay. thank you for the request! i enjoyed writing this!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

while he respects your diligence, riddle also knows where the limit lies.

when he saw how sick you were on his way to go to the headmage's office to submit a paperwork, riddle almost dropped everything to the ground.

immediately approaches you in full panic but also trying to stay composed housewarden mode.

"you look unwell. is it because of all those extra classes? i understand that you want to broaden your knowledge, but you mustn't pass your limit. it will not help you in any way. it will just burden you."

but when you tell him that it's all because you want to graduate with him, so you don't feel lonely? riddle breaks. he feels something in him starts to melt, but he doesn't know what it is. you're telling him that you did all of this for him? he feels tears starting to swell in the corner of his eyes, but he composes himself.

"don't ... don't say things like that. i'm not gonna leave you, love. even if i graduate first, that won't mean i won't contact you at all after that. so, there is no need to push yourself so far, okay? i still have around a year and a half here, too. so we'd have plenty of time to spend, and you won't feel lonely at all. i promise you that."

but if you insist on doing all those extra classes, riddle won't stop you. just expect him to offer to help you in your studies and also to check on you each time to make sure you have your studies and rest well balanced.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

he probably already knows what you're doing and what your goal is by accidentally eavesdropping on your conversation with one of your friends.

would say something like, "what makes you think i'll graduate this year?"

but if you actually come back looking all exhausted from all the extra classes you took, expect to have meals already served by the time you got to your dorm room. also, a little note beside it that says, "i ordered ruggie to do this but be ok"

that man ... be ok? seriously? even cockroaches can write better love letters. you sighed, sitting on the couch. and that's when you suddenly feel a random pair of hands sneaking up your waist. "what the-" it's leona.

"heh, you thought i didn't do jack shit didn't you? well, guess what? yours truly bought the ingredients himself and delivered it here. walking. where's your thanks, hm?"

you smack his hands away with a frown, but you did thank him in the end. how did he even know you haven't eaten at all? and did he seriously wait for you to come home for like, an hour? also, what the hell did he use to camouflage so easily with the couch?

"i appreciate your effort, but no need to worry your pretty lil' head over it. even if i graduate, you think i'll leave you alone?"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

this man is both happy and worried sick at the same time. it's the first time someone made such a huge effort to stay by his side forever, since people usually go out of their way to not be acquainted with him back then.

but he's also very worried if one day you come back late, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, and eyebags so visible even floyd can see it from five nautical miles. he'd ask what the hell you did to have such a messy look and also have a mild fever at the same time with a really shaky voice.

would order jade to make you some tea and begged floyd to go outside to buy some medicine, any medicine, from sam's shop. "oh, thank the seven it is only a mild fever. what did you do for this to happen?! i didn't know that taking extra classes could result in ... ugh, but i guess if you don't take proper rest, it is bound to happen."

when he hears that you did this all for him, he absolutely breaks. "what ...? you shouldn't have ... look, listen, i- i'm not gonna leave you even if i graduate first, you know? i'll stay by your side, no matter what happens. so, don't do this again, okay?"

if you really want to, he'd offer to persuade the headmage to give you higher grades so you can easily skip grades, but of course, you refused. that same night, azul will stay by your bed until you fall asleep first. (he slept first instead)

KALIM AL-ASIM

almost stumbles and falls to the ground running towards scarabia's entrance when jamil says you're waiting for him there. how could he not? earlier today, you had texted him that you feel as if you're having a fever from the amount of studying you did. reading that text alone almost made kalim faint.

he was about to come and escort you to scarabia himself using his magic carpet, but jamil stopped him, saying that flight would worsen your condition. so kalim waited in the lounge, pacing around the room impatiently and also worryingly.

"name!" almost tackles you to the ground but stops himself and slaps his own face for almost making your condition worse. "oh, god! i was worried sick when you said you have a fever! let's come inside, okay? jamil already cooked hot soup for you!"

if you decided to tell him about your reason for studying and began to cry while doing so, kalim almost falls to his knees. "hey, don't cry ... i'll cry, too! hiks ... i'm sorry for making you feel so lonely ... i'll make it up to you somehow, so stop pushing yourself, okay?"

would feel really bad and also overthinks where he made you feel so lonely to the point you have to literally push your limits just to spend time with him. if you assured him it's not your fault, he'll hug you. "i'm sorry ... please don't scare me like that again."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

immediately knows because rook probably knows about it first somehow and couldn't keep his mouth shut

he would invite you to his dorm room and lightly scold you about it. "i understand you want to have better grades so you can skip grades, but seriously ... there is a better way to do it rather than throwing yourself to random classes that don't align with your interest." he sighed while applying his newly bought eye cream to your eyebags.

he would give you tips while scolding you to also take better care of yourself. but when he notices you're starting to frown at his words, his eyes soften for just a moment.

"name ... i do love you, you know that, right? i am telling you this because i care for you. i don't want you to become sick just because you don't want me to graduate first. i'm sorry if i ever made you feel lonely in our relationship to the point that it makes you do something like this."

he'd caress your face, run a hand through your hair, and kiss the top of your head. "the last thing i would want to do is for me to make you feel lonely, my dear."

IDIA SHROUD

what? you're kidding, right? you're getting extra classes for him? an antisocial weirdo like him? this is like, a super rare event that happens once in a lifetime!

all jokes aside, he'd be worried (and shocked) if ortho came barging into his room with you behind him while yelling, "big brother! name is sick because they've been taking extra classes!", then throwing you—gently—on the ground.

"w-w-what the?! ortho! d-don't just leave them here!" genuinely nervous and doesn't know what to do. but if he notices that your breathing started to become quicker and unstable, and you also looks like you're about to faint, he'll (try) to calm himself down.

then, he'll offer his bed for you to lay on. "d-do you feel better now? i can ask ortho to make tea ... if u want. uh, i heard from the headmage you've been taking extra classes. why tho? that's like, throwing yourself into a scary hard mode dungeon. i appreciate the dedication, tho."

if you told him it's because you don't want him to graduate first and leave you alone, he'll feel terrible. he feels bad that he's the cause of your suffering, and he's immediately convinced why someone like him doesn't have that many friends because of that.

"calm down, i didn't mean it that way. i just don't want to feel lonely, that's all. i didn't say that you were the one at fault." you'll have to reassure him over and over that this is all your wish and not his fault at all. he's also probably the type to stay by your bed while playing games until you feel better lol

MALLEUS DRACONIA

this man was absolutely mortified(and touched) when he finds out that you've been secretly taking extra classes just to skip grades and graduate together with him. not only that, you also get sick because of those extra classes. that's what makes him mortified.

when he first saw how weak and frail you become after a week of extra classes, he thinks that humans are so fragile and easy to break. but he also feels bad and would offer you to sleep in his dorm for the time being until you feel better.

malleus would also be the type to confront crowley directly just to ask some questions. even if this isn't connected to the guy at all, he just wants to hear answers from the headmage himself.

anyways, expect him to ask you questions too. like: "are you still having a fever? would you like me to make some tea for you? is this bed comfortable enough, dearest?" and so much more. he would also be running around in the kitchen by himself if you said you were craving for some soup.

(sebek would want to yell at you for ordering malleus around, but holds himself back because he doesn't want to make malleus even more stressed.)

he would often ask lilia what he should do when this or that happens, and of course, being the kind man he is, he answers the question thoroughly(not without a little bit of teasing, of course). malleus would also want to put a stop to your extra classes.

"beloved, i understand your desire to stay by my side, but i won't tolerate it if you become sick just because of that. if you do not wish to become lonely, you can tell me, and i shall be by your side the moment my name leaves your lips."

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

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dragonsondragons · 2 days ago

Text

Part 1 - That Look In Your Eye | You Should Probably Leave series

You make big, bad, Jack Abbot nervous in a way he really isn’t used to. He fumbles his first attempt to invite you to the party, so Dr. Ellis gives him a crash course in how to get the girl.

Word Count: 3.9k

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, Jack on his #healingjourney, awkward abbot, unspecified age gap, named reader because I dont like using y/n (named her Nel, short for Eleanor. And yes Nel will be friends with Mel)

Read the Prologue! / Masterlist / Taglist

Author's Note: Sorry this took me sooo long to get together! I have the next few parts mapped out well and and mostly written tbh but was struggling so hard with how to introduce their interaction and dynamic in this part. Also, I would highly highly recommend reading the prologue before this part. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

In the Pitt, Jack was seen as a very confident man. He knows exactly what he’s capable of and precisely how to execute it most efficiently. It's one thing unshaken in all his years practicing medicine. No matter how low he’s felt– in war zones, in the pitt– he always stays steady under fire. Words and procedures are tools. He uses them to achieve a goal: keep the patient alive. Be calm, cool, concise.

It's something he learned in combat, that medics aren't just healers and fighters. They are a source of confidence for the whole platoon. They set the tone. A force multiplier. He was supposed to keep a level head and know what to do, no hesitating. If he stayed cool everyone else would follow suit.

He had to to seem confident on the outside, but never let himself feel it too much on the inside. If you feel too confident, you start to forget that there is just one critical moment, one mistake, standing between your patient and death.

Jack couldn't help but feel that way now, like he was one mistake from ruining his chances with you. Deep breath. No ones going to die, he repeats in his head. It's one of the constant reminders he’s had to give himself when anxiety spikes. Another deep breath.

He was supposed to be a confident guy. Asking out the girl you liked shouldn’t be so hard.

But there was a disconnect for him, between what was shown to the world– a self assured master of his craft– and what he felt on the inside. Analyzing every little mistake so that he can be better for next time. Never letting himself feel too secure, always striving for better. Battling between his desires and that loud voice inside, telling him to isolate.

Because of that voice his social confidence was a lot more shakey than his work persona. For the most part he can fake it till he makes it or keep enough distance from people that it doesn't matter. But then there was you, slowly drawing him out of his shell. Bit by bit so that he barely saw it coming until it hit him like a truck. He should have seen it a long time ago. But he likes you and there's no denying it now. He's decided he's gonna try and do something about it, and that requires some guts and smooth talking he’s not sure if he's capable of.

He pulls into his parking space in the hospital garage, yearning for you hard. He worked himself up all the way here and now that it's at the forefront of his brain he can’t resist the urge to be near you.

You’ve got the guts, he tells himself, willing it to be true. Just invite her to the party. Just be yourself? Is that who he wanted to show her? This fucked up guy who can barely work up the courage to ask her one simple phrase. There it goes again; his mind working against him.

He walked in through the ambulance bay, backpack slung over one shoulder. Immediately, he saw you. You were sitting at the hub checking the patient census that had just come into your inbox from the day shift and radiating something bright. Maybe it was just him who saw you as the sun.

Now or never. He walked towards the large central desk and slung his backpack under an inner counter. He leaned down on his elbows behind the computer you worked at, thrumming his fingers against the counter top. “Hey, You.”

His familiar greeting made your stomach flip and you couldn't help but smile. It had been a few days since your shifts had aligned. “Good evening, Dr Abbot,” you hum to him, eyes tearing away from your screen to look up into his hazel eyes.

Suddenly his pep talk to himself in the car flew out the window. With you sitting right before him, everything inside his mind was gone. You sure didn't mind gazing into Jack’s eyes, in fact you enjoyed it, but the silence was dragging on so you broke it.

“Missed you at lunch yesterday. I had to eat with Shen and he would not shut up about a big high pressure weather system moving in or something.” There was a pressure system building in Jack's chest. He wanted to respond but was caught up inside his mind. Missed you at lunch, echoed in his mind. She missed me? More pressure flared.

“Everything okay, Jack?” you asked, head tilting as you looked at him so caringly.

“Huh?”

“Seems like you’re somewhere else right now. And that look in your eyes, there’s something you’re not telling me.” She could always read him like a book.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind right now.” He was going to continue to deflect, as usual. But she was already onto him. This was his chance. Might as well just come out with it. “Actually I uh was wondering of yo–” Your pager screamed out through the ED and you looked down at it on your waistband. He deflated.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, dayshift always has them on the highest volume.” You read the message coming in and started gathering stuff from the desk around you. “I have to get going to see this patient before discharge. What was it you were wondering though?”

“Uh… I, um. I was just gonna ask if you, um. Brought your lunch today?” Fuck. He lost all his steam when that pager went off.

“You know I always do.” You were standing up from the swivel chair now. “Same time as usual? Just page me if you're not gonna be able to make it?” He gives you one of his awkward thumbs up with both hands and says “See you up there,” as you turn to go see the patient. You smile back over your shoulder at him.

He leaned down and put his head between his hands on the counter top while chastising himself for his failed attempt at asking you out.

He hadn’t registered Dr. Ellis off to the other side of the hub during this whole interaction, having been so focused on whatever it is between him and you that draws him in. A laugh burst out that snapped him out of his pity party. “What the hell was that, Abbot?” said Ellis, thoroughly amused at seeing a guy like Dr. Abbot who is so typically composure and competence fumble. “You can do a REBOA in your sleep but can’t flirt with a woman?”

He lifted his head slightly and glared. “Who said I was flirting?”

“Well, you certainly weren’t successfully flirting. But it would take a fool not to see that you like her.” He laid his head back down and groaned at that. Despite his current embarrassment, Jack liked working with Dr. Ellis more than most other people. He appreciated her no nonsense approach and deft skills. And the fact that she's not afraid of him. She will tell it to him like it is. He knew that interaction was bad, but if Ellis was confirming… then it was really terrible.

“I don't know, I just… panicked.” How can he stay so calm when someone’s bleeding to death but couldn't do this one thing when faced with you.

“Did you bring your lunch?!” she echoed him. “That was really what you came up with? What were you really trying to ask her?” He hesitated. But Ellis seemed to already know so much about this whole situation. Guess he wasn’t as close to the chest with his crush as he thought. Maybe he should let her give him some advice.

“I’m having a party at my place soon, and I was trying to ask her to come,” he admitted.

Ellis raised one eyebrow. “You're having a party?” She never thought she would hear that come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'm having a party for everyone from work, you’re invited. That's not the point. Point is I had my chance and I chickened out.”

“Yeah, you did. You have absolutely no game, old timer.”

“I have game, just… not in that particular instance. I'm out of practice,” he tries to defend himself.

“Clearly. But I can help you with that.”

“She totally can,” Dr. Santos interjected. Santos had been trying out a rotation on the night shift and had just finished up with a patient in curtain 3 nearby. Always the eavesdropper, she tuned in to the conversation between Abbot and Ellis as she had approached the hub. “Dr. Ellis has got mad game, trust me.” Ellis rolls her eyes at the overzealous intern. “Wait–we’re talking about you getting nervous around Nel right?”

“Wha-No. I don't get nervous around Nel.” Both women scoff at him. Jack’s eyes widen and turns to Ellis for a sidebar. “How do you both know about this? I don't want to make this a thing. If she's not into me I don't want her to be uncomfortable at work.” He can't be careless about this, needs to do it right.

“Abbot, be so serious,” she deadpans. “She’s totally into you.”

“You don't know that,” Jack huffs. How do they know if you're into him? He barely let himself know he was into you until therapy earlier today. Santos and Ellis share a look. Santos butts in again, “Dude, it's so obvious. Her eyes literally twinkle when you're in the same room.”

“Don't dude me right now, Santos,” Jack snaps. Do they? Twinkle for him? He hopes so. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up. God, this whole thing is putting him so on edge.

Ellis sees how uncomfortable Jack’s getting and jumps in. “The grownups are talking here, Dr. Santos. Guy over in North 12 needs his bowel dismipacted, go.” As she reluctantly leaves to go handle the literal shit that's been assigned to her, Ellis tunes back into the conversation with Jack.

“She's right though, it's obvious you're both smitten. You’ve just gotta shoot your shot, man.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself at the thought. “What are you planning to say?”

He hesitates. Drums his thumbs against the counter top again. “How about I'm having a party. You can come, if you want.”

“God, this is why I date women. You're useless.”

“You said you would help!”

“Look–that's way too passive. Sounds like you don't care if she comes or not. Women like when you're sincere and confident. Usually that's your forte, but I guess not when you’re nervous about your crush. Try to tune in to that Abbot, ya know, direct and to the point.”

If I say what I actually mean, Jack thinks, it will be ‘I think you're smart and caring and beautiful, and I like spending time with you at work. And more than anything, I’d like to see you outside of this hell hole…preferably…all the time.’ He’s staring off into the abyss now.

“Oh my god, you're so in your head. Just be normal, be yourself! Say Hey, I'm having a party. I would really like it if you came.”

“Got it, yeah. Be normal.”

She huffs at his nervousness. “If you don't grow a spine and ask her out, I will,” Ellis jests, giving him a little incentive.

“C'mon, give me a chance here.”

“She's hot, kind. Seems like a really great person. So you better snatch her up before someone else does.”

—

It was just before 1am when your stomach started to grumble, queuing you that it was almost your normal “lunch” time. You finished up your case note you were working on, grabbed your food from the breakroom fridge, and headed up to the roof.

Lunch with Jack was always a highlight of your shift. No matter how shitty a patient had treated you or how many problems you had encountered that day, sitting with him for just a few minutes always made it feel like you were free of the hospital. Returning to your shift after those moments with him, the fluorescent lights turned softer and long hospital hallways less suffocating.

It happened by accident really, the two of you becoming lunch buddies. You brought your lunch box up to the roof to get some air while you took a break. He was already up there, leaning up against the railing staring out at the city beyond the hospital. He wasn't expecting a visitor, didn’t encounter many others up there, but suddenly there was you. An angel of the night.

