#no but the tone of voice on ''no mr jones that's not what happened''

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 19)

Tw: i guess implied huge age gap between reader and yves, bullying implied

Well its a little harder to transition to Monty time than i thought but bear wirh me we r gonna get there

Part 20

You woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing. Groaning and frowning, you wonder who would be calling you at this time.

You picked it up.

"(Name), it's Yves." His smooth and melodious voice reached your ears, there was a twinge of worry in his tone. "It should be noon there. You weren't answering my messages, I assume you must be busy with your classes earlier. I simply want to check on you. Have you had your lunch yet?"

Its noon!? You cussed audibly. You told Yves that you're going to call him back and hung up.

You can't believe that you slept through half the day. Well, whatever. Your next class is at one. You can make it.

Your eyes skimmed through his texts. The first one was sent at 12am.

"I have arrived at my destination safely. It is now seven in the morning and I am not used to the drastic time difference yet. It was cold, and all the passengers wore heavy coats. You would have loved the weather here. I am already missing you dearly, looking forward to coming back and holding you in my arms."

The next one was sent at three in the morning.

"You would have loved the Continental breakfast my Hotel provides. It has all your favourites. Wishing you were here."

He attached a picture of his plate. It looked delicious and fancy. A wide variety of meats, pastries and vegetables decorated his dish. Most of which happens to be foods that you're rather fond of.

The next one was at 7am:

"I went out exploring the city. It's beautiful. You would have enjoyed your time here. Missing you."

He attached numerous photos he took while on his stroll. You swiped through the pictures with envy, maybe you should have skipped the first week. They're not teaching much after all.

Then the next one was timestamped at 8:30am

"Good morning, my dear (name). It should be half past eight for you. Your first lecture is at ten, take care and be there on time. Have a wonderful day ahead. Do not forget your sunscreen and your packed lunch; it is in the fridge."

He sent another text at 11:15am.

"Your class should have ended already. It went well, I assume? I would love to hear about it. Reply to this message as soon as you can, please. I miss you."

The latest text from him just arrived at 12:04pm

"You overslept."

Nothing more was added.

No time to cringe at yourself, you locked your phone and rushed to freshen yourself up.

__

You were surprised to see that Mr Jones is already waiting for you in his car. Once he spotted you, he hopped out and opened the door.

"Quickly, quickly! Sir Yves informed me that your next class is in half an hour!"

You stuffed yourself in the back seat while Mr Jones rushed to the driver's seat.

You buckled your seatbelt as he drives away.

"I was surprised that you didn't request to be chauffeured this morning, seeing that you and my daughter shared the same class. I thought she was picking you up!"

You grimaced and shamefully admitted that you overslept, thinking you're too good for an alarm.

You have gotten her number, but you forgot to text her. So she didn't have yours.

Oh no, she must have thought you ditched her. That is bad.

"She called me, all worried and sad about her new friend. Evangeline was so relieved when I told her you overslept and you're coming to your next class."

You muttered an apology. Wishing you could just disappear and not face her later.

"It happens to the best of us, besides, it's the first week! Nothing bad is going to happen to your grades." He consoled you. It's not about the grades, it's about your new friend.

"Do you have your lunch with you, Mx (name)? Sir Yves said to make sure you had a bite to eat at least."

You forgot to take it.

"Um. Well, what about sunscreen? Sir Yves greatly emphasizes on the importance of sun safety."

You forgot about that too.

"Oh. Ah, haha! It's alright. I'm sure you'll be fine. Just don't tell Sir Yves. He seems to care about you a lot and he might throw a fit if he knows you're not taking care of yourself."

You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Mr Jones floored the gas pedal and managed to get you to the University in record time. You swung the door open and ran out of the car, struggling to untangle the straps of your backpack.

Then, you received a text from Yves. You're in the middle of running towards your class.

"You worry me, (name)."

You hastily send him a message ridden with egregious typos, telling him that you're now at the campus and heading to your next class.

"Keep your eyes ahead when you're walking. Or else you might hit something and hurt yourself."

You tried to type up a response, but what Yves predicted came through, your body slammed into someone soft and tender. Rest assured, this isn't Montgomery even though you were half expecting to bump into him at some point.

"(Name)!" A feminine voice exclaimed as a pair of gentle hands grabbed onto your arms, helping you keep your balance.

Its Evangeline. You told her you're late and you have no time to talk.

She lets you go and watch you bolt away.

Her arms fell limp to her sides. Sighing, she adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder. Evangeline will be eating lunch on her own again.

The blonde squinted as he saw someone in the distance running up to her.

"Hey!"

She stood still. She had to crane her neck upwards to look the stranger in the eye. Even that was proven a bit difficult as his messy hair conceals a great deal of his eyes.

"Yes?" She replied, feeling weary as he is towering over her. Evangeline knows that she stood no chance in a physical altercation with him. So threw a couple of glances at the surveillance cameras nearby.

"You're (name)'s friend, I saw you talkin' to them earlier." He panted lightly, resting his hand on his knee. "Damn it! I ain't fast enough..." He muttered.

"And you are...?" She maintained her cautious gaze on him.