When you pushed open the door of the stairwell to see him staring out at the skyline, you remember thinking that this man looked like a beacon high up above the rest of the city, standing steady and sending out a signal. Looking out over the whole city and asking who’s there? Free in the dark of night to admit that he was seeking connection.

From the very first moment, you read him eerily well. And you approached. Because you were seeking the same thing.

You struck up a conversation with him and offered him half of your sandwich. Kept doing so until he started bringing his own food too, usually whatever had the quickest doordash delivery time. He made you laugh with his dry and dark humor. Shared silence with you when you were both too tired to speak, or listened to you ramble about the book you were reading or some movie you had watched. Sometimes he had questions. ____

“Have you ever heard of the Four Agreements?” he asked one night. You picked through some of the Chinese food he had ordered from the 24 hour place down the street, while he took a bite out of the apple you had packed. You chuckle a little at his question.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asks.

“Sorry– it's just. As someone who works in a mental health bubble, the Four Agreements is like… the bible of self help. And it's a little cliche.”

“You’re calling Linda cliche?”

“Who’s Linda?"

“My therapist. She recommended it."

“Look at you, doing therapy.”

He gave you a little shrug. “Thanks. So I shouldn’t read it? If it's cliche."

“No, no, It could still be useful. Give it a try.” ____

He also surprised you with these bursts of intense vulnerability, sparsed out between his usually more gruff or sarcastic responses.

Whenever he was about to reveal something to you, you could almost see it coming. He would always position himself next to you, leaning over on the railing and facing out over Pittsburg like he was that first night you found him up here. He wouldn’t look in your eyes like he usually did. Would just stand next to you there and focus on some point, far out on the horizon. He’d be quiet for a while, and you would just wait, just being there with him.

____

“That guy we both saw today, the boarder in North 7?”

“Yeah?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I know him. Well not him, really, but his brother. We served together. He lost his brother the same day I lost my leg.” He pulled up the hem of his scrub pants a bit to reveal a glimpse of his prosthetic.

“Oh…Jack. I’m so sorry. That must bring up a lot of old memories.”

“It was a long time ago. Can’t change it now.” He wants to pull away from the exposure he felt at saying this to you. But you draw out something in him. Sharing with you is easier sometimes, and he doesn't know why. It's because he’s falling in love with you and hasn't let himself admit it yet.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.” You’re always trying to encourage him to feel.

“Yeah... still hurts like hell. Hurts more because I hadn’t thought about Eddie in months, maybe years. I forgot about him.”

You turn your head to face him, frowning. He maintains his gaze on some faraway spot. “You can’t blame yourself for that. If you remembered them all every second of every day you would drive yourself crazy.”

He took a shaky breath in and just nodded. That was as much opening up he could take for the moment. “I gotta go back down there, check on the patients,” he says, letting the voice telling him to run win, for now.

You pause for a beat, trying to replicate his own incessant gaze that would always get you break and look up at him. The trick doesn’t work on its own master. He continues to put that distance between you and stares out at the city beyond the roof, then down at his feet.

“Okay. But just be careful with yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to talk more, I’m here.” You jutted your hip out to bump his, trying to coax him out of his unease, show him that it was okay to open up to you. He stood fully up from the railing, giving you a double thumbs up. That was becoming his signature move with you when he didn't quite know what to say. He kept doing it because it always made you smile. ____

Sometimes his appearances on the roof were just as scattered as his ability to show vulnerability. After times where he opened up you might not see him for days. He would go brood and throw himself into the work to get his mind off the memories, or off of you, when the way you were making him feel scared him a little too much. He would chastise himself for letting his feelings slip out like that. Would convince himself that you didn't want to hear anything about it, no matter how supportive and kind you were whenever he did share.

Deep down he longed for connection, even though he actively pushed everyone away.

Once you found him on that roof, finally someone was pushing back. You would come and find him if he didn't show up on the roof, or send him a message as you were heading up, pestering him to come join you if you could.

And the way you responded to him showing how he felt, admitting what ate at him inside, it started to show him that it was okay to reveal himself. It didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, but still he kept coming back to have lunch with you.

Tonight would be just like any of those other nights, he told himself as he hiked up the stairs to the roof entry. Just be normal.

You were already up there waiting for him when he came through the stairwell door. The light midsummer night breeze blew your hair around your face and he sensed something heavy on your mind. Brooding on the roof was usually his forte.

As he approaches you barely register his presence. He places a hand on your shoulder, which makes you jump and turn to him. “You good?” he asks gently.

“Yeah–fine.” You shake your head and give him a little smile but he sees it's not the kind that you usually flash, the kind that's earnest. He doesn’t push.

“Well, if you weren’t good I would offer some crab rangoons as a pick me up.” He lifts his takeout bag up. “But if you’re fine then you don’t need em.”

“Gimme that,” you snatch the bag from him and dig out the rangoons.

“That’s what I thought.” the corner of his mouth twitches into an almost-there smirk.

You two dig into the combo of takeout and packed food spread out before you. All of his nervousness from earlier in the day had dissipated. Up here, in the dark, just the two of you, he was calm. As calm as Jack Abbot could be these days. He lets himself think about being with you like this in the daytime. Somewhere else, like having a picnic in a park where you would admire the spring flowers and he would admire you with the same reverence.

He had to ask his question, because failing would mean missing that chance.

“You’re looking at me like that again.” you said.

“Like what?” he keeps his gaze locked on yours like if he blinked you would disappear.

“I don’t know. I just recognize that look in your eye.” It's the look I get when I admire you, he thinks.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking if you go first.” You let out a huff of a breath. “Fine. I just… I guess I’m tired– getting really tired of all the roadblocks in my work. People always need more than I’m able to give them. Shelters are always full or the patient doesn’t meet some eligibility requirement and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“You’re doing everything you can with what you have, that’s more than most people. You rock it in there everyday,” Jack responds.

“I know that, in theory. It’s just been harder and harder to believe it lately.”

“Well, I’ll keep reminding you.”

“Okay, your turn.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then forced himself to look at you head on. “Uh, I’m going to have everyone from work over at my place for a barbeque. But I wanted to, uh, make sure that you would be there, with me. And…maybe it will help you decompress from work and everything.” It was as un-awkward as he could possibly make it.

You found his subtle bashfulness cute. It was endearing to bring the steady Jack Abbot to jumbling his words. “I would love to come.” The biggest smile you've ever seen on him spreads across Jack’s face.

“When’s the next Saturday you’re off?” he asks.

“Two weeks from now.”

“Then that's our party then.”

You giggle. “Our party, huh?”

“Well you’re the guest of honor, I decided.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

The banter slows, both of you feeling the tension of crossing a new line that you can't go back over. It's quiet for another beat, then Jack speaks again, quietly.

“Ellis is gonna be proud of me for this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me I had no game, earlier at the beginning of shift. I meant to ask you then but got too nervous. So she gave me some pointers.”

That made you blush. You had liked Jack Abbot for a while, but did not want to risk your friendship on making the first move. You didn’t want him to think that your support of him was conditional on him reciprocating feelings. You could see him deeply struggling and cared about him, just wanting to be there for him. So even though you had butterflies tingling in your stomach more and more after each encounter, you tried to keep the relationship as professional as possible. After this– him asking you to come to his party like that, admitting it made him nervous to do so. It finally showed you that you could want more with Jack. That he wanted it too.

It emboldened you, and you reached out to lace your fingers with his. “I like you the way you are Jack. It's okay to be nervous, but please just keep being you.”

He squeezed your hand and nodded his head. “I think I can do that sweetheart.”

#jack abbot fic #jack abbot x reader #jack abott #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt hbo #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #dr abbot #doctor abbot #you should probably leave #the pitt #shawn hatosy

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mysterymachine67 · 2 days ago

Note

SO, i want you to hear me out.

i have to remember all my stuff for re, but let's say we have Leon when he's still just starting out as a cop before he even goes to raccoon city and our beloved reader is a captain in the police department. Leon is a little tired after it all, filing cases and spending nights at the station. eventually the reader catches Leon while he's finishing up documenting a case and they finally get to talking. sooner rather than later they discover they share a couple hobbies and slowly they begin to talk. Leon is stressed and who else but the captain of the station is going to help him and reward him for his hard work?

PAIRING -> Leon S. Kennedy x M!Reader

SUMMARY -> Leon’s new, a rookie. He does his best, stays late to do and catch up on work, and is one of the best men you got even for him to be new. What happens when he finally gets to have a full conversation with his captain?

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I wanna bite him.

You’ve only known him for about a month and he’s already your favorite. Yes, you’re well aware you shouldn’t be picking favorites, but he stays late, gets papers done quick, and does things he doesn’t need to be doing until a whole month. Meanwhile all the other “older” cops think they get an extra week to do something just because they’ve been there longer. Which was not true whatsoever.

Back to Leon, you’ve spoken to him a bit. Probably not as much as you should, but the thought counts. As far as you know, he’s a hard worker and is dedicated to do his best. But you can also see that he try’s a bit too much. You’ll need to tell him he can take a step back every once in a while.

It was another night, Leon already knew he was gonna have to stay a few extra hours. Sighing he opened up a folder, taking out the notes and documents that were inside. He took a quick look at the papers, going over them yet again. Just as he was about to pull another thing out of the folder, he heard footsteps. Which immediately alerted him. Turns out the footsteps were yours, you were getting ready to leave the station and go home. With you standing there, looking at Leon without saying or doing anything, it was beginning to get awkward. Soooo, you spoke up. Clearing your throat first. “Well,” you begin, starting to walk up to him. “I think we haven’t fully gotten to know each other.” He stared up at you, blinking a few times before responding.

“Oh! Uh..” Leon started, but never seemed to finish. Not knowing what question to ask or how to start off. He stood up, though. Holding his hand out to shake yours, which you did as well. You then started a conversation, first asking a question then following up with a statement. Which this went on for at least fifteen minutes. The both of you going back and forth, asking questions about one another; finding out that you had some things in common and have similar interests. The conversation was sweet, interesting. Yet it took a turn when you got closer to him. It was friendly, not purposely meant to intimidate him or anything. He continued to look up at you, struggling to keep his composure. Why the hell was this so difficult? You kept up the conversation, tried to. You, yourself were starting to get a little amped up. You couldn’t stop stealing looks at his lips, which was a problem. You were his captain, not his fuck buddy.

The sexual tension between you guys was so obvious and strong, but neither of you made a move. That was until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your thoughts ran through your mind and eventually went down to your cock.

He was a stressed out, tired, hardworking man. If you two were to do something, this one night probably wouldn’t mean anything. He needed something—someone to help him. Being not necessarily pent up but in need of some sort of relief. And you were there with him, alone, in an empty police station possibly flirting with him. Yeah, this wouldn’t mean anything, right? Wrong. Things escalated, you moved things out of the way on his desk. Once in the clear, the two of you moved back. Lips connected while grabbing at each other. When he got close enough, he sat himself up on his desk. Hands then coming up to the sides of your face—holding while the two of you kissed. You angled yourself, pressing against him in a way that he could feel you’re hard-on. “Mm..” he groaned, muffled by your lips. Should he be doing this? Absolutely not. Is he going to do it anyway and savor this moment? Yes.

“Y’feel what you do to me? God—“ you huffed, against his mouth. “You work so hard—fuckin’ perfect.”

Leon whined, shifting his position so that he could wrap his legs around you and pull you impossibly close. His hands went down to your belt, starting to quickly undo it. After that was out of the way he started on your pants. Which in the process you bucked into his touch without even realizing. You captured his lips again, this time the kiss was nothing but tongue and teeth. The two of you needed each other so bad you kept messing things up. Fumbling with taking off clothes, knocking things over, accidentally forgetting to do something. But in the end, he still got your cock shoved into him as if he was gonna disappear within seconds.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sweet, sweet sounds that left Leon’s mouth were heavenly. Mouth open, eyes shut, and head back against the table. His legs were wrapped around your waist, purposely squeezing to pull you closer to him—get your cock deeper than it already was. “Such a hard worker, aren’t you? The moment you got here you worked, ‘n worked, ‘n worked.”

Leon whined, dick jumping and twitching at your words. He clenched around you—beginning to squirm. God, he was pretty. The way he reacted to your touch, praise, and whatever else you gave him. The sheen of sweat all over his body made him glisten in the dim light. Which just added onto the list of things that made him fucking beautiful. You dragged your hips back slowly, then pushed forward at the same pace. Your thrusts were slow, yes, but you made up for it by making sure you were deep inside him.

When you sped up your pace Leon cursed under his breath. The brutal pace catching him off guard.

“Shit!”

“Nothin’ you can’t take.” You cooed.

He breathed out a whimper—legs twitching. You leaned down over him, pressing your lips to his skin. His eyes were shut, it was all beginning to be too much. Your cock pushing into him at a relentless pace, your words, your touch. His dick leaked and throbbed—begging for some sort of attention. But it all felt good. It was something he deserved for working so much, so hard. “Oh- ohh..” Leon moaned. He clenched around you, gripping your cock. It caused a low groan to crawl from your throat. Your lips trailed up and up, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before sucking a hickey. Then moving on to his throat, forcing him to move his head up.

In a few minutes, Leon’s back was arching, his hands gripped the edge of the table he was on, and he was moving his hips up into the air as he came. Spurts of white shooting from his tip, and onto his chest; staining that area white. He huffed, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. It didn’t help when you kept thrusting into him, even when your hips started to stutter and fuck up the rhythm you’d set. He began to squirm. A whine slipping from his spit slicked lips.

You moaned, hips jerking as you finally came. You filled him up with your cum, and watched as it soon started to leak and drip from his hole. He felt so full. Stuffed with your cock and your cum. “Fuck..” he whispered. It was silent for a few seconds, well, aside from you two trying to control your breathing. But once you got ahold of it, you leaned back down and whispered straight into his ear.

“We ain’t done.”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x male reader #Leon Kennedy x top male reader #bottom Leon Kennedy #sub leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #m!reader #male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #bottom character

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pearlymel · 1 day ago

Text

warnings: ANGST NO COMFORT, (fem) reader has terminal illness, it's cute in the beginning, < dont let that fool you, death (reader), 3.2k words.

notes: hey yall.. It's been a month.. And im back with angst if u even care.. lol and no i did not kiss the brick before throwing it </3

Ever since you've been diagnosed with a terminal illness, specifically a heart disease, you were worried on how you would break the news to Caleb.

Your best friend. The person that is the most important to you, the one you never want to disappoint or upset.

It didn't feel normal, you didn't feel alive. You couldn't hang out or play with him normally like you usually would, and it's unfair to him.

You cried the whole night in Caleb's arms that night, and he only held you silently, tightly. Trying to soothe you with soft strokes along your hair.

It's been months since that night.

"Hey," he says quietly, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. "Don't give me that look.”

He can probably read you like a book by now. But rather than pity, there's only concern in his eyes.

He takes a seat on the grass next to your wheelchair while still holding your hand, his gaze still fixed on you. "Just tell me what's going on, pip-squeak. You know I can't read your mind, right?”

You squeeze his fingers as you look down at him, “could you…” you pause to clear your throat, “… Help me stand? I want to try and walk together.” you mumble.

And Caleb's eyes widen in excitement. He quickly stands up and moves around behind the wheelchair.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want you to push yourself, okay?" he says, gently taking hold of your wrists as he starts to help you out of the chair.

Your legs feel wobbly, but you manage with his help. You feel likd you can do anything at times when he's there.

"don't try anything crazy. I'm not above carrying you back kicking and screaming." He says it with a teasing smile, but his grip on your arms is firm, supporting you as you try to stand on your own.

“yeah, yeah.” you chuckle, your hands are firmly around his shoulders, and you lift your chin up.

“hi,”

Caleb grins at the unexpected 'hi', his cheeks warming a bit at your closeness.

"Well, hello there," he replies, his voice naturally playful. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist, helping you stay steady on your feet.

His other hand finds its way gently through your hair, a comforting touch. "What's up, pipsqueak?”

“good.” you shrug. The breeze today feels unexpectedly nice, but the strands flying and sticking to the lip balm you applied this morning wasn't so fun..

Caleb’s grin widens at the sound of you attempting to shake your head amd blowing at the hair strands away, his arm still wrapped around you as he guides you towards the bench nearby.

"Alright, sit. Before you fall down and traumatize me," he teases, his tone light but his eyes serious. He gently helps you lower yourself next to him, making sure you're comfortable.

He then leans back, stretching his legs out and enjoying the sunlight, his gaze darting over to you every now and then.

"the weather is really nice." you hum, watching the people walk around, the elderly couple feeding the birds, and the children playing at the park.

It was at a distance, so you both were kind of alone in this corner.

Caleb nods, following your gaze at the people around them. "It is, isn't it?" he agrees, his arm still around your waist, holding you close. "It's been a while since we've been out like this, huh?"

He looks at the children tagging each other, and turns his gaze towards the couple feeding the birds. Something about this moment feels almost like the old days, before things got complicated.

His gaze turns back to you, "You really should get some fresh air more often. Being cooped up in that room all the time isn't good for you." He reaches over to tweak your nose, the way he used to when they were much younger, and you whine playfully at the gesture, "gotta keep the ol' pip-squeak lungs healthy, right?”

You huff, pushing his hand away, “i am healthy.” you reply defensively.

"Oh, really? And I suppose that weak little cough you've been trying to hide from me is just your way of practicing your opera skills, right?" he eyes you suspiciously, and you look away, pretending to whistle.

“I'll give you something to tease about.” you cross your arms, and he mimicks your moves.

“remember when we'd exchange secret kisses behind the tree?”

Caleb feels his brain go on short circuit.

"Wh-what—" he stutters, his cheeks warming at the memory. "That—that was back when we were kids. You can't bring that up, pipsqueak.”

You roll your eyes, “we were teens!”

His cheeks flush even more at your correction, and he rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah, yeah, we were. But still, it doesn't count. We were just kids messing around," he protests, his gaze darting away, unable to maintain eye contact.

He's clearly flustered, and it's hard to tell if he's more embarrassed that you brought it up, or remembering the feel of those secret kisses behind that old tree.

Teasing him back was just as fun, "We'd say it's just to practice for, oh, I don't know, future partners we'd be dating. How silly we were back then, huh?”

He remembers. Remembers the thrill of sneaking around, the rush of stolen kisses behind the tree, all under the guise of "practicing" for their future partners.

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head at their past naivety. "Yeah. We were pretty silly, weren't we?" he says, his voice soft. "Just a couple of dumb kids, playing at romance, pretending it didn't mean anything.”

He looks down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, trying to collect his thoughts. He's not used to talking about his feelings like this.

"caleb, i.." you want to reach a hand out to his face, but it pauses mid air.

"nevermind." you whisper, retreating your hand away, "you deserve better."

Hearing your words, Caleb's expression shifts. Confusion turns to frustration, almost anger. He grabs your retreating hand to prevent you from removing it.

"What do you mean, 'deserve better'?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening marginally, as if afraid to let you go. "Don't say that. Don't decide what I deserve,”

You see the desperation in his eyes, how he looks almost upset that you even said such thing.

“look at me—”

"I am looking at you," he cuts you off, "And I see you." He scowls, "Do you think I care if you can barely move? Do you think that's **what matters to me?”

You inhale sharply, biting on your lower lip as you look away, defeated.

“can i be selfish with you one last time?”

You're asking for something, and it's like he knows what kind of request it was, with the way you glance at his lips.

As your faces draw closer, he can feel your breath against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Softly, ever so softly, he leans in, his lips gently touching yours.

a hesitant brush against yours. For a moment, it's just a soft, chaste touch, like he's testing the waters, making sure he's not about to lose control.

But it doesn't stay chaste for long.

The kiss deepens, as Caleb's hand cups your face, his thumb tracing light circles on your cheek. He leans in further, the intensity of the kiss building.

He could feel the tightness in your grip, the desperate way you're holding onto him, and for a moment, a thousand different emotions flick through his mind. The guilt, the helplessness, the fear of losing you...

But also the love.

The overwhelming, all-consuming love he's felt but never voiced. He kisses you harder, his hand moving from your jaw to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, as if trying to pull you even closer.

He breaks the kiss to give you a break, only for a brief moment, his breath coming out in short breaths. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, as he speaks in a low, hoarse voice.

"One more.”

—

You feel yourself being pushed on the wheelchair by Caleb through the hospital hallways, returning to your room, he glances over at you.

He can't help but notice the smile on your face, the way your eyes are still gleaming from your earlier encounter.

He feels his face warm a bit, but he covers it by clearing his throat. "You... seem happier than usual," he observes, trying to keep his voice casual.

You look up, “i am."

"Good," he murmurs, almost to himself. He pushes your wheelchair into the room, carefully setting it next to your bed.

You push yourself off and back onto the bed, “i had fun today.” you voice out your thoughts.

He pulls a chair to your bedside, sitting down, and runs a hand through his hair, still a bit flustered.

"Me too..." he admits, "It's been a while since we've spent time together like that." He smiles, but there's a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

“… thank you.”

"What are friends for, right?" he quips, shrugging his shoulders. Then, he adds, "Besides, I couldn't just let you sit around in this sterile, depressing hospital room all the time. You'd go crazy.”

Your eyes narrow as you turn your head slowly to his, “friends, even after our kisses.”

"Uh, well..." he stutters, again. trying to find the right words. "I mean... friends can kiss, right?" He's trying to sound cool, nonchalant.

You gasp, then your arms cross, “then i should just kiss all my male friends.”

"What—no!" he exclaims, evident panic in his voice. "That's not what I meant. I just—”

He stops himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He opens them again, his gaze locked onto yours, and his voice is quieter, more serious.

"That's not the same.”

You become silent, blinking twice at him, “fine, we're ‘friends’ i suppose.”

Caleb's face falls a bit at your words. "Friends..." he repeats, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He wants to say more, to express all the things he's feeling, but he holds back.

Instead, he manages a weak smile, trying to keep the atmosphere light, "Right. Best friends.”

Caleb stands up from the chair, his expression conflicted. He wants to say more, to protest, to shout at you, to... say the truth.

“goodnight, caleb.” you wave your hand at him.

But he doesn't. He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

"Goodnight, pipsqueak," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turns and walks out, his hands clenched into tight fists.

“you can go back to sky haven.”

He stops in his tracks, your words hitting him like a cold wave. He turns back, his eyes locking onto yours, searching.

"You... you want me to go back to Sky Haven?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt.

You avoid his eyes, “yeah, you've been here all week. Take a break.” you further reason out.

Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it again. He knows you're right—he's been spending all his time at the hospital, neglecting his duties at Sky Haven.

But the thought of leaving you here, alone... "You sure you'll be alright?" he asks, his voice low.

“… Of course.”

the way you're putting up a brave face. But he also knows you well enough to see through it. He clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to argue, to stay.

"Alright," he says finally, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance. "I'll go back to Sky Haven. But... you better text me every morning, and night." He glances towards you again. "Got it, pipsqueak?”

You only smile back, “i love ya.”

Caleb freezes. He hears those three words, those three simple words that he's longed to hear from you for so long. But they feel like a bittersweet goodbye.

He looks at you, his heart constricting in his chest, and he wants to say so much, to tell you everything he's felt for so long. But he just nods, biting back the words that threaten to spill out.

"Yeah." He manages a weak smile. "love you, too.”

—

Days pass. Caleb is back in Sky Haven, working on his duties as a colonel in the Farspace Fleet. But every day, his thoughts keep drifting back to you. He finds himself distracted, his mind constantly wandering.

Sunday texts.

you: it's hot today.

caleb: make sure to tell the nurse to not set the air conditioning too cold

you: m’kay

Monday texts.

you: i miss your cooking

caleb: only that? You don't miss me? :(

you: i miss you, too >:)

caleb: :)

Tuesday texts.

caleb: knock knock, did you lose your way here?

you: was watching the birds

caleb: are they that interesting?

you: nope.

Wednesday texts.

caleb: hellooo pipsqueak

four hours later and three missed calls.

caleb: </3 ignoring my calls now?

you: i was asleep! :’)

caleb: morning, sleeping beauty ;)

Thursday texts.

None.

Caleb's eyebrows furrow as he stares at the empty screen, refreshing his messages over and over, and calling every hour.

You're just asleep, again.

He sighs at the thought, right—

His blood runs cold when his phone rings, seeing the caller ID from the hospital.

“hello?”

“Mr. Caleb, we regret to inform you that…”

Caleb's heart drops.

The next words doesn't even register in his head, he can't process it, can't wrap his mind around the news.

He takes a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, to understand what he just heard. But it doesn't make sense. It can't be...

He hangs up, and he runs. Without thinking, and feeling all numb, he needs to get to your hospital.

—

Caleb arrives at the hospital, his steps heavy as he walks through the familiar hallways. But everything seems different now. Darker, empty. The memories he once had are now tainted with grief.

He enters your room, his heart sinking more at the sight of the vacant bed, the machines turned off. He sees a bag on the table, your belongings. He moves forward, slowly, as if in a trance.

His gaze goes from the bag to the letter atop it. He stands there, torn between wanting to open it and wanting to pretend it doesn't exist.

After a moment's hesitation, he picks up the letter, his heart pounding in his chest. He carefully opens the envelope.

“dear, caleb.

I'm sorry you had to find out like this, i didn't want to worry you. My health was deteriorating these past few days, but i told them to not tell you, and im glad they respected my wishes.

I wanted to spend my last few days with you, and told you to go back on the last few days so you wouldn't witness the whole thing. Again, I'm sorry.

Please take care of yourself. I left a bunch of other letters in the bag for you.

Love, “

Caleb stares at the letter, reading and re-reading the words. His vision is blurry, his eyes filled with unshed tears. His heart feels heavy, as if someone had reached into his chest and snatched it away. He carefully folds the letter and puts it back in the envelope.

Caleb is going to read those letters you wrote for him, but he realizes you'll never get to read his own letters to you, it was too late.

—

The days following your passing are blurry in Caleb's memory. He moves through life like a shadow, going through the motions but not truly present. His work is done in autopilot, his interactions with others are forced.

But every night, when he returns to his empty apartment, he re-reads the letters. Like a cruel, comforting cycle, he reads them again and again.

The letters are all scattered on his bed. He would be curled on the bed, embracing each letter to try and make him sleep, but he can't. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you. And it almost feels like a nightmare.

These letters were a window into your thoughts, your feelings. And even though you were gone, he felt like he had a piece of you with him.

He would read until the early hours of the morning, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. But the pain was preferable to the emptiness that threatened to consume him.

It's been a week since your passing. He has avoided visiting your grave, unable to bring himself to face the reality of your absence.

Caleb is afraid of coming home to see scattered letters on his bed and not remembering who they belong to.

But today, something stirs within him. It's a mix of guilt, sadness, and a sense of resolution.

He needs to pay his respects, to fsce reality.

He makes his way to the graveyard, where your grave sits solemnly. The sight makes his chest tighten. But he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what he knows he has to do.

Caleb stands in front of your grave, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stares down at the name on the grave. "H-hey, pipsqueak," he whispers, his voice extremely shaky.

There's a pause, and he can almost hear your voice responding to him in his mind, calling him by his name.

"I... I have something to show you," he murmurs. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a worn leather notebook. It was his own journal, filled with thoughts, sketches, and snippets of memories from over the years.

He sits on the grass, trying to be as close as possible.

"I've been thinking about you a lot," he continues, his eyes still fixed on the grave. "I remember all the times we were kids. Those moments... they were the best."

He opens the journal, flipping through the pages, each one a small snapshot of their shared past.

"And those letters you left..." he continues, his voice growing quieter. "I've read them again and again. It feels like you're right here, whispering in my ear.”

If you were there, he knows you'd say all the right things to ease his pain, to tell him that everything would be okay. But you're not, and the silence hangs heavy in the air.

Caleb's grip on the notebook tightens, his knuckles white with the effort. He takes a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall.

"God, I... wish you were here." his voice chokes up, and he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"I...I have so many things I want to tell you, so many things I never said...”

You closes his eyes, covering his face while he slumps against the stone, that one wish you wrote in your letters replays over and over in his head.

to move on.

#lads x reader #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb angst #caleb #caleb xia #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #lads caleb #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb

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nightcourtnovels · 1 day ago

Text

Little Matchmaker

Azriel x reader (part 4.5)

Summary: reader gets a birthday gift and her friend can’t help but push her to go big or go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was dreaming.

She knew it even as she felt the soft weight of a blanket draped over her bare shoulders, Azriel’s callused fingers brushed her cheek, just as his arm curled tighter around her waist. They were still wet from the pool, skin warm and tangled beneath one of her spare blankets. The sun was rising above her balcony doors, the city waking while they started to rest. His voice, low and scratchy, murmured something against her hair.

“Stay,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

But he always did…

Y/N blinked awake as the sun crept through her curtains due to the blowing wind. Her bed was cold, and empty, and her heart gave a small, traitorous ache.

She groaned, covering her face with a pillow.

“Snap out of it,” she muttered to herself.

Today was her birthday. But, she had scrolls to read, enchantments to translate, and the library wouldn’t run itself. Just because she’d spent the last few nights dreaming of Azriel’s smile or the way his fingers lingered a little too long on her back, or the kiss he left her with that still made her stomach flip, didn’t mean she had time to daydream today.

The date was two weeks ago, but it still felt like yesterday. She really needed to stop thinking about it; they lived completely different lives and it was only a one time thing.

Yet, she couldn’t help but remember how beautiful the night was, no male had ever treated her like he did.

With a sigh, Y/N got ready for work.

The library was quiet as always, the scent of old paper and ink calming her nerves. She’d settled into a rhythm, nose deep in a scroll on ancient Day Court magic, when someone cleared their throat beside her desk.

She looked up to see a young messenger, wide-eyed and clearly in awe of the massive collection around him.

“Delivery,” he said, holding out a wrapped box and a bouquet of various white flowers speckled with silver.

Y/N blinked, stunned. “Uh… for me?”

He nodded, handed them over, and quickly scurried away.

She stared at the package and bouquet wondering if the messenger perhaps got the wrong female.

No one sent her gifts. Especially not ones wrapped in delicate paper and tied with navy ribbon. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled the small envelope off the flowers.

In neat, precise handwriting, she read:

Happy 250th, Bright One.

For someone who claims no one would want her at this age, I thought I’d take the chance before the line forms. I haven’t forgotten that you owe me a book recommendation.

— A.

She stared at the note, cheeks warming so fast it felt like she’d swallowed sunlight.

“Oh goodness,” came her friend Selene’s voice from behind. “Who are those from?”

“Ummm no one.”

Giggling, Selene reached around her in a flash and snatched the card from her hand.

“Oooooohhhhhhh,” she sung. “Definitely not a one-time thing, then.”

“It’s not like that,” Y/N said quickly, her blush deepening. “He’s just being—nice.”

“Nice? You can’t find these flowers everywhere, babe.” Selene said.

Her friend then stared at the box in wonder. “You should definitely open the box.”

“What do you think it is?” Y/N asked.

“Probably a dagger, he seems to like those things.”

Y/N squawked, “A dagger?? Are you insane? Why would he give me one of those?”

Selene chuckled, “Umm, so you can defend yourself while he’s not here to be your knight in shining armor?”

Trying to believe her own words, Selene playfully practiced her fighting moves with a nonexistent dagger. “Yeah definitely that!”

Y/N shook her head. “As much as I love how your brain works, it can’t be dagger. There’s no way.”

Her friend only raised her brows and pointed to the box. Sighing, Y/N tentatively unwrapped the present.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, sat a delicate necklace with a deep blue stone and matching earrings, shaped like falling stars. Ethereal. Night Court craftsmanship, undoubtedly.

The two of them sat in silence for a minute. Selene wasn’t sure if Y/N was breathing.

“Sweet Mother,” Selene breathed. “These are gorgeous. How will you ever thank him? Since, you know, it was just a ‘one-time thing’.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Y/N reminded herself to breathe and rolled her eyes at her friend. “I don’t know. Maybe next time he’s in Day.”

“You are telling me that you’ll just thank him next time he’s here?”

“What am I supposed to do? Sprout wings and fly to the Night Court immediately?”

Selene giggled, “I mean it’s not a bad idea. That way you could thank him properly.” Wiggling her eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Y/N gasped, hitting her friend playfully. “Absolutely not. You are so vulgar. I would never do that.”

The two stared at each other before falling into a fit of laughter.

“Okay mayyybe. Perhaps if the appropriate moment, you know, happened to happen. I would gracefully get on my knees…”

Before Y/N could finish her sentence, Selene slapped a hand over Y/N’s mouth. “And you say I’m vulgar! Does he know about these naughty things you say!?!”

“Of course not, he thinks I’m a perfect angel,” Y/N smirked.

“Hmm then you must have not talked very much on that date because you my friend are far from an angel.”

Y/N mockingly gasped and gestured to the jewelry that seemed to sparkle as if they too couldn’t hold in their laughter. “Then explain these gifts!”

“Wellllll hear me out,” her friend drawled, wiggling her brows. “I think I have the perfect way to thank him. There is a thing called Starfall next week in the Night Court…”

“We can’t just invite ourselves!” Y/N protested. “He probably already has a date.”

“Why not? When’s the last time we’ve been on vacation? You’re working on your birthday. Come on Y/N. You’re in desperate need of a break. I’m in desperate need of a scandal. And you—” she pointed at her with a smirk, “—have been gifted jewelry and flowers by the shadowsinger of the Night Court. I can promise you, he doesn’t already have a date.”

Y/N glanced down at the necklace again, fingers ghosting over the silver chain. “We don’t have dresses. Or a place to stay.”

“Pfft,” her friend scoffed. “Leave that to me. Dresses, done. Place to stay—handled. Not that you need one, I’m sure the Shadowsinger has a big enough bed. All you need to do is pack your bag and maybe think about what book you’re going to show him next. You know, to repay him.”

Her mouth twitched. “You're relentless.”

“It's why you love me. And besides… tell me you don't want to see him again.”

She didn’t answer. Just glanced at the card again. The way his inked scrawl curved her nickname. The way the bouquet shimmered under the library’s lights.

After a long moment, Y/N murmured, “Okay. Fine. I guess it has been a while.”

Her friend squealed, clapping. “Starfall, here we come!”

Y/N tried to fight her smile. Really, she did. But it was hopeless. The glow from the flowers mirrored the glow in her chest as she turned back to her desk—her mind already drifting far, far from the scrolls in front of her.

To the stars.

To a Night Court male who remembered her birthday.

“Okay let’s do it!”

#acotar #azriel #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x female!reader #azriel x reader

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revolvingsaturn · 3 days ago

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Summary: Work parties are boring. Why not fuck in an office instead?

(Teacher!Izuku x reader smut)

🫧🌱

You’ve always thought Izuku was pretty. It’s probably one of the main reasons you married him, you think absentmindedly as he fucks you against the desk of his little UA faculty office. You turn your head backwards slightly and get met with watery green eyes behind fogged lenses, wet lips and messy hair as your husband pants into the air of the room.