"I'm their boyfriend. Listen, I need ya to do me a favor." He wiped sweat off his brow. She looked at him up and down, judging his appearance. The man certainly looks... mature. By no means unattractive, but she was surprised that you were interested in men that are covered in grime and dust. And paint.

"And that is?" She prompted.

"Here. It's their lunch. Hand it to them when you see them." He handed a plastic bag containing a Styrofoam container. It's warm to the touch.

"Well, that's very nice of you to do that for them, sir." She commented as she hooked her finger around it's handles.

"What type of man wouldn't feed their partner? Anyways, tell them to call me too. I guess they're busy or somethin', I haven't heard from them in a while and I was worryin' my ass off when I couldn't find them here! I was startin' to think they were skippin' class, but I know my sweetheart ain't the kind of person to do that." He rambled on, telling her how studious you are and how proud he is of you to be following your dreams.

Evangeline narrowed her baby blues at him, something doesn't feel right. She deduced that you're trying to avoid him because there were no classes being conducted prior to today.

"Alright. I will relay your message to them. May I know your name, sir?"

"Tell 'em Montgomery's missing them to death. That'll do the trick." She nodded and beamed at him.

"I hope you have a great day, Mr Montgomery." He gave her a nod.

"Likewise, ma'am." He took off running in the direction of his car, it seems like he's running late for something.

Evangeline is curious as to what your supposed boyfriend got you. She took a peek inside the box and saw grease filled takeaway. She scrunched her nose up in disgust, she remembers the aroma. It gave her food poisoning before.

You like these kinds of things? She really doubt it.

Nonetheless, she covered it back up and began walking away.

__

You ignored Yves other texts in favour of making the first contact with Evangeline. You saved her number and sent her a message introducing yourself.

"Hello (name)! I have something for you, where should we meet?"

You asked her where she is. You were glad that she's near your class, so you told her where you're waiting.

A few minutes later, you were greeted with a cheery girl in a beautiful pink sundress with a strawberry pattern. Her blond hair swished side to side as she walked up to you.

You apologized for sleeping in and ditching her. But Evangeline wouldn't hear it, telling you that it's fine.

"Your boyfriend came by to give you this!" She eyed you very carefully when she uttered the word 'boyfriend'. You seem confused, but then after your attention was given to the takeaway, your eyes widened in terror.

She knew it. That was either an ex or a creep.

You sat her down on a chair nearby and tried your best to explain the situation. Starting from the time you and Montgomery first met, until your hospitalization.

She sympathetically nodded. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, (name). Where is your actual boyfriend now? I'm sure he can scare Montgomery away."

You actually forgot what Montgomery's name was. When Evangeline brought it up, it was baffling until you remembered that he said his name was along the lines of that.

You told her that your boyfriend is away for a conference trip.

The gears started grinding in her head. "Your boyfriend... Sir Yves?"

You nodded. You felt a sense of pride with it.

Evangeline momentarily appears shocked and astonished. Even horrified.

You asked her what was he visceral reaction about.

She shook her head and apologized. "I don't mean to judge, but... how did you meet Sir Yves?"

You said you started talking to him in the library.

"Again, no judgement from my side. But... are you into older men?" You can definitely feel the judgement on her side. You said that men in their late twenties or early thirties aren't old.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "I... am pretty sure Sir Yves is much older than thirty."

You asked her what makes her say that.

"We are of similar ages, (name). My dad was already working with him before I was even born. Sir Yves was already going on business trips then."

You smack your lips and gulp your spit. You try not to think too much about it.

You were interrupted by buzzing in your pocket. You pulled it out to see that Yves is calling you.

Evangeline excused herself so you could have privacy calling your boyfriend.

You dreaded answering it, so you stared at the screen for a few more seconds. You ended up not having to, because the call dropped.

You instead opened your messages to a bunch of loving updates of his situation, another set somewhat desperately requesting a response from you and a most recent one. Which only said:

"(name)?"

To that , you sent Yves a message explaining that you're doing fine. You told him you even made a friend for once, hopeful that she will stick.

"That's nice, dear. Who is this friend of yours?"

You told him that it's Evangeline Jones, she is kind to you.

You didn't receive a response for a while. Quite uncharacteristic of Yves, you thought maybe he's busy. So your finger went to the "off" button.

But then it buzzed again, receiving a new message from Yves.

"The alleged homewrecker?"

Your jaw dropped. What? Why would he call her that? You texted him back asking what prompted him to call your only friend such a demeaning title. Plus, that is the daughter of one of Yves's most loyal employees!

"Students can be quite loud with their gossiping in the library. I heard of a woman who slept with a married man. There were also stories of someone cheating in their relationship. The name that regularly comes up is Evangeline Jones."

You asked if he believed it.

"These were baseless accusations of a woman I have never met. Hence, it never mattered to me."

You don't know how to feel about this. Evangeline is kind and sweet. Perhaps Yves just hasn't met her yet. You're feeling upset that she was treated unfairly by her friends whereas Yves seemed apathetic.

"Have you had anything to eat for today?"

You said you were about to. You told him you have to go now and you will talk to him later.

You received no response for a while. But eventually you did.

"I miss you."

You sent him a half-hearted "I miss you too". After that, you switched off your phone and sought after Evangeline.

Both of you agreed to eat at a nearby shared space and talk to each other more.

Meanwhile, Yves accessed his folders remotely using his laptop. Your last text is open on his phone, facing up to the ceiling. There was a drafted response Yves made, attempting to continue the text conversation but you were already offline before he could send it. Jealousy bubbling from his chest, his intuition was telling him this girl will spell trouble for him. It isn't everyday his gut feelings become reactive.

Yves has time. His conference isn't in a few days and the network coverage in his Hotel is excellent. He is itching to figure out why his instincts are considering her a bigger threat than Montgomery.

[bijouxcarys]

Fine Wine (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Description: Our fiery OC from Cherry Lips receives a call from the man she's seen the world with, after months of distancing himself. She may just be the medicine he needs in his time of uncertainty…

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @firethatgrewsolow @callmethehunter @strsmn @m-faithfull @chromations @angrychicksposts @friccinfricks @inanebula

He was greeted with an icy draft as he pushed open his door. A stark contrast to where he’d been two hours prior. A fleeting bask in the heat of his past. But that’s all it was. Fleeting. In the past.

Robert knew it had to happen. Ahmet would have enjoyed seeing the lads back together, even if it was just for one last show. It was necessary to remind himself of that fact, otherwise the work gone into the past month would be for nothing. Though, his brain—that guy up there—tried to convince the rest of him that it was truly fruitless. And he knew what he’d have to deal with for the next year or so…

Robert, is there any chance of a Zeppelin tour again?

Mr Plant, how did it feel to be up there again?

Do you think Jason lived up to his father’s name?

Are you and Jimmy planning on working together again?

What’s your relationship like with John Paul Jones?

Why wasn’t Stairway To Heaven released as a single?

How do you think your voice has changed?

Robert, why don’t you want to talk about Led Zeppelin?

Bob, can you sign this for me? Bob?! Who the fuck do you think you are, mate? You’re only gunna sell it on eBay.

Scratching at his head, Robert reluctantly turned the light on, revealing his current home exactly how he left it. Hah, why wouldn’t it be? There’s nobody here to disturb it…

There was so much of the world he still needed to discover, to figure out. More music out there to be made. So much bigger than the walls of this London flat sat high up in a building full of more flats, with even more people, with even more stories–Oh, shit, are you Robert Plant? I need to call my best friend and tell her you live right near me!

Thankfully, that common situation was less common in the area he chose to live. It made him feel dirty, buying such a luxurious flat in such a well-established complex. Some called it a penthouse, but no, that was two floors up. Alas, he did have a pleasant view of… the city. Okay, maybe not that, but at least he could go for a walk to the nearest coffee shop… Okay, maybe he couldn’t have that human experience, either. 

To think that 34 years ago, he would be in the deep end, engaging in whatever post-show debauchery the band could muster up, and now he was here… A 59-year-old man unable to escape the 25-year-old boy that hadn’t experienced the true meaning of heartbreak yet. He was free, seeing everything in bold, whilst now he lived in a precarious state push and pull.

Desperately wishing for the world to see him as Robert Plant the musician, as opposed to Percy of Led Zeppelin.

Oh. There it is… There lies the conflict—his conflict. If he was hell-bent on enjoying music in all forms, being who he was at heart, why on Earth was he sitting on the edge of his bed, curtains drawn, dwelling on the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, Percy anymore?

Nobody told him the truth. Nobody told him when he was wrong, how he could improve himself. With the odd exception, there wasn’t a single person he came across in his ventures of life, who didn’t automatically compare him to, what he considered, that peacock prick of the 70s.

However, be that as it may, the audacity of Percy still ran rampant through Robert’s veins. If there was one thing age taught him, it was to grab life by the horns, come hell or come victory.

In his self-pity, still slightly buzzed from the bit of alcohol he’d already ingested that night, he took the leap in finding that familiar contact name in his phone, holding it to his ear as the dial tone held his breath with its frequencies.

Her phone rang just as she was about to take her first sip of wine, idly wandering in the kitchen of her sleekly designed flat. Half expecting it to be another call from the supervisor, she answered with an exasperated “Hello?,” bypassing the sensical act of glancing at the caller ID.

“Cherry…” he rasped, the name tasting bittersweet on his tongue.

Stiffening her posture, her previously tired eyes had blown open at the voice on the other end, as clear and crisp as it was in person. “Robert?”

“Cherry,” he repeated the silly nickname he’d given her a decade prior.

“Uh…” Delicately setting her wine glass back on the counter, she leaned against it, quizzically dropping her eyes to the floor. “This is unexpected…” She heard a gruff sigh, followed by some movement, coming from his end.

“I’m sorry…” he apologised, running a hand over his face as he stared out of his bedroom window. His phone felt heavy in his hand, bearing the weight of his audacity. Audacity he knew he should have kept at bay. “I guess age makes ya more of an arsehole…” he mumbled.

“Age? What are you talking about? Are you alright?”

“I’m as alright as an old man can be…”

“Your crypticism isn’t helping you seem less like an arsehole, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Rolling her eyes, she moved to grab her wine again, making her way over to the sofa.