Half an hour previous, you’d been lounging awkwardly on the wall of the meeting room that’d been converted to a party, slowly nursing a drink. ‘Party’ in the loosest sense of the word you supposed, making awkward small talk with past teachers about hero work and how life was going. It wasn’t boring, per se, but it wasn’t exactly stimulating either- the entire affair felt much more like a hero commission networking event than a party. And, to make matters worse, you couldn’t stop staring at your husband.

You always thought he was attractive-how couldn’t you-but watching him through mascara coated eyelashes as he moved around the room in his suit and his glasses was almost too much to bear for you; the minute he walked away from the conversation he was having you were dragging him into the hallway and pressing your lips to his. He reciprocated, admittedly with mild confusion, and gazed down at you with stars in his eyes as you spoke.

“You’re so hot when you’re professional,” you get out through breathless lips.

“You think?” He replies, almost shocked at your sudden change in demeanour. While never one to shy away from public intimacy, having sex right outside the same room all of your previous teachers and his current work colleagues were in was too risky even for you.

“You got any idea of where we can take this?” You say between planting kisses on his neck, being careful not to smudge makeup on the collar you ironed for him.

He doesn’t reply-not with words, anyway- just a searingly aroused look through half lidded green eyes and he’s intertwining his fingers with yours and leading you to his office. You briefly take a moment to gaze at his desk- covered in reminders, notebooks and scattered pens with a framed photo of you both in the corner; there’s even a few ‘thank you’ cards from students pinned to the wall and you smile- until you’re swiftly being bent over the desk, chair kicked to the side by Izuku as he leans over you.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” He breathes down your neck, hot enough to make you shiver as his hand softly trails its way from your hip to the hemline of your skirt. That’s the thing with Izuku- he’s always soft, always caring- he’ll edge you until you’re crying, sure, but he’ll never snap or grab you so hard you’re left with bruises.

“Notice what?” You say, feigning false innocence, even as you feel yourself practically flood your underwear at the thought of being fucked into oblivion on his desk.

“You.” He breathes back. “You’ve been watching me all night, distracting me- you’ve been trying to get me to do this, have you? Get me to bend you over my desk and fuck you like the needy slut you are.”

You intake a sharp breath at his words- he’s never spoken to you this crudely before, and the thought only makes you slicker as you hear the telltale noise of his belt unbuckling behind you, clasp clinking through the office. It’s out of character for him, but then again you did ask for this.

A hand travels up the curve of your spine to entangle itself in your hair; not tugging, just resting there as its counterpart slowly, teasingly skirts its way up the back of your thigh to gently push the fabric of your dress over your hips until you’re completely exposed. You hear Izuku’s breathing rate rise when you let out a little squeaky moan at the feeling of his fingers starting to rub tiny sharp circles over your clit before they eventually push your soaked underwear to the side and enter you.

Your nails scrabble at the desk when he starts to crook his fingers inside you, but when you raise your head to turn and look at him the hand in your hair pushes you back down so your cheek is squished against the desk. It’s torture, you love seeing Izuku’s face during sex and you can just picture his fogged up glasses skewed slightly on his face, lips parted as he grins down at your squirming form.

He’s mean, fingers scissoring inside your pussy while his hand shoves your face more onto the desk. You can’t even raise a hand to cover your mouth because the hand on your scalp moves to insert two fingers into your mouth. You moan around them and he laughs, actually laughs behind you; you know how you must look, so fucked out and he hasn’t even really fucked you yet. His fingers withdraw from your pussy and you groan, annoyed at the loss, the sound muffled around the fingers still prodding around your mouth.

You hear the faint noise of a zip being undone and fabric rustling behind you and the anticipation is killing you; he drags the tip of his cock through your folds until you’re practically begging for it as best you can around the fingers in your mouth. A thin trail of drool makes its way down your chin to rest on the desk. Izuku pays it no mind as he suddenly and without warning slips fully inside of you; you gasp at the sudden pleasure and your manicured nails scrabble for purchase on the wood of his desk.

They find none.

You can only moan loudly into the office, Izuku’s cock prodding the soft spot inside of you that you can never quite seem to reach with your fingers. His hand keeps moving, one moment it’s on your clit rubbing tiny shapes and next it’s gripping your hip or shakily brushing hair back from your face so he can watch the way your cheek rubs against the desk with every snap of his hips.

But it’s still not enough- he’s being harsh, sure, harsher than usual, but he’s still whispering praises into your hair and using the thumb outside of your mouth to rub adoring circles into your cheek. You wrack your pleasure addled brain for something you could do to make him finally snap, and then it hits you- just this morning you were discussing kids over breakfast. Was it slight weaponisation of his deepest feelings? Yes, but did you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t stand properly for a week? Absolutely.

And so, you gasp out through drool covered lips, around his fingers:

“Want you to put a baby in me, Izu..” you moan.

He practically freezes, hips stalling.

“You- you mean that?” He breathes out.

You simply nod back, eyes locking onto his, and that’s all it takes- he’s withdrawing his fingers so he can bite at your lips and lick into your mouth while his hips snap into yours again and again and again until there’s literally nothing else on your mind; you know that you’re being loud, that your ex teachers are just down the hallway but you honestly can’t find it within yourself to care.

Your husband is frantically fucking into you with all the grace of a bull in a china shop as he desperately whimpers into your ear praise about how pretty you are, how lovely you’ll look full of him. He’s as delirious as you are, panting and moaning and whining into your ear the most depraved sentences you’ve ever heard exit his lips.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

“Gonna- gonna cum-“ he’s whimpering into your ear as you clench around him.

“‘S okay.” You manage to slur back at him. “Want you to- to fill me up, Izu.”

You cum around him as his fingers rub shapes into your clit, the sensations almost too much as you writhe under him. You know he’s close, his thrusts are sloppy and miscalculated but ever so good as he humps wildly into your spent pussy. And just like that, with you whispering promises of babies to him in the dimly lit office, Izuku Midoriya cums into you with the longest, most drawn out, broken moan you’re ever managed to wrench from him.

You just lay there for a moment, his forehead pressed to the back of your sweaty neck while you feel his cum slowly drip out of you after he whimpers and pulls out. But then he’s pushing it back into you with shaking fingers, one hand holding your hips in place as you squirm in overstimulation. You stand on unsure legs, messily wrenching your dress back down with one hand while Izuku does up his pants.

You catch a glimpse of you both in the window and almost grin; you both look so entirely fucked out it’s almost comical- the makeup smeared across your face with your own saliva and messy hair, Izuku’s fogged up glasses he’s bending down to pick up from the floor and his sweaty face.

One thing for sure, you absolutely cannot go back to the party like this- he rushes out and emails the staff a fake excuse about you getting ‘food poisoning’ before you’re both giggling as you flop into the front seats of your car.

Izuku clears his throat first- “did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You say in response.

“About the whole baby thing, because I’d really like to have a baby with you and I think we’d be really good parents. Number one you’re really funny, number two-“

And he’s rattling off a list at you the whole drive home.

🫧🌱

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #fanfic #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #smut #bnha smut #oneshot #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #bnha izuku #izuku smut #pwp #pwp fics #my hero academia #mha smut #mha

102 notes · View notes

slowdrawl · 2 days ago

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|dbf!Joel x f!reader| Whiskey and Want

| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist} | wordcount |4.2k| {TLOU AU, no outbreak} |13/??| Show me. | Joel is hot...and your dad's best friend. You're brattier than usual when you're setting up for Sarah's welcome home party and he SNAPS, talking you through it as he does. (the smut goes crazy.)

“Bend over the fuckin’ table.”

| a/n | This was supposed to be a normal chapter. with plot, and pacing, and decorations. But I blacked out and wrote 4k words of utter filth. This could be read as a stand alone tbh. Just a real spicy interlude.

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, explicit content, restraints (wrists bound), oral sex (f. receiving), spanking, fingering, (p in v), orgasm denial, mild dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, praise, light degradation, power imbalance (consensual), established tension, series warnings after the fic.

reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory

“Are you tryin’ to hang the fuckin’ lights or yourself?”

Joel’s at the base of the ladder, one hand braced against the frame like he thinks it’s about to collapse.

You glance down at him, brow scrunched. “What are you on about?”

“You keep tiptoein’ like you’ve got a damn death wish.”

“Joel, it’s a step ladder. I appreciate the concern, but if I fall and break more than an ankle, it was in God’s plan.”

He shakes his head, already turning toward the patio. “Just…be mindful.”

You’ve spent the last hour and a half sprinting from one end of the yard to the other, draping fairy lights over the pergola, trying your best to give the place some kind of whimsy.

Sarah is lucky you love her. And that you’re terrified of how she’ll react when she inevitably figures out you’ve been boning her dad. Because right now, you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know could sweat.

Thankfully, the sun’s finally starting to dip, and for once, there are a few clouds offering some mercy from the Texas heat. Joel’s taping a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner to the siding above the back door, you can’t help but stare at the way his t-shirt hikes up just enough to show the dimples at the base of his spine off. You can see faint drops of sweat speckling the skin there, shining like glitter. “That’s crooked,” you holler over to him from across the yard. “So be it,” he replies. At this point, the heat is really getting to you, you have no more patience. It’s been a long day, and you just want the whole thing to be over. You’ve been at it since 11, when you went to the party store, now it’s probably around 6. You don’t know, your phone has been dead since you left the diner. You snap, “No. We’re not half-assing this. Straighten the damn sign.” You don’t even look at him, just go back to what you were doing. Don’t have to look anyway, because you can see it already. Jaw tight, eye twitching, nostrils flared. He probably has his hand on his hip and everything. You keep on wrapping a streamer around one of his sad little trees. Thinking, maybe he’s dropped it. Moved on. That you’ve earned a moment of peace and relative shade. Until his voice cuts in again, closer now, but not by much. He’s made his way halfway through the yard.

“You know,” he drawls, slow like molasses but twice as smug, “I liked you better when you were scared’a me.”

You snort, tugging the streamer taut just to give your hands something to do. “That why you keep tryin’ to intimidate me with your superior zip-tie skills and emotional constipation?”

Joel steps into your peripheral, close enough that you feel the heat off his body, radiating, heavy, clinging to you like static air before a storm. You glance at him and instantly regret it.

Fuck

He looks disheveled. In the best way. T-shirt stuck to his chest, curls damp at the nape, cheeks a little sunburnt maybe, eyes darker than they should be in daylight. You could hang lights off the tension alone. “You’ve been extra mouthy today.” You shrug your shoulders, eyes wide and innocent. “So what. You don’t think you deserve it? After the emotional rollercoaster you’ve had me on all week, you’re lucky I'm here at all.” Joel doesn’t say a word. Just stares at you. You can feel the weight of it. Heavy, measured. He's trying to calculate exactly how far he's willing to let you take this. “I think you like it when I talk back, Mr. Miller.” He cocks his head. “Oh? You think so?” “Yeah, I do,” you say, stepping toward him. “I think it gets you off.” You smile smugly. “Actually…I know it does.” He starts walking. Not fast, just with purpose. Every step makes your heart pound harder. He’s silent, closing the space between you while you instinctively start to retreat. You’re walking backward toward the house now, tripping over your own feet the whole way. He’s just on your toes, stalking you like a predatory animal. Your back bumps against the edge of the folding table you’d set up earlier, you have nowhere else to go. Trapped. Joel plants one hand beside your hip. Then the other. Caging you in. He’s not touching you. Not yet. The legs of the table scrape across the patio as he pushes it back so it's now flush against the siding of the house. His arms are stretched out, taut, triceps flexing.

“That what this is?” he says quietly. “You tryin’ to make me lose it?”

You swallow. He doesn’t sound angry…It’s worse, dangerous, too calm. Like he’s holding something barely tethered under his tongue.

“Tryin’ to get me to fuck you right here against this table?” He looks around the yard, nodding in the direction of your house. “You want everyone hearin’ the sweet little sounds you make for me”

He leans in, breath warm against your cheek.

“That what you want?”

You’re still smiling, but it’s starting to falter. Just a little. Just enough.

“Maybe.”

His eyes drag over your face, slow and heavy. There’s heat there, but more than that. There’s awareness. Like he sees exactly what you’re doing. And he’s calling your bluff.

“You wanna be a brat? Fine.”

His hand comes up, he wraps it around your throat. Squeezing, just a little, claiming. His voice drops, sharp, certain. “Then beg.”

Your lips part. You don't back down. You never back down.

So he leans in again, and he moves his hand from your throat around to the back of your neck. Grabbing your nape like it's the scuff of a kitten, spinning you.

“Bend over the fuckin’ table.” You blink. Brain not catching up quick enough. It feels like you have a fever. Your heart is pounding in your ears, your extremities feel half numb from the adrenaline. “Now.” The noise that comes from the back of your throat is embarrassing. It already feels like your knees are about to give out. But still, you obey, letting him turn you around completely. You hinge at your hips, pressing your elbows flush to the table as he guides you down with his hand on the small of your back. “Shorts down,” he says. “Or do I have to do everything for you?”

You fumble with the waistband, fingers shaking as you shove them down around your thighs. It’s clumsy, desperate. You’re already panting.

He groans behind you, you can feel it rumble through him.

“You talk too much,” he mutters. “Always runnin’ that smart little mouth.”

You smirk, twisted around just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“Still think you like it.”

His hand cracks across your ass. You gasp.

“What was that?” he growls.

You bite your lip. Trying to keep the edge. Trying to keep from screaming.

“I said—”

Another slap. Harder. He doesn’t even let you finish this time.

Your breath hitches. Your thighs clench.

“Keep goin’,” he says. “We’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”

He runs a hand between your legs, he groans when he finds you practically dripping.

“Goddamn. She’s soaked and still talkin’ back.”

You’re trembling now, knuckles white on the edge of the table.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You hesitate. Just long enough to make him snap.

Joel drags you back by the hips, so your ass is flush against him, cock straining through his jeans. You can feel how hard he is—how close he is to ruining you.

“Say. It.”

“…Make me.”

That’s it.

He shoves your panties down and sinks two fingers into you without warning. Deep, rough, perfect. You cry out, head dropping to the plastic, and he leans over you, mouth to your ear.

“You don’t get to come until you do,” he growls. “Not until I hear it.”

You whimper. Rocking your hips back on his hand.

“Joel—”

“Nope. You wanted this. You can take the consequences.”

He curls his fingers just right, and your knees nearly give out for real.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you gasp.

“What for?”

“For… for mouthing off.”

He pulls his hand away. You whine at the loss.

“Louder.”

You lift your head.

“I’m sorry for mouthing off!”

Joel makes low and smug sound, like he’s pleased with himself. You feel it in your core.

“Good girl,” he says, unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate clicks. “Now stay still, just like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I ain’t done teachin’ you yet.”

The belt hits the table with a heavy slap, and your whole body jolts. You expect the sting next, the sharp bite across your skin—but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Joel reaches down, grabs both of your wrists.

Pulls them behind your back.

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?”

He doesn’t answer. Just threads the leather through your wrists, tight and smooth. Cinching it slow. He moves like he’s done this before, no big deal, like he knows the way you’ll respond.

You try to twist. Just to see. Just to feel it.

You can’t move.

“Still feelin’ mouthy?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Or is it finally sinkin’ in now?”

You swallow, pulse pounding between your legs.

“Yeah, didn’t think so”

And then he’s guiding you. No. He’s marching you into the house. Your wrists are bound behind your back, and your shorts are still half tugged down like a badge of shame. The cool inside air hits your skin, but it doesn’t soothe the fire in your chest, the heat that's crawling up your throat.

Joel stays behind you. One hand on your waist. Firm. Controlling. His thumb strokes absent-minded circles against your side like he’s calming a spooked horse. As you reach the kitchen, he pauses for a second, loosening his grip on your wrists. He turns you around and looks, serious, but…gentler at you. You can tell that he’s searching your face for hesitancy, real fear. He’s searching your face for your consent and you have never been so turned on in your entire fucking life. “Good?” He asks, eyes locked on yours. “Yes.” you say. It comes out breathy, but sure. He nods his head in understanding and exhales what sounds like anticipation mixed with relief.

“Upstairs,” he says, motioning toward the hall.

“Joel—”

“You got one job now, darlin’. Walk.”

You don’t argue.

The sound of your steps on the stairs feels deafening. He follows behind you, you can feel his eyes burning into the backs of your legs, your ass, the base of your spine.

When you reach the landing, he nudges you down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he says. “Go.”

You cross the threshold and stop, unsure, buzzing. So many emotions are going through you, your brain can’t keep up. You’ve never been in his bedroom before, and if you weren't tied up in leather, this would feel…intimate. You don’t have time to take it in, but you do take a second to look toward the window and stare out of it up toward your bedroom across the street. You turn to face him—

“Uh uh,” Joel says, voice rough. “Get on your knees.”

You sink down to the ground.

The carpet scratches the skin beneath your knees. You’re feeling vulnerable. Exposed. But still…safe.

Joel stands in the doorway, arms crossed. Watching you. Like you’re prey and he’s deciding what kind of punishment fits best.

“Not so funny now, is it?” he asks softly.

You’re scared to answer, you shake your head barely.

“S’what I thought.”

He steps into the room. Circling behind you. One finger trails from your jaw down your throat, to your chest, your ribs.

“Now,” he says, stopping in front of you. “You’re gonna sit there and wait.” “For what?” you whisper.

He smiles, cruel and patient.

“For me to feel generous.” Your wrists are still bound behind your back, fingers twitching with every exhale of your breath. You shift, trying to get more comfortable, trying to rub your thighs together for some sort of relief without being too obvious. Joel notices, because of course he notices. He drops onto the edge of the bed in front of you with a deep groan, spreading his legs wide. The button is already undone on his jeans. He’s palming himself over his boxers. You look up at him through hooded eyes, biting down on your lower lip. He reaches his hand under the waistband and pulls out his cock. It’s thick, flushed, wet at the tip—and he strokes it slowly, practiced, shameless. Just watching you. “Look at you now,” he murmurs. “All tied up and nothin’ to say to me for once.” Your throat burns. You want to speak. You want to beg. But he’s just too pretty like this. Sweaty and wrecked, one hand fisting his cock, the other behind him, holding him up as he leans into the bed. “Bet you’re dripping,” he drawls. “I bet you’re fuckin’ throbbin’, sittin’ there watchin’ me.” The smallest wine escapes from his throat with the last word. You squirm against your calves, can’t help it. He chuckles. “Uh uh,” he hums. “No movin', not unless I tell you to.” You hang your head down for a second in protest, then smirk back up at him. “You gonna come like that? All by yourself? Puttin’ on a show just for me, Mr. Miller?” He inhales sharply and then stills. His thumb drags a lazy circle over the head of his cock, he doesn’t break eye contact with you. “Think you’ve earned it?” he asks, “Seein’ me come for you?” “Tryin’ my best.” “Try harder,” he mutters, “ You wanna be good? Be quiet for me. Watch.” You clench around nothing. He’s smirking now, watching the way your body reacts to his words. “That hard for you?” he hums, “Just sittin’ there like a good girl?” You nod, lips parted, eyes wide. He groans and tilts his head back slightly, stroking himself faster now. His chest is falling and rising erratically, every breath is ragged, every exhale punched out between clenched teeth. You can tell that he’s close, you can see it, and you ache for him. Then he stops. Hand stilling on himself, eyes flicking down to you sitting there, small and panting, bound at his feet. Suddenly, something shifts. The tension doesn’t break exactly, but it pauses. Tightens in a different way. Joel’s face changes, barely, but enough. He leans forward. “Hey,” he says, soft. His voice is rough and velvet at the same time. “You doin’ okay—is this okay?” You blink, swallowing, nodding. “I need you to use your words, baby.” Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m good, Joel. I’m…I’m having fun.” He reaches for you and brushes your cheek with his knuckles, he’s so achingly tender that it nearly undoes you. “Okay,” He says. “Okay good.” he exhales, giving you one more long look, “You want to stop, you just say so alright?” You hum in response. And then he grabs your jaw. Firmly, but careful still. He tilts your face up, squishing your cheeks. “You keep your eyes on me, then,” he murmurs. “I’m not done watchin’ you beg.” You hold his gaze like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Your knees are burning, wrists aching, jaw trembling under his hand. He strokes himself lazily in front of you, like he has all damn night. Like he could do this forever. And you? You’re starving. “Joel,” You say, meek. He raises a brow, “Somethin’ you wanna say?” “Please.” He hums. “Please, what?”

Your voice cracks when you answer. “I need you.”

He leans forward slightly, almost close enough for you to get your mouth on his. “Need me to what, baby?”

You try to move. Try to lean into him, into anything, but his grip tightens at your jaw. He holds you steady. “Say it.”

You shut your eyes. Exhale. Shame burning down your spine as you whisper.

Your voice cracks. “Touch me. Fuck me. Anything. Please, I’m sorry, I—I-please, Joel.”

He exhales hard, like he feels it. Like your begging undoes something. “Goddamn,” he mutters. “There she is.”

He goes still for a moment, like the sound of your voice hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for it to. Then he lets go of your jaw. And slaps your cheek. Not hard, just enough to sting. To snap your last thread of control.

You jolt slightly, whimpering. A shudder rolls through you. You’re shaking, overwhelmed, soaked, feral.

He watches you like he’s still hungry. Like this is just the beginning.

Then he kneels.

You feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands.

He reaches for the buckle. Pulls the belt free from your wrists with deft, controlled fingers. Your arms fall forward, limp and useless. You don’t even try to move them.

Joel takes your hands in his. Bringing your palms to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each one. Then he rubs small circles into the reddened skin, helping you through the electric static still zipping down your spine.

You nod, choked up.

He kisses your temple. “Get on the bed.”

You scramble up, with trembling hands. Your entire body buzzes as you climb into the sheets. Joel follows calmly. All control. No urgency, like he’s not already hard. Like, he isn’t seconds away from giving in like you are. He settles on his knees at the foot of the bed where you just were, eyes trailing up your body like smoke. He spreads your legs with both hands, wide. Possessive, like he owns the sight of you. One palm comes down over your stomach, pressing flat to hold you down. “You’re gonna stay real still for me,” he says, quiet but firm. “Or we’re gonna stop.” Then he licks you. One long, languid drag of his tongue that leaves you feeling like you’re about to combust. You yelp, slapping a hand to your face to stifle your moans. He groans against you like the taste hurts him. “Fuck—look at you,” he mutters, hot against your thigh. “So pretty. You love this, don’t you?” You grasp at anything you can, fingers tangled in sheets, in his hair, anything to ground yourself. You arch into him, nodding, whining. Joel chuckles, dark and a little mean. “Didn’t say move.” Then he’s back on you, messier, dragging his tongue through you again. He makes you grind, makes you keep begging. You cry out, writhing beneath him. His mouth still on you, “No, baby, not yet” He works you right to the edge and then pulls back. Over. And Over. Three times. You’re crying by the fourth. Quiet little sobs against your knuckles. “Shh, I got you, angel. You’re bein’ so, so good for me now.” he coos, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Joel, please,” you hiccup. “I’ll be so good—please just don’t stop.” He kisses his way up your body, your hip, your ribs, the swell of your breast. Then he gets up from the floor, walks to the side of the bed and settles himself behind you. He reaches forward and lifts you, literally pulls you into his lap, your whole body light in his arms. Your legs feel like jello, you’re so exhausted. Fucked out and you haven’t even come yet. He shifts you forward, settling you over his thighs, guiding your body like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.

His cock is thick and heavy between your legs, already nudging at your entrance, and you freeze, just for a second as the reality of it hits you.

You’re soaked. Raw. Desperate.

But this still feels like a threshold.

Joel sees it.

“Breathe,” he whispers. His voice is so quiet now, so gentle. Steady. “I’ve got you.” One hand grabs onto your hip, the other slides down and wraps around the base of his cock. He lines himself up, the head just barely parting your folds, and he waits. Just waits until your eyes meet his again. Then he pulls you down, slowly. The stretch is immediate, deep and relentless. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “I know,” he grits. “Just take it. That’s it, good fuckin’ girl.” He doesn’t rush you, just holds you there, easing you down. Letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every beat of his pulse as he twitches, fighting to stay still. Your thighs are trembling, your breath is shuddering out of your heaving chest. Every inch drags against your walls, every second of stretch sending fire across your nerves. “You feel that?” he asks, low and rough. “How tight you are around me?” You nod, barely. Whimpering now. “Every fuckin’ time. Like it’s the first.” You bottom out with a cry. His cock seated deep, brushing against your cervix. And he just stays there, lets you sit in it, walls fluttering. Your whole body tightens around him involuntarily. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. “Look at me,” he says. You listen. He leans in close, forehead to forehead. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like I do.” A sharp and needy gasp rips through you as he starts thrusting up into you. You can feel the pressure building low in your belly. “No one’s ever gonna fill you like this. Hear me?” You’re nodding back at him again, its all you can do. You’re blinking hard, ruined. “Say it.” Your voice trembles. “Nobody’s gonna—fuck, nobody’s gonna fuck me better.” Joel growls low in his throat. His arms wrap around you tight. He starts to move faster, punishing thrusts that feel like they’ll unravel you from the inside out. You’re barely breathing as he fucks you harder. One of his hands grips your ass, guiding your rythm. The other is tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to his. He kisses you like he’s trying to break you. Tongue deep, lips rough, teeth catching. You’re right on the edge, you can feel yourself pulsing around him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders like it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Yeah,” he groans. “There it is. That what you needed, huh? Right there?” “Yes. Fuck—right there.” you sob into him. He thrusts up harder, faster. Your thighs are on fire from the effort of keeping up with him, your muscles are shaky. You’re soaked, his cock gliding in and out of you with a filthy slap every time your hips meet. “You gonna come? I can feel you fuckin’ chokin’ me, baby.” he growls. “Y-yeah—shit, oh my god—Joel” His thumb drops down to your clit, he starts rubbing circles exactly how you like it, and your head snaps back. “That’s it. Come on,” he grits. “Show me. Show me what this fuckin’ cock does to you.” You fall apart. Hard.

Your entire body locks, and the orgasm rips through you. It’s burning, endless, and blinding. You scream his name. Legs shaking. Nails digging so hard into his back you know you’re leaving marks. “Fuck—fuck—” you cry. “Don’t stop, please, don’t,” And he doesn’t. He holds your hips and drives up into you, riding your orgasm, dragging more and more out of you until you’re twitching, boneless, mouth open and gasping. And then he finally breaks, slamming into you once. Twice. Groaning so deep it sounds fucking painful. He comes. Hot. Thick. Deep inside you. He holds you close, murmuring praise into your skin, lips pressed to your temple as you ride it out. His head drops to the bed, and he pulls you down, curling his body around yours. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. You both just lay there and collect your breath for a long while. Your body is loose, heavy and spent. Every breath you take smells like him. His forehead is resting against your shoulder, brushing his lips against your collarbone. Neither of you speak. It’s just the ever-present hum of the ceiling fan. The tick of the clock, your heartbeats pressed together. “You okay?” he eventually asks. His voice is rough, low and broken still. You hum into his chest, “Perfect.” Joel rubs your back, lazy, sloppy circles that make your eyes sting. “Did I go too fa—” He doesn't finish the sentence, you don’t let him. “No,” you say quick. “No. You didn’t.” You pull yourself back just enough to see him. He’s flush, eyes soft now. Bare. It’s like the edge of him has finally, finally worn down. You weave your fingers through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ve never felt like that before,” you whisper. Joel huffs a tired laugh. “Me neither.” Then he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw. Then your cheek. When his mouth finds yours again, it's not about hunger anymore. It’s just quiet, stead,y and certain. He threads your fingers together. Connected, quiet. Safe. “Hey, Joel?”

His thumb strokes slow over the back of your hand. “Yeah, Bird?”

You smile, lips still swollen, brain still syrupy.

“We, uh…” you glance at the ceiling fan. “We still have to finish setting the yard up.”

You stop.

“Before my dad gets here with the booze.”

Joel groans, dragging an arm over his face. You kiss his shoulder, giggling. “You still need to straighten the damn sign, too.”

“Fuck’s sake”

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, grinding, spit, cumplay, possessive/rough sex, praise, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh

#dbf!joelmiller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #whiskeyandwant

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wolvietxt · 3 days ago

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ᰔ chamomile tea !

↳ frank castle x female reader

you don’t hear him come in. the door creaks just a little, but your head stays bowed over the kitchen table, hands loose in your lap. there’s a soft ache behind your eyes that’s been growing all afternoon — nothing big enough to cry about, just one of those long, grey days that settles into your bones and stays there.

the hum of the kettle starts behind you. you blink once, slow. you didn’t ask. didn’t move. didn’t say a word.

but he knows anyway.

he doesn’t speak. never does, really, not when it’s like this. not when you’re worn thin and heavy in that quiet way that doesn’t want to be seen. but still — he sees it. he always does.

a mug appears beside your elbow, pushed close enough for the steam to touch your skin. honey. no lemon. two teabags.

you stare at it for a second too long. the soft golden color, the way it curls at the top from the heat. he’s already stepped back. leaning against the counter, arms crossed, like he didn’t just read your mood down to the last thread.

“thanks,” you say, voice barely above the whistle of the kettle cooling. you wrap your hands around the mug and let the warmth bleed into your fingers. it feels like something unwinding in your chest. slow and careful.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just reach into you without touching. “long day?”

you nod. that’s all he needs.

he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what happened. frank’s not the type. he lets the silence sit between you like something alive, something soft. doesn’t fill it with noise or questions or things you’re too tired to answer.

instead, he moves around the kitchen in that quiet, solid way of his — puts away a dish, runs the tap low. doesn’t look at you again, not yet. just stays close enough that you can feel the comfort of him nearby. familiar weight. steady hands.

you sip the tea. it’s perfect. warm and strong, sweet enough to catch on your tongue, like he knew exactly what would make your shoulders drop a little. he did.

you glance at him. his jaw’s tight like always, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. like he’s checking in. like he’s listening without saying it.

“you always make it right,” you murmur. “even the bad-day version.”

he doesn’t smile, not exactly, but the corners of his mouth twitch like they want to. “’course i do.”

your lips quirk, just a little. “you keep a chart or somethin’?”

“just pay attention,” he says. then, a little softer, “that’s all.”

you look down again, to the tea. to the steam still rising. you don’t say it, but it means something — more than a drink, more than the routine of it. it’s him. it’s how he stays close without crowding. how he sees you without making you explain yourself.

“you always know,” you say under your breath. “even when i don’t.”

frank comes closer then, rests his hand against the back of your neck. warm and grounding. his thumb brushes the edge of your hairline, and it makes something in your chest ache in the best kind of way.

“you don’t gotta say anything,” he murmurs. “i’ll still take care of you.”

you lean into his touch. his palm is rough, calloused, but gentle as anything.

“you’re too good at it,” you whisper.

he huffs a small laugh through his nose. “nah. just got good taste in people.”

you smile into your mug.

he leans down, presses a kiss to the top of your head — soft, like he’s sealing in the comfort. “finish your tea, sweetheart.”

“yes, sir.”

his thumb strokes the curve of your neck once before pulling away. he heads for the hallway, probably to grab a blanket, maybe your favorite sweater from the bedroom. something else to tuck around you like protection.

but even if he didn’t — even if it was just the tea and the quiet and the closeness — you’d still feel held. because that’s what frank does. not loud, not showy. just steady. present. always two steps ahead when you need something without ever making you feel like a burden.

you sip again, slower now.

outside, the sun’s dipped past the window. shadows stretch long across the floor, but the kitchen feels warm. golden.

you wrap both hands tighter around the mug and close your eyes.

he always remembers.

FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn, @xanaxiii, @Blu-jays, @chaoticcoffeequeen, @frankies-girl

@person-005, @malfoys-demigod, @wkhannah

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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midnightquips · 1 day ago

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Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

Dangerously Close Masterlist

Chapter 1: Sparks & Sandwiches

Part III

It’s 2:47 a.m. and you’re awake, lying flat on your back. Your eyes are focused on the ceiling of the room, brain stuck replaying the exact moment Bucky wiped caramel from your thumb like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t. Not for you.

You turn over with a sigh and bury your face in the pillow. It’s not just that one moment. It’s a culmination of all the little moments. His hand casually resting on your lower back in the kitchen, the way he says your name when he’s not being flirty. The heat in his eyes when you catch him watching you train.

It makes you feel hot all over and more than a little dizzy.

But then you have to snap yourself to reality again that he’s Bucky Barnes. Ex-assassin. Avenger. Thunderbolt legend. The broody heartthrob of the entire compound.

And no matter how much Yelena hypes you, you’re… well, you. New to the team. Confident, sure—but not delusional. It’s almost crazy to assume that he actually wants you like that.

Not when he’s like that.

You think he doesn’t even realize it, how natural of a flirt he is. You heard him call Ava darling last week. You saw him smirk at a journalist during a press debrief and practically knock her out with just a look.

And yeah, he touches people. You’ve seen him rest his arm on Alexei or Bob’s shoulder every now and then. That’s probably just his thing.

You roll onto your back and continue to stare blankly at the ceiling. Stop thinking about this.

You cover your face with a blanket, groaning in frustration. You are so screwed.

Three floors below, Bucky Barnes is in his own version of hell.

Wiping caramel from your thumb has only triggered a string of fantasies. He dreams of your mouth, of your thighs.

Not in some slow, artful, wistful kind of way. No. These dreams are filthy. Your curves straddling his lap on the couch. Your fingers tugging in his hair while you ride his face. Your laugh in his ears as he presses you against the kitchen counter and slides into you, whispering how long he’s wanted you.

He wakes up sweating, panting.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face.

It’s been years since he had a dream like that. And never one this vivid. He can still smell the caramel on your skin. Still feel your thighs around his head. Still hear the hitch in your breath when he touched your waist earlier.

“Stop,” he groans aloud, as if that will make it go away.

It doesn’t help that you’ve been touchy lately. Not clingy. Just... familiar. A hand on his shoulder when you pass behind him. A quick brush against his arm in the kitchen. Gripping his bicep when Bob makes a joke that sends you laughing too hard.

And you never pull away.

Not once.

That does things to him. Desperate, unhinged things.

He’s going to combust.

The next morning is unusually quiet. Bob and Ava’s still asleep. Yelena is running. John’s probably outside yelling at the sky and doing push-ups.

You find yourself alone in the kitchen, which is always comforting you. It doesn’t last long because Bucky soon walks in.

He finds you humming under your breath, standing barefoot in front of the stove in an oversized Duran Duran tee that hits mid-thigh, legs bare from the short shorts. You’re making omelets.

And Bucky’s pretty sure this is how men die.

“Morning,” you say, not turning around.

“Hey.” His voice cracks and coughs. “Smells good.”

“You always say that.” You glance over your shoulder and smirk. “I’m starting to think you only hang around me for the food.”