A lengthy pause followed. There’s a reason they describe silence as deafening. It irritated her to no end; she was able to take two whole sips of her wine during the time he left her in this ominous limbo.

“Why are you calling me?” she finally asked through a sigh, perching herself on the arm of her sofa, swirling the fragile liquid in her glass.

“Just… wanted to talk.” His words were unconvincing. Like a stroppy teenager insisting they want the beef stew bubbling on the stove, all whilst eyeing the takeaway menu on the fridge. She could read him, even through the phone. Plenty of practice by now.

“Well, so far it’s just been me talking…” She waited for an answer, even checking her phone to see that they were still connected. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing’s up…”

“Okay, and I’m currently in Russia,” she responded dryly.

“Are you?”

“Seriously, Robert?” she huffed, scrunching her eyebrows up at his atypical ignorance. “Look, if you’re not going to tell me why you really called me, I’ll just hang up, I’ve got zero patience for this right now.”

Yes, that’s it… Tell me I’m wrong. Give it to me straight. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he dropped his head in relief.

“Please tell me what’s wrong…” Her voice softened, almost mimicking a beg.

He chewed his lip, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Was he really this pathetic that he needed a woman to come over and make this already stressful evening a little less gruelling? Well, yes, he was. To him, at least.

“Do you, uh… think you’d be able to come over?” His voice faltered.

Pausing mid-sip, she double checked that she was hearing things right. That her ears weren’t playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be that outlandish to suggest auditory hallucinations at this point; it was bizarre enough that he was calling her in the first place. “You want me to come over? As in… to you? Right now?”

“Please…”

The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside Robert’s window. He held his breath, waiting anxiously for her reply, acutely aware that he was asking a lot.

Finally, she broke the silence with a soft exhale, her voice tinged in a subtle mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “I guess I could… Why do you want me to come?”

Robert’s mind raced, searching for the right words to explain the tumult of emotions swirling within him. “I… I just need somebody,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who won’t sugar coat things… Someone who knows me.”

She felt her heart stumble at his vulnerability, how fragile his voice sounded on the other end of the phone. Despite the fact that their interactions had become sparse over the last year, she couldn’t ignore the connection that still lingered between them, forged in the crucible of the years they’d spent in each other’s company.

Without another word, she made a decision, fuelled by compassion: rarely felt, but cherished when present. “Alright,” she said softly, her resolve firm. “I’ll come over. But you have to promise me something…”

A spark of hope ignited within Robert’s chest as he listened intently, hanging on her every word.

“...You have to tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t try and downplay it, either. Deal?”

A wave of relief washed over Robert as he nodded, a sense of gratitude playing eagerly at his heart. “Deal,” he agreed.

That leads them to the present, sat across from one another in his living room. Neither of them knew how the night would end, but all Robert knew was that he appreciated her willingness to come over at all.

“I thought you might have been out,” she speculated, accepting a glass of wine as a gallant replacement of the one she had to pour down the sink at home. Robert immediately shook his head, resting into the sofa with a hand rubbing around his bristly beard, unknowingly complimenting his fine wine allure. “Didn’t fancy another rodeo, huh?” she wittingly asked.

“I should imagine Jonesy’s all cosied up with Mo by now. Don’t know if I can say the same about Jimmy, though,” he huffed through a rueful laugh.

Biting her lip, she smirked to herself at his implication that Jimmy hadn’t lost his wild streak. “Well, I think it would be rather bizarre if Jimmy was with John’s wife right now, don’t you?” Injecting a bit of light into the atmosphere with her jesting tone, her smile grew with Robert’s in response.

Robert’s gaze lingered on her, from the light dimples on her cheeks, to the lips he would kill for. Though, now, they remained painted with a more natural tone as opposed to the deep cherry tint he associated with her. So beautiful.

She had to admit, upon noticing his wandering eyes, a familiar flicker kindled in her stomach, taking her back to the moment he first surveyed her from afar, all those years ago. “So…” she breathed, angling forward with her elbow resting into the cushiony surface of the chair arm, adjacent to the matching sofa Robert had relaxed on. Nestling her chin into her hand, she studied him. “What’s going on?”

Smile falling slightly, Robert cleared his throat and took a sip from his wine. It was discernible how desperately he was clambering to find the words, thoughts racing a millions miles a minute.

“Robert, I can’t help you if you don’t tell m–”

“Do you think I’ve lost my looks?”

Now, she wasn’t expecting that one. 

Anyone who took one transient careen at him instantly concluded that Robert Plant knew of his appeal. So aware of his allure, it bordered on arrogance. He always played the game, no questions asked.

She let out an unintentional scoff, amused by his inquiry. Surely, he wasn’t serious. However, upon leering into his eyes a moment longer, she quickly realised he was being anything but frivolous.

Through a fated smirk, she asked him, “Is that really what you’re so upset about right now?”

He winced, huffing as he shifted on the sofa. “Not really. Well–yes, but no…”

“My God, men are so indecisive.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he shot back with a boyish grin.

“Stop,” she pointed her finger at him. “Stop being so charming and funny, it doesn’t work on me.”

“Are you sure about that, darlin’?”

“You’re diverting.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who called after not bothering for months on end, am I?” And…there it is. 