“I hang around you for a lot of reasons.” he says casually

You pause.

Turn. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two of you just… stare.

The pan sizzles. You’re the one to look away first. “Distracting me will only result in a burnt omelet for you.”

He steps closer until he’s at your back again, a place he’s become too fond of. “I really don’t care.”

You elbow him gently. “You will when you’re hungry in an hour.”

He laughs softly, suppressing the incredible urge to just steal a kiss. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You shrug and flip the pan. “Takes one to know one.”

The spell is broken when you hear steps coming down the hallway and soon enough, then others walk in.

Yelena flops across the kitchen island, still damp from her shower. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“There’s always coffee,” you say, sliding a mug toward her.

She perks up. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Absolutely.” Bucky mutters before he can stop himself. He pauses in shock.

The room goes quiet.

Even the toaster pops awkwardly.

You turn slowly, orange juice in hand. Heat rising up to your cheeks.

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it and then attempts to say. “I meant—like—I meant because of the coffee—Jesus, never mind.”

Yelena grins into her cup.

Alexei strolls in with a yawn. “What did I miss?”

“Bucky’s giving Y/N compliments before 9 a.m.,” Yelena says.

“Ah,” Alexei replies, rubbing his hands together. “We are making progress.”

Bucky groans and continues to noisily eat his breakfast, silently signaling that he will throw that for to anyone who tries to approach him again during breakfast.

That afternoon, training is mercifully light—mostly debriefs and paperwork.

You’re halfway through reading a mission summary when Yelena drops onto the couch beside you and whispers, “He’s going to break if you keep wearing shorts like that.”

You don’t even look up. “What do you mean?”

“You know WHO I mean.” Yelena nods at you

You shake your head in disbelief, “Your imagination is running wild again.”

“All I’m saying is I just think you should be prepared for spontaneous combustion.” she insists

You sigh, “Stop.”

“Make me.” she teases

You glance over. “Okay. What do you want?”

She grins. “To help.”

You look at her suspiciously, eyes narrowing, “That’s not ominous at all.”

“No, seriously. I just think it’s tragic that two people who clearly want to climb each other like trees are stuck in this weird little dance.”

“No, we do not. Stop. He might hear.” you say quickly, looking around to make sure no one could hear

Yelena raises a brow slyly. “He had a dream about you last week. Called your name in his sleep.”

You freeze. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?” she smirks. “I was walking past his room. The door was cracked open. I have excellent hearing.”

You blink.

Yelena might tease a little too much but she wasn’t a liar. You just didn’t know what to do with this information.

So, you blink again.

“Are you okay?” she asks, clearly enjoying seeing your malfunction

“Uhm maybe,” you say, a little breathless. “No, I don’t know.”

Later that night, Bucky finds himself sitting on the compound roof, legs dangling over the edge, nursing a beer he hasn’t even opened. He just needs air. Space. A little time to not think about your legs, your face, your smile. Your presence has been overwhelming for a 106-year old man and he is clearly on the edge of his sanity.

He also needs space from the teammates before they kick him out for being grumpier than he already is.

“Brooding again?”

He doesn’t even need to turn. Alexei’s larger than life personality boomed through his voice.

“I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Alexei drops down beside him with a long, dramatic sigh. “You young people are exhausting.”

Bucky snorts. “Says the guy who faked his death six times.”

“Seven,” Alexei corrects. “But who’s counting?”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“She is lovely,” Alexei says at last. “Y/N. Very warm. Very funny.”

“I know.”

“Very beautiful.”

Bucky clenches his jaw.

Alexei smiles knowingly. “Ah, there it is.”

“What are you getting at?”

Alexei shrugs. “You want her. She wants you. But neither of you do anything. I’m thinking perhaps I should assist.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’ll be subtle,” Alexei waves a hand. “Small things. Gentle nudges. Maybe I get you both drunk and put on slow music. Classic Soviet technique.”

Bucky groans. “Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

Another beat.

“She cooks like my mother,” Alexei sighs wistfully. “I would marry her myself if you weren’t already drooling over her like Labrador.”

Bucky looks down at the unopened bottle in his hand. “It’s not just that.”

“I know.”

“I think about her all the time.”

“I know.”

“She thinks I flirt with everyone.”

Alexei raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Not like this.”

Alexei smiles. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I meddle. Just a little.”

“I will literally kill you.”

Alexei stands, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans and having fully decided on his own volition. “As long as it’s after the wedding.”

TAGLIST: @mrsnikolestan @killerwendigo

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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justalittlespore · 2 days ago

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I think there's something a lot of people don't realize about media on the internet. Not that long ago (to my elder millennial mind at least), places like youtube (as an example of a platform I publish on - but the same applies to platforms for writing, comics, painting, etc.) were new and kind of empty. People were still working out how to use it. The average person didn't have the means to make a video anyone would want to watch. There was very little competition. The best video creators stood out against the rest and became successful, because there weren't that many options to choose from.

These days, those platforms are all absolutely saturated. Everyone has a tiny, shitty computer in their pocket that they can use to write or make videos or art or whatever they feel like. If you're just starting out as an artist of some kind and trying to enter an established online platform, it doesn't matter if you're creating the most incredible, innovative, perfect art ever made, because no one is going to find you in the massive pile of sludge that gets shoveled onto that platform every day. Becoming successful without doing some very heavy self-marketing basically only happens if by some wild chance, one of your things goes viral or gets noticed by someone who's already popular. And even then, your success is usually short-lived, unless you destroy yourself making sure to output more and more Content~ every single day so that people always have something new to consume.

I often see established artists across various platforms telling their fans that if they want to be successful, all they have to do is work hard, keep improving, and don't give up, and "your audience will find you." Because that was true when they first started out. But that is not true anymore.

If you want to be successful as an artist of any kind online these days, you have to relentlessly self-promote everywhere you can, develop and use marketing skills you probably don't already have and may in fact find distasteful to engage with, and make daily sacrifices to whatever deities might happen to be listening, because no matter how much you self-promote, you still won't find success without a lot of luck.

That's just how it is now. It sucks. Artists shouldn't also have to be marketing experts and promoters, but if they want to survive, they have no choice.

For your work to speak for itself, for word of mouth to do its job, first people have to know you exist in an incomprehensible large sea of other people trying to do the same thing.

This gripe is not directed here, but towards other platforms I as an author am forced to exist on when I wish I could be under my desk working on a novella.

But. If I see one more post about how it's "cringe" to self plug your work. Istg. Look me in my queer brown eyes. No one else is going to say my name or put my work in the ring for me.

If I want to be a part of a conversation or have any opportunity I have to put myself forward. In this era of abysmal publishing support even trad authors like me are out here hustling. We are doing it all, publicity, appearances, book swag all out of our pockets, during time we could be writing. All while publishing throws massive deals at white dudes who don't even have a book written!!

Do you think I've worked this hard, kicking down literally hundreds of doors slammed in my face to publish a book to give a single shit if it might be cringe to put my hat in the ring????

#art #writing #youtube #content creation #marketing #self-promotion #sporeburst

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mrs-delaney · 6 hours ago

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Come Home

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Request: give me joe and reader getting in a fight over something stupid but both being too proud to call first, and then joe sees a pic of her on a mutual’s instagram post and immediately texts—no hi, just: come home 🖤 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✦･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: come home joe burrow x reader word count: 4.8k (ish) ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✦

⚠️ warnings: joe says something stupid. reader says something real. emotional damage, angsty sex, soft apologies, and one panicked quarterback trying not to lose the love of his life.

♡ read my masterlist ♡

✧ read *Hide* ✧

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:　☆　:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The argument started over something stupid. It always did.

"I can't pick up your chain tomorrow," she said, not looking up from her laptop where she was responding to work emails at 9 PM on a Tuesday. "I have back-to-back meetings until five."

Joe barely glanced up from the playbook spread across the coffee table. "Okay. When can you get it?"

"I can't, Joe. That's what I'm telling you."

"I want to wear it to the charity thing on Friday."

The typing stopped. She looked at him over her laptop screen, something dangerous flickering in her eyes. "Maybe call them and ask if they can deliver? Or pick it up yourself?"

Joe's brow furrowed like she'd suggested something unreasonable. "When? I've got practice, then film, then—"

"Then figure it out." Her voice was getting that edge to it, the one that meant he should probably pay attention. But Joe was tired, focused on memorizing plays, and he didn't.

"Look, I know you're busy, but you said you'd handle this stuff. I've got the playoff push, and—"

"I said I'd handle it?" She closed the laptop with a sharp snap. "When did I say that?"

Joe finally looked up, sensing danger but not understanding its source. "You've been handling it. My errands, coordinating with my mom about Christmas, getting gifts for the O-line guys, booking my flights—"

"Because you needed help. Not because I signed up to be your personal assistant."

"I never said you were my personal assistant." His voice was getting defensive, that stubborn set to his jaw that she knew too well.

"Then stop treating me like one."

"I'm not—" Joe threw his hands up, frustrated. "I'm grateful for everything you do, you know that. But this is my job, this is what I have to focus on right now. I thought you understood that."

"I do understand that. What I don't understand is why your job means I have to manage your entire life."

"You're being dramatic."

The words hung in the air like a lit fuse.

She stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. When she spoke, her voice was deadly quiet. "Dramatic."

"Yeah, you are being dramatic. It's one thing, and you're acting like—"

"One thing?" She was already moving toward the stairs. "One thing? I'm being dramatic because I have my own career, my own deadlines, and my own stress, but I'm still making sure your mom gets her birthday gift, your teammates get their Christmas gifts, and your jewelry is picked up for events. I'm being dramatic because I'm tired of being invisible until you need something."

Joe stood too, following her toward the stairs. "That's not fair. You're not invisible. I see everything you do."

She turned on the landing, and he could see tears in her eyes, not sad tears, angry ones. "Do you? Because when I told you I had that big presentation last week, you asked me to order food for when you had the guys over. When I was stressed about my performance review, you reminded me to book a massage with your therapist. When do you see me, Joe? When do you see what I need?"

"I..." He faltered because when she laid it out like that, he could see how it looked. But it wasn't like that, was it? "I didn't realize—"

"That's the problem. You don't realize. You just expect."

She disappeared into their bedroom, and he heard drawers opening, the sound of a suitcase zipper.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to stay at Ingrids's for a few days."

Joe felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Come on, don't do this. We can talk about it."

"We just did talk about it. You called me dramatic."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

She emerged with a bag, not looking at him. "No, you shouldn't have. But more than that, you shouldn't have thought it."

"Where are you going?"

"I told you. Ingrid’s."

"For how long?"

She finally looked at him, and the expression on her face made his chest tighten. "I don't know."

Joe wanted to argue, to make her stay, to fix this with words the way he usually could. But something in her posture told him not to push. So he watched her leave, telling himself she'd be back tomorrow, that she just needed to cool off.

She didn't come back tomorrow.

Or the next day.

Joe threw himself into practice, telling himself he was giving her what she wanted. Space. But the silence from her was deafening - no texts, no calls, nothing. It was like she'd vanished completely.

But on Thursday night, scrolling through Instagram while mindlessly eating takeout, he saw it.

Ingrid had posted a photo from some upscale restaurant downtown. There she was, dressed in that black dress he loved, the one that made her look like she could conquer the world. She was laughing at something someone had said, head thrown back, eyes bright. She looked... radiant. Happy.

She looked like someone who wasn't missing him at all.

Joe stared at the photo until his food went cold. In his mind, he'd pictured her sad, maybe crying, definitely missing him. This woman in the photo looked free.

He typed and deleted a dozen messages before settling on something simple.

Joe: Come home.

The response came faster than he expected.

Her: Fuck you.

Then nothing. Not even the satisfaction of seeing "delivered" turn to "read." She'd silenced him completely. Turned her phone on DND.

Joe sat in their too-quiet house, surrounded by the life she'd been quietly managing, and felt something he wasn't used to feeling: panic.

Within an hour, the panic had curdled into anger—at her, at himself, at the whole stupid fight. He shot off a few texts to mutual friends, jaw tight, and got his answer fast: some new cocktail bar in Over-the-Rhine. He could be there in twenty minutes.

He found her at a high-top table with Ingrid and two other friends, all of whom were dressed up and laughing. She saw him the moment he walked in, and her face shifted not with guilt, not with longing, but with pure annoyance. As if he were an unwelcome interruption to her good time.

She said something to her friends and walked over to meet him before he could reach the table, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Joe?"

Her voice was low but lethal. Up close, he could see she'd been drinking, not drunk, but loose, relaxed in a way she hadn't been in months. She looked incredible. That black dress that drove him crazy, her hair done, makeup perfect. She seemed to be having the time of her life, even without him.

"We need to talk."

"No, we fucking don't. Not here."

"Then come home and we'll talk there."

"I'm not ready to come home." She crossed her arms, and the movement drew his eyes down her body before he could stop himself. "I'm not ready to deal with you."

She was keeping her voice low, but he could see the fire still burning in her eyes, the way her jaw was set. Other people in the bar were starting to notice him, phones appearing, whispers starting.

"Don't make me make a scene," he said quietly, but there was steel in his voice. "Come on."

For a moment, he thought she might refuse. Her eyes flashed with something dangerous, and he could practically see her weighing whether to tell him to go to hell in front of all these people.

But then she glanced around at the watching faces, the phones pointed their way, and her jaw tightened.

"Fine." The word came out like a curse. "Let me get my purse."

She stalked back to the table, said something quick to her friends, grabbed her things, and returned. When she brushed past him toward the exit, he caught her scent, that perfume he loved, mixed with whatever she'd been drinking. It hit him like a punch to the gut.

The car ride started in tense silence, Cincinnati's skyline blurring past as Joe navigated the familiar route home. She stared out the passenger window, arms crossed, radiating anger. He could feel the heat coming off her, could smell that perfume every time she moved.

His hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Every red light felt like torture sitting there in the charged silence, hyperaware of her next to him. The way she was pointedly not looking at him. The way her dress had ridden up slightly, exposing more of her thigh. The way she was breathing still worked up from their confrontation.

"You look good," he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended.

She turned to look at him then, eyes flashing. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

“Don’t start with the bullshit.” Her voice is low, breath catching, her eyes flicking down to his mouth before she looks away.

The tension in the car was suffocating. Every breath felt loaded. When he shifted gears, his hand brushed her knee accidentally, and they both felt the electric shock of it.

Finally, she spoke.

"I'm not your wife."

Joe's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his body responding to the husky tone of her voice despite everything. "I know."

"Then stop expecting me to act like one."

The words came out before he could think them through. "Then marry me."

The silence that followed was deafening. The traffic light ahead turned red, and Joe stopped, the engine idling as they sat in the glow of the traffic light. He could feel her staring at him, could practically hear her heart beating.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and controlled.

“Don’t propose at a red light, Joe. Just because you saw me out there, looking like I was fine without you.”

The light turned green. Joe drove, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension.

"You're right," he said finally. "This isn't... this isn't how I wanted to do this."

"Do what? Panic-propose because I had the audacity to go out?"

"No." He took a breath, his voice dropping lower. "Ask you to marry me. Because I've been thinking about it for months."

“Have you.” It isn’t a question. Her voice has that dangerous edge again. “All while treating me like your unpaid assistant?”

"That's not—"

"It is exactly that." Her voice was getting louder now, all the control she'd maintained at the bar slipping away. "You want a wife to make your life easier, not a partner to build a life with."

They pulled into their driveway, and Joe turned off the engine. Neither of them moved to get out. The silence was thick, charged with anger and something else, something that had been building between them all night.

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? Tell me, Joe, when did you start thinking about proposing? Before or after you realized how much I do for you?"

He looks away, jaw tight, struggling for the right words. Silence stretches between them.

"When?" she pressed.

"After we moved in together. Watching you make coffee in the morning, the way you steal my hoodies, how you know exactly what to say when I have a shit game." His voice was rough, honest. "I realized I didn't want to do life without you. That had nothing to do with... with what you do for me."

"Doesn't it?" She got out of the car, and he followed, the conversation continuing as they walked to the front door, as Joe fumbled with his keys, as they stepped into the house that suddenly felt too big and too quiet. "Because if you really loved me like that, you'd see how exhausted I am. You'd notice when I'm drowning."

She dropped her purse by the door and turned to face him. "You say you love me, but it feels like you love what I do for you more."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? When's the last time you asked about my work? Not just 'how was your day' while you're looking at your phone, but really asked. When's the last time you remembered something important to me without me reminding you?"

Joe opened his mouth, then closed it. She waited.

"I thought so." She moved toward the stairs, and panic flared in his chest.

"Don't go upstairs. We're not done talking."

“Yes, we are.” She turned back to him. “You think a ring fixes this? You think making it official suddenly makes you appreciate everything I do? You don’t even have a fucking ring, Joe. Let’s be real, I’d probably be the one to go pick it up anyway.”

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean? Because days ago, you told me I was 'being dramatic' about not being able to pick up your chain while I was supposed to be in back-to-back meetings."

"I didn't know you had a meeting—"

"You didn't ask! You never ask. You just assume I'll handle it because I always do."

The words hit him like physical blows. "I never asked you to do those things."

“You didn’t have to ask. You just expected it. And when I couldn’t, you acted like I was letting you down.” She was crying now, angry tears that she wiped away impatiently. “Do you know what I actually juggle every week, Joe? I work a full-time job, the one that actually pays my bills and that I’m proud of. And on top of that, I coordinate Christmas gifts for your teammates, book your flights, schedule doctor’s appointments for both of us, deal with the insurance company about the cars, plan your mom’s birthday, order groceries, cook dinners, do the laundry, clean the house every single thing that needs doing around here. You expect me to handle all of it, and you don’t even realize it’s happening. You just assume it’ll get done.”