He knew this was going to come up at some point, and he was inclined to agree with the vexation it bestowed upon her. As he kept his eyes firmly locked on hers, he saw as clear as day the betrayal that encompassed her. Perhaps a strong word for their situation, but the hurt in her eyes spoke of nothing less.

“Cherry… I’m sor—“

“That seems to be the only word you know lately, Robert,” she interrupted him coolly. “Y’know, I came over because you sounded upset, and believe it or not, I still care about you.” She rose from the seat, making steady back and forth paces across his flat. “God knows why I care about you, but I do.”

Robert parted his lips to speak, but she kept going.

“Do you know how happy I was when I got your text the other month?” she asked, turning to look at him. “Even if it was just to say happy birthday.” She shrugged. “Maybe some tiny little part of me wished that you’d have kept in touch, but then I came to my senses and realised that you’re Robert fucking Plant!” She chuckled airily, running her hand through her hair.

His gaze fell to the floor, pondering her words like a bout of bad news. With a swallow, he slowly responded. “And why is Robert Plant so different?” Her scoff brought his eyes back to hers.

Then, almost as if it pained her to utter the words, a stern gleam in those big brown eyes, she answered with the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.

“…Because nobody comes close… to being like you.”

Compliments. More compliments. He shook his head with an exasperated resolve.

“No, don’t shake your head, when you know it’s the truth.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped a little closer to him, staring him down like a predator cornering its prey. “So I’m gonna ask you again…” she uttered, “What’s wrong?���

“I told you—“

“You asked me if I thought you’d lost your looks, you told me nothi—“

“I’m old!” He finally snapped, voice uncharacteristically raising. Distressed. Vulnerable. He shot up from the sofa, peering down at her with hesitant eyes. “All those people who came to see me tonight,” he pointed in the direction of the window, “They wanted to see that bare-chested young lad strutting around the stage and wailing like a newborn fuckin’ lamb!”

Robert breathed out heavily. It was his turn to start pacing, everything that had built up all evening practically spilling out of him like nickels from a glass bottle.

“Ya know, I’ve tried for the past 25 years to not be that anymore, to get as far away as I possibly could from all the bollocks, but tonight was a real fuckin’ grim reminder that all anyone ever cares about is my name!”

She’d never seen him this irate. He had his moments, irritable and unsatisfied with certain situations and people around him, but never failed to remain calm and respectful at all costs. The man she watched bounce back and forth in the dim light of his very un-Robert-esq home was the personification of a life lived to the fullest, only to reach a point in which there seemed very little left.

“Robert, I—“

“I realise I’m a massive fuckin’ hypocrite, by the way—being upset about people always expecting the young, virile Robert Plant, but also wishing I could have been that tonight.” Spinning on his heel to make another lap of the room, he was halted when she stepped in front of him, hands coming up to hold onto his arms. “Does any of that make sense, Cherry? Or am I going bonkers?” he asked with a hushed tone.

Sighing, she looked over his attire. Silky shirt with some sensible black slacks, encasing a body that displayed his advancing age. The lines on his face spoke of an earthy wisdom and a lifetime of laughter. Hair, previously a vivacious blonde, now faultlessly whisked with an ashy tint. His stomach was no longer landscaped, and one could no longer catch the intensity of his muscular build.

No, he wasn’t what the world instantly pictured when faced with his name. But he was still, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Robert…” she breathed, bringing a hand up to gently trace the pads of her fingers over his beard, along his jaw, before stopping to place her hand flat against the side of his face. “My sweet, darling Robert… You have no idea, do you?” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she took in the edges of his features, how the blue in his eyes still shone brighter than any star in the sky.

The warmth of her hand against his skin made him weak. His eyes hooded, and he found himself instinctively resting into her touch. “About what?” he replied, matching her tone. His hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her near.

Endearing was the word that sprung to mind. He was so endearing at that moment. So naively heedless. She couldn’t help but smile, as if a whole new light was gleaming down on him. Layers she had never been able to peel away were now crumbling at the lightest touch.

“How perfect you are…”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“Maybe not by the official definition,” she agreed. “But my definition… it’s all you, Robert.” 

Any anger she may have felt for his distancing himself, any iota of annoyance at his unintentional ignorance, was insignificant when compared to the kind of love she felt for this man. “I don’t care how old you are. I mean, you’re not even that old,” she chuckled. “I don’t care that you’re not… Percy, or however you want to describe yourself back then.”

Robert’s eyes shut as he gently rested his forehead against hers, hands lowering to grip onto her waist like he’d never get to again.

“I never knew you as that person, and I don’t want to. Because the man that’s been in my life for the past 10 years has given me more to live for than any arrogant little peacock could,” she grinned at her own wording, knowing she was using his own opinion of himself as ammunition. He picked up on it, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

“And let’s not forget,” she smirked, snaking her arms over his shoulders. “A lot of girls have a preference for older men, Robert, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the ideal. Plus, we don’t call you Daddy for no reason…” she giggled.

Even through his subdued demeanour, a tint of light pink coloured his cheeks; he hid it by dropping his head to her shoulder, tilting to take in her scent. “I don’t care about a lot of girls right now…” His words were muffled, but the way his lips gently tickled the side of her neck spoke for him.