Each item on her list landed like a punch. Joe felt something crumbling in his chest.

“I manage your life and mine, every single day. And the one time I say I can’t just drop everything at work to pick up your chain, you act like I’m being unreasonable. Like I’m letting you down.”

Joe’s jaw tightens. “You act like I don’t do anything for you. Like everything I ask is some huge burden.”

She laughs, sharp and tired. “It is a burden, Joe. And newsflash, you could hire someone to do all this. I have a real job, a job I actually worked my ass off to get, not just something to fill my time while I wait around for you.”

He bristles. “So now I’m just some spoiled asshole who expects you to cater to me?”

She steps in closer, refusing to back down. “Sometimes, yeah. You act like what I do doesn’t matter because I don’t make millions or end up on TV. But my job is real. My time matters. You don’t get to treat me like I’m your personal assistant just because I love you.”

She shakes her head, stepping back, voice cold. “You know I was actually having fun with my friends tonight. But you couldn’t stand that, so you practically dragged me out of there, and now I’m going the fuck to bed.”

Joe steps into her space, eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t get to say something like that and then just walk away.”

She meets his glare, defiant. “Watch me, motherfucker.”

She turns, but he grabs her wrist, not roughly, just enough to stop her. There’s a second where neither of them moves, anger and want buzzing in the air, neither one willing to back down. It’s a standoff, and both of them know it’s not really about the chain, or the party, or even this fight.

It’s about all of it, all the ways they push each other, all the things they can’t say, every bit of messy love and resentment and want that’s built up over time.

And then, suddenly, they’re on each other, lips, hands, breathless and furious and needing to win, even here.

It starts in the living room, right next to the coffee table, his iPad still open, playbook apps still glowing, game notes scattered everywhere. Joe grabs her by the hips, hard enough to make her gasp, and yanks her close. She shoves him right back, nails digging into his bicep, kissing him like she wants to bite.

They bump into the coffee table, nearly knocking his iPad to the floor. She fists her hands in his shirt, dragging him down to her level, daring him to talk back. He does, shoving her gently but firmly onto the couch, pinning her there for a second just long enough to feel the heat between them turn sharp.

She hooks her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, her hands already at the waistband of his sweats, frantic and impatient. He groans, low and rough, and she leans up, nipping his jaw just to hurt him a little, just to make him feel it.

Clothes are tugged and pushed aside, her dress bunched up around her hips, his sweats shoved down just enough. It’s all clumsy and heated, neither of them caring where anything lands. The couch creaks under them, cushions sliding, the throw blanket tangled beneath her back.

"This doesn’t fix anything Joe," she gasps against his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt.

"I'm not trying to fix anything right now," he growls back, fingers digging into her hips.

She pulls him down harder, nails scraping his scalp. "Good. Because you can't fuck your way out of this."

His laugh is low and rough. "We'll see about that."

She drags her nails down his back, making him curse under his breath. Then she's pulling at his shirt, needing it gone, needing skin.

"Fuck," he mutters, helping her yank it over his head before his mouth crashes back down on hers.

His hands slide up her thighs, pushing her dress higher around her hips. She shifts, moving to straddle him, and he helps guide her into position, both of them moving with desperate urgency.

When she lifts herself and sinks down onto him, they both curse at the same time, foreheads pressed together.

"Fuck baby," he breathes, hands gripping her hips.

She doesn't respond, just starts moving, slow at first, then building the rhythm. There's nothing tender about this. It's all heat and frustration and need, driven by everything they can't say to each other.

Her nails find his shoulders, digging in as she rides him harder. He meets her movement for movement, both of them chasing something that has nothing to do with forgiveness.

Her pace builds, getting rougher, more demanding. She's taking what she needs from him, and he lets her - meets every movement, hands guiding her hips as she rides him harder.

"That's it," he groans, watching her face as she loses herself in the rhythm.

But then something shifts. Maybe it's the way he's looking at her, too intense, too knowing. Her movements falter for just a second, and the anger flickers back to the surface.

"Don't," she says, breathless but sharp.

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that. Like this means something."

His hands tighten on her hips. "It does mean something."

"No, it doesn't." She moves faster, harder, trying to prove her point. "This is just fucking. This is just us being pissed off."

But even as she says it, she can feel herself getting close, feel the way her body responds to his, the way he knows exactly how to touch her even when they're fighting.

"You're close," he says, voice rough. Not a question.

She doesn't answer, just digs her nails deeper into his shoulders, chasing the feeling building low in her belly.

"I can feel it," he continues, one hand sliding between them to where they're joined. "Come on."

"Shut up," she gasps, but she's already there, already falling apart above him with a broken sound that's half moan, half curse.

He follows seconds later, gripping her tight as he spills into her, both of them shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, they stay like that - still connected, both breathing hard, the weight of what just happened settling between them. The anger hasn't gone anywhere. If anything, it feels sharper now, mixed with something that might be regret.

She's the first to move, lifting herself off him with a sharp intake of breath. They both wince at the loss of contact, and she immediately turns away, tugging her dress back down over her hips.

Joe sits up, running a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how wrecked they both look. The couch cushions are half on the floor, the throw blanket tangled around his ankles. His sweats are still pushed down around his thighs, and he pulls them up quickly.

She's already moving, not looking at him as she smooths her hair, tries to fix her dress. There's something clinical about the way she's putting herself back together, like she's trying to erase what just happened.

"I'm going to shower," she says, her voice flat, emotionless.

She doesn't wait for him to respond, just walks toward the stairs. He watches her go, and for the first time tonight, he doesn't follow.

He sits back, staring at the mess they’ve made. Upstairs, she’s already gone, out of sight. Something cold settles in his chest. This isn’t over. If anything, it might’ve just made everything worse.

After a long moment, he gets up and walks to his office. He moves the books on the second shelf, reaches behind them, and pulls out the small velvet box he's been hiding there for three months.

He opens it, stares at the ring, and finally understands what she's been trying to tell him. He bought this thinking about forever, thinking about keeping her. But he never thought about what she needed to stay.

Joe sits there for another minute, staring at the ring, the weight of everything finally hitting him. She was right about all of it. About him expecting her to handle his life, about treating her like his personal assistant, about the timing of his proposal.

He mutters, "This is a mess," shaking his head.

He closes the box and puts it back in its hiding place. She was right in the car - now isn't the time. Not until he proves he actually gets it.

The shower is still running when he gets upstairs. He doesn't knock, doesn't announce himself. Just opens the bathroom door and steps inside.

She doesn't turn around when she hears him, just continues washing her hair under the spray. Her shoulders are tense, resigned.

"Hey," he says softly, stepping into the shower behind her.

She finally looks at him over her shoulder, eyes guarded. "What are you doing, Joe?"

“I was wrong.” The words come out simple, honest. “About everything. You were right.”

She turns to face him fully, water streaming down between them. “Tell me how.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair. "I've been treating you like my personal assistant instead of my partner. Expecting you to handle my life, my family, my everything, and then getting pissed when you couldn't drop your actual career to pick up my chain."

Her expression doesn't change, but she's listening.

"I called you dramatic when you were telling me you were drowning. That was fucked up. You weren't being dramatic - you were trying to tell me I was taking you for granted, and I was too stupid to hear it."

"Joe—"

"I'm hiring an assistant," he continues. "A real one. Someone whose actual job it is to handle my schedule, my errands, my life logistics. Because that's not your job. That was never supposed to be your job."

She's quiet for a long moment, water cascading over both of them. "You really think it's that simple?"

"No." He steps closer, but doesn't touch her yet. "I think I've got to prove it. I think I've got to show you that I want you as my partner, not just someone who makes my life easier."

"And if I need time? If I'm still angry?"

"Then you take the time you need. But I love you." His voice gets rougher. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And I meant what I said in the car - I do want to marry you. But I understand why it's not the right time."

Her walls start to crack just a little. "Joe..."

He takes a shaky breath, words coming out halting but real. “I’ve got to stop dumping everything on you and acting like that’s normal. I know what I’ve been doing just letting you pick up the slack, manage my schedule, fix all my shit, like that’s just your job because you’re here. It’s not fair, and it’s not what I want for us.”

His voice gets a little quieter. “This whole dynamic, where you’re running around holding everything together and I’m just expecting it… It’s messed up. I’ve got to actually be your partner, not just say I am. I can’t keep making you feel like you’re on your own.”

She watches him, quiet for a moment. “You actually mean that? Because I can’t do this if it’s just talk, Joe.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I get it. I know I hurt you. That wasn’t fair.”

That's when she finally lets him pull her closer, her forehead dropping to his chest as the hot water streams over them both.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she whispers, voice thick.

He just nods, hand resting on her back. “Me either. Let me love you right."

This time when he touches her, it's different. Gentle hands smoothing over her skin, taking his time, worshipping rather than taking. She responds differently too - soft and open instead of desperate and angry.

When he lifts her against the shower wall, it's careful, reverent. When she wraps her legs around him, it's trust instead of demand.

"I love you," he breathes against her mouth as he slides into her slowly.

"I love you too," she whispers back, and this time it sounds like a promise instead of a weapon.

They move together unhurried, the anger finally gone, replaced by something deeper. Something that feels like healing.

Afterward, they move to the bedroom afterward, exhausted but finally at peace. She curls into his side, head on his chest, and for the first time in months, the silence between them feels comfortable instead of charged.

"We're okay?" she asks quietly, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

"We're gonna be," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I promise."

She falls asleep first, and Joe lies there listening to her breathe, realizing how close he came to losing everything that matters to him.

The next morning she wakes up to the sound of his voice from downstairs, talking on the phone. At first, she's annoyed - is he already back to business as usual? But then she hears what he's saying.

"Yeah, man, I need to hire someone... Personal assistant, someone to handle schedules, errands, all that stuff... How did you find yours?"

"No, I should've done this months ago... Yeah, I've been making my girl handle everything, and it's not fair to her... What? No, she's got her own career, this isn't her job..."

A smile tugs at her lips. He's doing what she asked. He's getting it.

She moves further into the kitchen, quietly, just as he glances up and sees her. He doesn’t stop talking, but his eyes stay on her.

"Alright, send me her info... Thanks, man."

He hangs up.

"Morning," he says.

She walks over and wraps her arms around his waist, looking up at him.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

He understands immediately what she means. "Should've done it months ago."

She reaches up and kisses him softly. "But you're doing it now."

"I love you so much, baby," he says against her lips.

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munsonsmixtapes · 1 day ago

Text

I’ll Help You Get Over It (2)

fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader

cw: hurt/comfort, reader has a complicated relationship with her parents, brief mention of homophobia

So sorry that this has taken me so long! And thanks @the-witty-pen-name for helping me out!

You can find part one here!

You wake up the next morning to multiple calls and texts from Josh and take it upon yourself to tell him that it’s over before blocking his number, completely removing him from your life. At least, you hope so.

You know that your parents are going to eventually ask why he’s no longer around but you can’t tell them the truth. They just liked Josh so much and they’ll somehow turn it on you and make the whole thing your fault.

That’s how it always is with them. You’ve always felt like a burden to them and realized that they only seemed to sing your praises when you started seeing Josh. You suppose that will all be over now. You’ll just fade into the background like you have your whole life. You’ll just continue to be their biggest disappointment so maybe you should just do what you want instead of trying to live up to their impossible standards.

You turn over in your bed and see that Robin’s not next to you so you assume she’s having breakfast. You reluctantly head downstairs where you find her in the kitchen with your parents who are making breakfast.

You slip in quietly and sit at the table, hoping, praying that Robin hasn’t mentioned anything about what happened last night. You really don’t want to have that conversation right now. Especially not in front of her.

A plate is set in front of you and you begin to serve yourself. You silently eat your breakfast, hoping that it’ll stay quiet, but knowing your parents, it probably won’t. They have no idea what happened last and you want to keep it that way.

You exchange looks with Robin, who has never exactly been welcome in your home. Your parents are nice enough to her but you can tell something is off and you know that’s because she’s a lesbian. They’ll always claim that they’re allies until they actually come across someone in the community. There’s subtle remarks so they don’t seem homophobic but you can always tell what they really mean. Robin will tell you that it’s fine, but it’s not. And you hate that she feels like she needs to pretend that she’s not offended.

“Josh not joining us this morning?” Your mother asks as she turns to face you. You completely forgot that he was supposed to join you for breakfast this morning. And now you’re wracking your brain for something. You and Robin share a look and she pretends to blow her nose, trying her best to help you out.

“He’s got a cold,” you reply before shoveling a forkful of eggs into your mouth.

“That’s a shame,” she shakes her head. “Next time then.”

Your father hardly even looks up from his newspaper, which doesn’t surprise you in the least. “Such a good kid,” he mumbles in agreement with your mother- but you aren’t even fully convinced he knows what’s being talked about.

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes, shooting Robin another apologetic glance. She waves it off, wanting to reassure you again that she’s good but you can’t help yourself. You’re just waiting for them to say something that will embarrass you.

“You have to tell Josh that we’re thinking about him,” your mother continues. Your lips press together tightly when you nod, trying to keep your expression as neutral as you can.

“Yeah, of course,” you mumble, picking at your breakfast. The conversation is so focused on Josh that it’s making you lose your appetite. You feel stuck, trapped at the table and all you want to do is leave but you can’t.

“You’re going to have such a bright future with him,” your mom preens and you feel like you might be sick. Robin clears her throat awkwardly, wanting to hopefully change the subject.

“Yeah sure,” you nod. “Well, Rob and I have to get to class.” You stand from the table and Robin joins you, the two of you hurrying up the stairs before your mother can say anything else.

There’s nothing but silence between you and Robin as you both get dressed for the day. She has to go to work while you have to go to class. You still can’t believe that he defended you like that, that he was willing to protect you despite disliking you. He took a punch for you and everything happened so quickly that you didn’t even get a chance to thank him.

Eddie would never admit that he’s been thinking about you since last night. The way Robin pulled you away and how you looked like you were close to crying. God, if he had the chance to rewind, he’d get the first punch and have Steve haul the guy off before it got ugly.

He stares at himself in the mirror, moving his head this way and that, trying to get a good look at his black eye that’s forming. It’s not too bad right now, but he puts on a pair of sunglasses to hide it anyway.

He’s been hit before, but not like this. He was trying to defend you against your shitty boyfriend and this is what he gets? In a perfect world, you would have dumped that loser and left with him. And he would have driven you home in his shitty van and he’d let you sleep on his couch to be polite.

He doesn’t know why he’s fantasizing about this-why he suddenly wants you so badly. Or maybe he does. It’s because your taken and it’s just like Eddie to want something he can’t have. He’s always been like that and he doesn’t think he’s going to change anytime soon.

There’s a knock on his door and he swears to himself, hurrying to his room and throwing on a pair of pants. He then hurries to the door and opens it, shocked to see you standing there. He has no memory of making plans to work on the project and truth be told, he’s not sober enough for this.

“What are you doing here?” The words come out way more harsh than he intends but he’s blaming that on the lack of sleep and the splitting headache he’s got going on.

Part of him wonders if he’s dreaming because you’re standing there in your pretty sundress with that beautiful smile on your face. Surely he has to be because there’s no reason why you’d actually take time out of your day to come visit him of all people, right?

“I’m here to apologize.” His eyebrows furrow as he feels the headache getting worse-yeah definitely way too drunk for this.

“For what?” Surely you’re not here to apologize for last night. He can’t believe that asshole made his girlfriend drive all the way across town and say sorry for something that she didn’t even do. He already hates he guys guts and now he’s close to giving him a piece of his mind.

“For last night. Josh was a dick and you deserve an apology for that.” You’re nothing but direct. Your head is held high and it almost seems like you genuinely mean the words. Now he feels bad for being a jerk just now.

“I’m sorry you’re apologizing for him? He punches me and doesn’t even have the decency to apologize himself?” He crosses his arms over his chest, getting angrier by the second.

“He has no idea that I’m here. I just-I felt really bad about what happened so I asked Steve for your address so I could apologize to you. I know that you probably don’t want to see me right now, but I just wanted to make sure that you knew that at least someone was thinking about you. Sorry, I’ll just go.”

“Wait.” He grabs hold of your wrist and you turn around. “Do you want a drink? I know that always makes me feel better.”

And that’s how you end up on the floor of Eddie’s living room, empty beer cans surrounding you while you share a joint, an empty pizza box between the two of you. This is so unlike you. You’ll have an occasional drink and sometimes you’ll smoke when you need to take the edge off, but it’s never like this.

You just wanted to do something for yourself for once. You always feel like everyone is telling you what to do and who to be and for once, you’re doing something that you want to do. And you kind of like Eddie when he’s high. He’s much less of a dickhead and when he’s like this, you think that you could actually be friends.

“I dumped him, by the way?” You say as you feel the high wearing off. You feel like at least one person should know. And saying the words, you feel like a huge weight has been lifted, all the years of torment that you’ve been hanging onto leaving your body. You feel like a new woman and you suppose to have Eddie to thank for that.

“Good for you,” he says, a smile kicking up at the corner of his lips. You like this look on him. He’s actually kind of cute when he doesn’t have that moody little pout going on. “You deserve so much better. And hey, I’ll help you get over it.”

You know what he means so you stay silent, not even close to ready to move on yet. And you don’t think you’d ever get to that point with Eddie. He’s just a friend, and he’s not even your type. Not even with how much alcohol you have in your system.