“Robert?”

He lifted his head to look down at her. “Hm?”

“You’re beautiful,” she told him firmly. “Okay? I don’t ever want to hear you saying otherwise, because it’s bollocks. Pure bollocks. Alright?” 

Okay, well maybe one person tells me the truth…

With a smile, he bit his lip and nodded, willing to take any word that fell from her perfect lips as gospel.

“Good.”

“Can I kiss you now, or am I still in troub–”

She cut him off with a heady kiss, hand holding the back of his head and fingers gripping at his corkscrew locks. A sigh of relief fell from him as he mirrored the passion, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to cradle her, encompassing her in his hold. His own fingers made a venture, delicately threading through her thick hair.

Eventually, he found himself backing her in the direction of his bedroom, willing footsteps following his lead. She didn’t even have to give herself to him. All she needed to do to keep his mind at bay, stop the intrusive thoughts from swirling in the recesses of his rapid mind, was be there.

But his Cherry was always insatiable, no matter the situation she found herself in. Like his own, her libido intensified in her 30s, and he deemed himself lucky to be on the receiving end of such licentious longing.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” she hummed as Robert trailed his kisses along her cheek, eventually stopping at her neck. “When I got home from work, I wasn’t expecting anything like this to be happening tonight.” His bristly facial hair was tough against her skin, but provided a stimulating tingle nonetheless.

Chuckling, he nipped at her neck and guided her further backwards until she had no choice but to let her weight fall onto the bed, his following suit. His face hovered closely over hers, taking in her features. Admiring. Silently worshipping. She was everything.

“What?” she whispered up at him, stroking her thumb over his cheek.

Shaking his head, a small smile appeared on his lips. “Nothing… Just happy you’re here. With me.”

She huffed out a small laugh, placing a barely-there kiss to the tip of his nose, before nudging him to lay down so she could settle on top of him, legs trapping him under her. Using her hand flat on the bed beside his head, she propped herself up as she lingered over him. His hands were urgent as they gripped onto her hips, needily pressing his fingers against her curves. God, he wanted her so bad… It was next to impossible to be in the same room as her and not experience the familiar twitch below. That bloody blazer… She made every article of clothing look perfect, and she looked perfect wearing them.

Clocking his distracted gaze with a smirk, she smoothly brushed stray curls from his face. “What do you want, Robert?” she whispered, watching the way his eyes dilated and flickered through a mirage of emotions. “Tell me…” she encouraged, her lower lip slipping between her teeth in anticipation of his answer—an answer she was certain she could predict.

He sighed heavily, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t want you to think it’s all I called you over for, darlin’...”

She responded with a sweet smile and an airy laugh, shaking her head. “Hmm, no…” she mumbled, glancing down at his lips. “You told me why you called me over…” Lowering her face to his, their lips narrowly skimmed over one another. 

“Now, I need you to tell me why you want me to stay…” Her voice had dropped to a sultry whisper, accompanied with a bold shift of her hips.

Jaw clenching, his grip on her tightened, goading her to keep up with her movements, to which she complied. “You really want to know, luv?” he gruffly asked.

“Dying to know…” she replied through a breathy sigh and a subtle smirk.

It seemed a mere millisecond had passed before one of his hands came up to hold onto the back of her head, pulling her down so he could speak directly into her ear.

“I want to feel you again,” he began, inching his other hand steadily from her hip in the direction of her backside. Guiding the paced movements she was still conducting. “Want to feel you forever,” he continued, words muffled against her.

By now, the strength keeping her propped up had waned and she found herself collapsing against him, once again completely wrapped up in his embrace, adhering to his ministrations, playing into his hands.

“I miss the way you wrap around me, baby,” he kept talking, barely realising each syllable sparked flutters between her legs. “And how sweet you taste…” Maybe he’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his voice in these intimate moments, but as she continued the rolling motion of her hips, the friction against her heightening arousal dragged a choked moan from her throat.

“Oh, ya like the sound of that, do you?” he provoked, his hand now holding onto her rear, but no longer guiding her; she was doing that all on her own. Taking her face in both of his hands, he brought her back up to face him. The familiar flush on her face, hooded eyes, the way her lips had parted and gentle gasps had fallen… “You like me talkin’ like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she breathed with a wanton nod. “Please…”

“Please, what, darlin’?”

“I-I need you…”

“You need me to do what?” His fingers began a steady journey over her chest, down to her stomach, where he inched his hand under the thin material of her blouse. Skin to skin. Fuck…

She whined, gripping onto his shirt, a furrow in her brow. “You know what I want, Robert…”

“Hmm, not sure I do–”

“I will leave if you keep playing with me.” As much as she wanted her threat to sound genuine, stern, her body was completely ablaze, and there was no way it sounded any stronger than a desperate plea.

Robert smirked at her, sneakily managing to slip his hand further down, until it was snuggly hidden within her trousers, her arousal prominent against the soft lace of her underwear. She gasped as he applied pressure, grounding her hips involuntarily.

“Somethin’ tells me yer not going anywhere, luv.”

Smug prick… Always so fucking charming…

Her eyes fluttered shut as he released the pressure against her underwear, but instantly reapplied it.

“I can already feel how badly you need me, sweetheart,” he casually commented, loving the way he could break her down. Just with a mere touch. “You just have to tell me… then I can give you everything you need and more…”

“My God, just fuck me already…” she murmured, craving more than a simple touch over a layer of clothing. Robert responded with a throaty chuckle, beaming at her as he removed his hand from her trousers and swiftly pulled himself up into a seated position, her legs immediately wrapping around him to stop herself from falling back.

With a challenging glint in his eye, he leaned forward, arms encircled securely around her as she dangled from his lap off the side of the bed. Her hands were holding onto his shoulders, giving him a warning glare.

“Now, now, don’t give me that look…” he chided, lowering his gaze down to her attire. “You look gorgeous in this blazer, but I think it needs to come off now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She obediently shrugged the heavy fabric from her shoulders, trusting that Robert wouldn’t drop her in the process. It fell to the floor, landing in a crumple—she’d surely chastise herself when the time came to put it back on, but at that moment, she couldn’t have cared any less.

A sharp squeal exited her mouth as Robert suddenly stood up, swung around and dropped her on the bed. He gave her a cheeky smirk, before lifting her legs to perch on his shoulders. Turning his head, he delicately worked the buckle on her heel loose.

“I like these shoes,” he nonchalantly complimented as he pulled it off her foot, dropping it down the side of the bed, before he repeated the action on the other. He pressed a kiss to her ankle and lowered his hands to unbutton her trousers, tugging at them when she lifted her hips. 

There she was, laid over his bed, in nothing but a white, gossamer blouse and the contrasting underwear in a characteristic black lace.

“Y’know…” Sighing, he crawled over her, allowing her to slowly pop open the buttons of his shirt when he got close enough. “I’ve always wondered—with you in particular—how I managed to get so lucky.” He ran his hands up and down her bare thighs, savouring the smooth skin under his fingertips.

She didn’t necessarily answer him, only sent him a playful eye roll before pushing the intricate silk from his shoulders, where it was then tossed to the side to join her trousers on the floor.

Robert displayed no sign of hesitancy in his shirtless glory; he looked like a transcendental entity—a god of his own likeness. So deserving of everything good, yet the creator of the very same thing. 

Her wandering eyes flooded with lust. She cursed the inability to squeeze her thighs together at the sight, at the situation. But before she could mourn the friction, he was down there in its place, as though he saw right through her longing. The soft fabric of her blouse became too constricting as her heart hammered away at the image of Robert knelt down on the floor with his upper body slotted between her legs, so she unbuttoned the garment, the air around them hitting her skin in a stark revelation.

“I told you I missed how you tasted,” he mumbled against her thigh as he peppered small kisses along the flesh, inching closer to her aching core, but bypassing it to replicate the motions on the other leg. His beard added a bout of sensation, hips rolling upwards in her thinned patience.

When he pressed his mouth against her clothed centre, she exhaled deeply, the simple touch sending sparks all throughout her body. Robert hummed against her as he caught her scent, mouth aching to taste what laid beneath the flimsy material. Soon enough, his own stoicism scattered—he had to have her against his tongue, now.

With a hungry resolve, he pulled the lace down her legs and pushed her open, the sight stirring his fervour below. He glanced up at his Cherry, deftly tracing his thumb over her already teary folds. She had her head settled against the soft sheets, managing her breathing in preparation for the delicious sensations that were to come. My perfect girl… Robert leered proudly, looking back down at the view.

He gently spread her open, her bijou pearl enticing and ready for the taking. Pink, glistening… 

“So pretty…” he murmured to himself, taking an experimental lick just below the sensitive nub, eliciting a small flinch from the goddess laid in front of him. He licked his lips, relishing his appetiser. Next, he flattened his tongue against her entrance, collecting her arousal, and dragging upwards until he gave her the contact she so desperately needed.

By the time he attached his lips to her clit, she was already pining, throbbing. A small cry fell from her lips as he performed a suction motion, tongue swirling around her in lazy circles. She was trapped in his hold as he wrapped his arms around her legs, keeping her open and completely at his mercy.

Robert proved, with the sublime movements he bestowed upon her, that old men do, in fact, do it better.

With a grunt, he pulled his head back long enough to lewdly spit, mixing their fluids together in a union of lust. Her pants were a pleasant breeze to his ears, and her writhing form was his reward.

“That feel good, darlin’?” She nodded her head, one of her legs pulling him closer to her. “Look at me.” With a whimper, she lifted her head with the strength she could muster to meet his stormy eyes—eyes punctuated by grooves of sagacity. “Yer still my good girl,” he praised with a knowing smile, the wisps on his lower face shimmering with her juices. “Aren’t you?” She nodded again, practically unable to speak through her yearning. “Words, luv.”

“Yes… I’m still your good girl,” she shakily succeeded, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, you are…” he whispered, pressing a brief kiss to her core. “Still Daddy’s good girl…”

She furrowed her eyebrows at the name she hadn’t heard in so long. The name she hadn’t even uttered to anyone else since the last time she found herself in this position with Robert. 

An untamable animal under a gentle predator with an even stronger desire to tame.