And as you lie down on the floor, feeling overcome with the need to sleep, you think that Eddie will help you get over it. Just not in that way. You think this project will be the perfect thing to help take your mind off of the breakup and now you’re beginning to think that maybe working with Eddie won’t be so bad.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #fuckboy!eddie x you #fuckboy!eddie x reader #fuckboy!eddie #fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 1 day ago

Note

I remember you saying that Reader would be great for teaching the harder things in life like death and grief and the like. Now I'm imagining them singing 'Dumb Ways to Die' as part of the lesson and Frank is taking notes while listening in horror

This got a chuckle out of me! Frank would probably be horrified if he knew all the ways you could die. Traumatized, even.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

The Reader telling Frank the ways they could die

★ Frank listens as you begin to list all the ways a person could die. Focusing on the more stranger ones you can remember. He’s scribbling on his notepad as fast as he can. Flipping through as page after page is filled out. He had to start writing shorthand, just to keep up. “You memorized this?”

★ You don't notice how the air in the room changes. Julie had been sitting nearby, focused on a crossword puzzle. But her attention shifts to Frank as you speak. Looking at him in a way that says "Is that true?" But Frank is too busy writing down what you say.

★ In between thoughts, you mention how, if you wanted to die, plenty of poisonous plants exist. Like foxglove or autumn crocus. Casually mentioning it like that wouldn't be a concerning thing to say. Julie freezes mid-motion and looks at you. "Why would you say that?!?"

★ Do not mention death by torture. None of the puppets need to know about it. Not even Frank. You keep that particular detail to yourself. Its better that way. Your friends are too innocent to wrap their heads around such a thing.

★ Then, you bring up Florida man. The stereotype is a good example of human stupidity. And resilience. Frank squints. Looking trough his notes to check if you mentioned it before. “Florida… Man?” Julie repeats. You sigh, realizing they have no idea what you're talking about.

★ So you explain. Telling them about the infamous Florida Man headlines. Stories about people doing strange, dangerous, and illegal things. Some losing their life in the process. Frank's shakes his head. “You mean to tell me there’s a pattern of humans behaving like this?”

★ By the end Julie is in denial. “Okay, but you don’t really drop dead from these things? Right?” She laughs, its nervous. But you don’t answer. Frank, on the other hand, might finally be desensitized. "I don’t know why I listened to all that.”

#frank frankly #frank frankly x you #frank frankly headcanons #frank frankly x reader #julie joyful #julie joyful x you #julie joyful x reader #julie joyful headcanons #welcome home #welcome home headcanon #welcome home fanfic #welcome home x you #welcome home x y/n #welcome home x reader

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flowery-mess · 2 days ago

Text

pairing: nerd Noah x female reader (Rosie)

warnings: a 5 year old asking a lots of questions?😭

words: 3,1 k

author's note: I didn't think he could be any cuter until I gave him a niece🥹

nerd Noah masterlist

A date night at Noah’s place on Friday night was exactly what you needed after the whole week. He didn’t have to persuade you much, because 1) you’re always down to spend time with him and 2) he wanted you to help him with the new Star Wars puzzle he got from his friends.

You knew nothing about the picture laying in front of you, but that made it even more exciting. Every time you managed to find pieces that made a new character Noah made sure to tell you all about them.

The puzzle had 18 000 pieces and you hoped to use it as your excuse to stay for the whole weekend. Not that Noah needed any excuses to let you stay at his place, but you still hoped that you won’t finish it in one go.

Noah’s phone started to ring out of nowhere, his sister’s name popping up on the screen. The sound of his ringtone made you mess up the new part you were putting together which made Noah chuckle before he stood up to accept the call.

“Sorry it’s my sister.” he apologized for interrupting your activity, but you didn’t mind it at all.

You continued placing the puzzle pieces together and occasionally popping a grape in your mouth.

Noah surprised you with a nice dinner that you can comfortably eat while sitting on his living room floor by the coffee table.

He used the separable piece of his couch and put a big plate with food on it. He bought all of your favorite cheeses, some fruit and vegetables with different dips, bread from a family bakery down the street he lived at and also some meat he managed to cook before you arrived.

“Well, of course you can, I just-” you heard Noah talk, wondering what they were talking about and why was he looking at you the way he was. With a worried expression on his face. “I have Rosie over.”

When you heard your name and the mention of you being at his place made you stop playing around with the puzzle and sit up straight, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Okay, see ya.” he finished the phone call and made his way back to you.

“Well? Why do you look like that?” you asked him, not knowing what kind of news he heard on the phone.

“My brother in law was on a work trip and his car broke down and my sister needs to get him.” he started.

“Okay?” you pushed him to continue.

“And she doesn’t want to take Zoe with her this late so she asked me to watch her for the night.” he finished his little speech.

“Oh! Of course.” you said, not exactly knowing what this meant for you. Did he want you to stay or was that a hint for you to leave before they arrive?

You looked around the place, seeing the pile of unsolved puzzles on the coffee table and the still full plate of food and then back at him.

Noah felt just as weird as you, not knowing if you wanted to stay or leave and was afraid that whatever he says will sound stupid.

“I’m gonna get going then.” you said with a polite smile and started to get up from the place you were sitting at on the floor.

Noah let you gather your things before he got the confidence to say “Wait, you don’t have to leave. You can stay here.” you found his eyes that were avoiding your gaze, his cheeks were a bit red. He was scared that him asking you to stay and babysit his niece will throw you off, meeting his family too soon. “If you want, of course.” he quickly added.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you were nervous.

He’s the younger brother, of course you were scared to meet his sister. And his niece is only 5 and you’re scared of kids that age. They can be mean and you don’t know how to offend yourself against kids.

“Of course, Zoe loves everyone, she’ll think you’re pretty and be happy she can talk to someone who understands clothes and hair stuff better than me. And knowing my sister she’ll probably be in a rush and joke about how she’s the man in their marriage, saving her husband's ass again.” he laughed at the image of the two of them rushing through his door in a few minutes. But he could see your nervous face so he continued. “Or you can stay here and I’ll go pick Zoe downstairs so you don’t have to meet my sister if you don’t feel like that, it’s okay. Or even if you want to leave I’ll understand, it wasn’t planned so it’s absolutely fine if you don’t wanna stay.” he closed the distance between you two and reached out for your hand.

“How much time do I have to prepare myself?” you asked him and tried to smile through the nerves.

Noah’s lips turned into a smile too, he leaned down to kiss your lips before looking at his phone.

“I’d say about 10 minutes?”

“Oh god.” you started panicking. You didn’t even have time to leave, with your luck you’d probably meet them on your way out and sneaking out of the window wasn’t really an option with Noah living on the 6th floor.

“Calm down bug, Zoe will be fine and my sister won’t stay for more than 3 minutes.” he cupped your face in his hands and kissed your forehead. “I told them about you anyway and they said you sound like a nice girl.” he murmured against your skin, blush coming back to his cheeks with the confession he just made.

“You did?” you pulled away enough to see his eyes.

“Yep.”

You opened your mouth to ask him about what he said about you, but at the same time his bell rang.

“Oh god.” you repeated and he just chuckled at your face, he kissed your forehead one more time before he went to unlock the main door for them.

You made your way towards him, trying to hide behind his big shoulders while smothering down your hair to make sure you look presentable.

You heard a short knock way below the level of your ears followed by sweet little “It’s meee.” which made you ease up a bit.

Noah opened the door and you were met with a tall brunette woman and little girl that looked like a mini version of her. Both of them had the same nose and eyes as Noah.

“Hi! I’m Zoe.” the little girl waved at you and before you even took a breath to introduce yourself she started talking again. “Do you wanna play with me and be my friend? We can braid uncle Nowah’s hair together.”

And in that moment you knew you just met your little partner in crime.

“Hi, I’m Noah’s sister. It’s so nice to finally meet the girl that makes my little brother blush every time he talks about her.” the woman in front of you extended her hand towards you and you accepted it.

“Hi, I’m Rosie. Nice to meet you too, Noah talks a lot about you too.”

“I bet it’s not as nice as he talks about you.” she laughed and released your hand.

“Oh me too!” Zoe said and when you looked down at her she was extending her little hand towards you. You crouched down on her level and shook her hand with a chuckle.

“Uncle Noah said you’re pretty and that you drew him a heart. I like drawing hearts too.” she told you excitedly, still not letting go of your hand.

“Okay, can you two stop embarrassing me.” Noah finally spoke up, his face red all over.

“And he also said you got him a guitar!” his sister said excitedly.

“And cookies!” Zoe added.

“Like mother like daughter.” Noah mumbled and took Zoe’s little backpack in his hand. “Don’t you have a husband to save?”

“Right. I wish I could stay and talk to you. We need to grab a coffee sometime.” she said before she picked Zoe up and gave her kiss on the cheek. “I’m gonna get daddy and we’re gonna pick you up tomorrow okay? Be good for uncle Noah and Rosie.”

“Drive safe.” Noah said and made space for Zoe to walk in his apartment.

“He’s right you’re really pre-” Noah closed the door in his sister’s face before she could finish the sentence and you heard “That was rude.” followed by her footsteps.

“That was really rude, I didn’t even say bye to her!” you whined, scared that she’s going to think badly of you now.

You followed Noah back to his living room where you found Zoe closely inspecting the unfinished puzzle.

“Do you wanna join us while we finish it?” you asked her.

“Can we do something else please?” her eyebrows were furrowed when she looked over the size of the puzzle pieces, too much work for a little girl.

“Of course. What would you like to do?” you sat down on the couch and she slowly made her way towards you. She crawled on the couch and sat next to you, her thinking face reminding you too much of Noah’s when he has a problem to solve.

“Do you like mermaids?” she asked out of nowhere and tilted her head so she could look at you.

Her eyes were big and had the little spark only kids have in their eyes. She was inspecting your appearance, thinking that your hair looks beautiful and how you look like a real life princess.

“I love mermaids.” you heard Noah chuckle at the interaction. He was sitting at the other end of the couch, ready to jump in if Zoe would ask something inappropriate or make you uncomfortable.

“Me too.” she nodded her head and her two ponytails moved with it. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink. What’s yours?” she held her breath in and did a dramatic face at your answer.

“Mine is also pink!” her excitement was so pure.

“No way!” you supported the momentum with your own reaction.

“Who’s your favorite princess?” she had a lot of questions.

“Hmm, Cinderella I think. Yours?” you completely forgot about Noah, who was watching the two of you with heart eyes.

“Ariel.” that made sense. “I have the fishie!” she said excitedly and then ran for her backpack.

She set it down next to you, opened it and started pulling things out.

A barbie doll. Pink hairbrush. Fake money from a board game. Number of hair ties. Melted candy. Clothes for the next day. And then finally a little yellow fish plushie.

“Here.” she put it on your lap, waiting for your reaction.

“Wow, that’s so cool!”

“I wanted a real one, but mom said no.”

“You can get one when you’re older.” you were already thinking of buying her a little fish for her birthday.

“Are you hungry Zoe?” Noah spoke up, reminding you both of his presence.

“Nope.” she sat back next to you and started swinging her legs.

“But your mom said you didn’t have dinner yet.” Noah said with a parent tone.

“Maybe later.” she just shrugged her shoulders and shifted her gaze back at you.

“Your uncle told me you taught him how to make origami. Is that true?” you let her take your hand in both of her smaller ones and look at your manicure.

“Mhm, we learned that in school. Do you want me to teach you too?”

“I’d love that.”

“Okay.” she jumped off the couch and tugged at your hand, leading you towards the dining table.

“I guess I’ll entertain myself then.” you heard Noah talk to himself.

You let Zoe dig through the drawers of Noah’s desk to get some papers for you both and leaned down to kiss Noah’s cheek.

“How about you go make some dinner for her while we play?”

“Okay.” he caressed your hair and returned the kiss.

When you were in the middle of folding papers, following Zoe’s instructions because she was actually really good at it, Noah put two plates on the table with a quick pasta and sauce he made for dinner.

“Oh, I’m not hungry, we already had dinner.” you said when you saw him push one of the plates towards you.

“That was not real dinner, just a snack.”

“Can I have a snack?” Zoe’s ears caught the word snack and her eyes immediately lightened up.

“After you eat your dinner.” her lips turned into a fake pout, but she opened her mouth when Noah fed her some of the pasta.

“Do you have a favorite snack?” she asked with a full mouth, looking like a chipmunk.

“Ice cream.” you answered without needing a time to think about this question.

“I like chocolate the most.”

“Aren’t you two a family?” you smirked, knowing very well that Noah’s favorite snack is chocolate too.

“Can we have some chocolate?” she made puppy eyes at both of you, hoping that you’ll say yes to everything she asks for. “I won’t tell mom!” she quickly added and made you and Noah laugh.

After finishing your dinner, you cleaned all of the papers and scissors and put all of your origami animals on Noah’s window.

Noah and Zoe were currently in the bathroom and all you could hear was Zoe’s laugh and giggles. Sometimes a splash of water or an excited scream.

You didn’t know Noah was good with kids, but seeing him with Zoe made you love him even more.

That girl adores him so much and she loves having sleepovers at his place.

When you were doing origami she told you her favorite stories about uncle Noah, trying to whisper so he wouldn’t hear it, but her and her little mouth don’t know how to whisper. So soon after she finished a story you heard Noah yell “I can hear you!” which only made her laugh more.

After cleaning the mess, you went to unfold the couch, because Noah’s bed was too small for all three of you and Zoe insisted that she wants to sleep with both of you.

You made it comfy by bringing pillows and blankets from the bedroom, then you went to turn the lights down a bit and made your way to the bathroom.

“What happened here?” you stopped between the doors and saw the disaster.

Noah was sitting next to the bath in a puddle of water, his clothes soaked in random places while Zoe was looking pretty happy with the result of her hands splashing the water.

“I’m a mermaid!” she yelled before she started splashing the water again.

Noah took her out of the bath without a problem and wrapped her in a small pink towel. They had a routine and you loved watching them.

She pulled out a little stool from under the sink and stood on it so she could brush her teeth with the pink toothbrush that was next to Noah’s blue one.

“Where’s your toothbrush Rosie?” she mumbled with the pink plastic in her mouth and you thought of your toothbrush in your bag that you packed for the night.

You didn’t know what to say and Noah didn't either, feeling exposed by his niece that he hasn’t asked you to leave your stuff at his place yet.

Before you could answer she continued talking. “I think you should have one here too so we can do this sleepover again.”

You met Noah’s eyes through the mirror when he said “Yeah, I agree. You should have your toothbrush here too.”

It’s just a toothbrush, but you saw in Noah’s eyes that it meant more than that.

“Can we braid your hair uncle Noah? I’ll do the right side and Rosie will do the left so it’s like a competition.” Zoe crawled on the couch in her pink pyjama, making herself comfy under the big blanket.

“Let’s do that tomorrow, it’s late.” Noah tucked her legs with the blanket and threw the yellow fish at her.

“Uncle Nowaaah.” she tried to protest but her own body betrayed her with a yawn.

Noah only raised his eyebrows at her and she giggled.

“And they lived happily ever after.” you finished your bedtime story.

“That was a weird story, but I liked it.” Zoe said and you heard Noah laugh at that, which earned him a gentle kick to his legs.

Zoe wanted a story from you and Noah was zero help. You made up the weirdest story ever and you were sure he’s going to hold it against you later.

Zoe was laying in the middle with you and Noah by her sides. She was curled up to your side, which warmed your heart.

She knew you only for a few hours, but already felt comfortable enough to let you hold her while she fell asleep.

Noah’s heart was close to bursting with love at the sight.

He knew Zoe’s going to love you, she’s a little extrovert, but he was scared of what your reaction was going to be. You never mentioned anything about kids, so he was afraid you’re going to be bored or annoyed.

“Who will fall asleep first is the winner.” Noah said when he didn’t know how else to stop Zoe’s questions, because she was full of them.

She nuzzled her face into your neck and you felt like that’s where you’re supposed to be. Noah was laying on his side facing you, his legs lazily thrown over your legs and his hand was holding yours in a way that was comfortable for both of you.

After a few minutes you felt Zoe’s tiny body shuffling around before she (tried to) whisper a question for you.

“Do you really like my uncle Noah?”

You smiled at her curiosity.

“Can I tell you a secret? Only uncle Noah knows it.”

“Yeah.” you felt her head nod excitedly against you.

“I love your uncle Noah.” you whispered into the dark and felt Noah’s hand squeeze yours, telling you he loves you too.

“I think he loves you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my mom said that when uncle Noah talked about you.” you smiled at her honesty.

“Zoe, you should be sleeping already.” Noah mumbled into his pillow, avoiding any more of her exposing him.

“I love you uncle Nowah, I love you Rosie.” Zoe whispered sleepily against your chest before she fell asleep.

“I love you both too.” Noah said and carefully leaned down to kiss Zoe’s forehead and then yours, throwing one more “I love you.” into the dark.

dividers by silen-stories

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

taglist: @lacy1986 @concretejunglefm @super-btstrash-posts @amelia-acero @justcarrie @koskeepsake @dominuslunae @ami--gami @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @lilcrazy011 @pipidoll @chey-h @xmads-omensx @blade-dressed-in-red @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrscevans @blvckmvgicwoman @punkprincess1999 @fear-its-beauty @bloody-spades @n0n3xsisting @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @athenexe @tashka @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @concrtlimits @whatismylifexox @theanarchymuse95 @renegadebirch @theasowle @darknightstarryeyes @montgomery-929496 @kenjipepsi1

#nerd noah #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fan fiction #noah sebastian blurb #noah sebastian thots #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens fan fiction

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