“I’m gonna make this pretty little cunt cum now, darlin’,” he hummed, “You just lay back and enjoy every second…” He eased her back down with a hand on her stomach, before lowering his head and resuming with his erotic assault.

An elongated moan expelled from her body as Robert seemed to return with a vengeance, tongue rapid against her pulsating, swollen clit, edging her—driving her—towards a much craved release.

Once he slipped a finger inside, stroking upwards in tandem with his tongue, she was done for. Her moans turned to cries, her whimpers turned to whines, and his name flew from her lips at a rocketing pace. 

Hips gyrating, back arching, she was in ecstasy.

Gripping tightly onto the bed sheet beside her head, her legs tightened over his shoulders, drawing him closer than ever.

Another finger.

More suction.

Closer.

And closer…

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop,” she gasped.

He didn’t.

What followed was nothing short of an otherworldly climax, tensing all over, gripping his fingers and pulsating into his mouth. Her hand shot to his hair, grabbing at the ash-blonde curls as he growled in validation, drinking in her release with the vigour of a water-starved cheetah.

She rode her orgasm out, body shaking and twitching as his comedown kisses hit sensitively against her. Eventually, he ceased his motions, snaking up her body, marking her on his journey. Each searing kiss to her flushed skin accompanied an indentation of his teeth. When he got to her chest, he dragged his lips between her breasts, up her neck, and finally punctuated with a heated kiss to her lips. 

Her remaining clothes were quickly shed, as was his, as they fell deeper into their salacious reunion. Inching up the bed in the scorch of their connection. Both eager, desperate, urgent. It didn’t even feel real when he eventually eased his cock between her legs, filling her up with a steady thrust of his hips.

Robert never seemed to pull back from her; only stayed as close as possible, absorbing her every reaction, even the most miniscule, the most subtle… He noticed everything.

The pace he set. The small tightening of her limbs wrapped around him. The rhythm of her breathing. And, of course, the ripples and twitches and flutters from her welcoming cunt. She took all of him so well—she always did. 

How he’d gone so long without her was a mystery. A foolish decision on his part, for he never felt more alive than when in her presence.

Hooking his arm underneath one leg, her body titled, cock kissing the hilt of her walls with every passion-filled jive. Her moans were melodic at least, with no limitations in their effect on Robert’s reverie. Fingernails raked over his back. Noses brushed against one another. Eyes fought to stay adhered. It was the copulation of a lifetime; even the first night they spent together sat miles from this.

“Cherry…” he groaned, evidently darkened chest hair grazing along her bare skin.

“No…” she managed to choke out, shaking her head. “D… Don’t call me that…”

Even more than her words, her eyes begged him to drop the silly nickname; it scarcely matched the moment, and gave their kinship too superficial a meaning.

With a smile of admiration, he pressed his lips to hers, free hand raking through her hair as his thrusts gained a jolting flair, building them up. Closer, and closer…

“Grace,” he finally whispered against her lips. “Grace, Grace, Grace…” he breathed, dropping his head to her neck.

Her name was exemplary on his lips. He practically chanted it the more he drove into her, knowing he was bringing them both closer by the second.

A lifetime could have passed, and neither one of them would have noticed. Completely, utterly, wrapped up in their mutual admiration for each other. Nothing else mattered. Their jobs, and all the emotions that came with them, were peripheral. Faded into the background. All that remained were the two of them.

Robert and Grace.

“R-Robert…” she panted, lips brushing against his shoulder. “God… fuck, I’m close…”

“Yeah?” he mumbled against her neck, his nipping quickly turning into biting, sucking, claiming.

“Mhm,” she nodded with a whimper, lifting her hips to meet his eager thrusts.

“That’s it, baby…” he approved, ensuring to match their rhythms. His breathing waned in its regularity, a heat rolled over his entire body. Just need to feel her…  “Cum for me, Grace, please… can’t hold it any longer—fuck, you feel so good.”

It took mere minutes after Robert moved to press his forehead against hers, staring her down, for her to finally succumb to his behemoth gifts. She held onto the side of his face, nails digging into his shoulder painfully as she clung to him.

Ears buzzing. Eyes blurring. Head thumping with the beat of her heart. The way she gripped around him, paired with the breathtaking expression of her face as she reached her zenith, was almost too much for him to handle.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned, taking in her responsive form as validation of his abilities. During her descent, he spilled into her, restrain seeming like a fargone possibility. He gyrated, growled, and ensured to empty himself completely inside of her.

Their bodies were tacky, hot, flustered, trembling, as they laid there, entangled in each other’s limbs. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on the overhead lights in his room that were yet to be switched on since his return home. Having him in her arms, in his bed, was a long-awaited scenario she never thought would come to fruition.

But it had.

Eventually, he rolled over, bringing her into his protective hold. Somewhere, lingering in the back of his mind, he feared she wouldn’t be here come sunrise. That she’d realise she was making a mistake, take one look at him upon waking up, and disappear as quickly as possible. The grip he had on her was his way of keeping her there, with him, for as long as he could.

Though, it just wasn’t enough to ease his mind…

“Grace…” he called out slowly, his voice practically shot.

“Yeah?” She looked up at him, head resting on his chest.

“Can you stay?”

What a question to ask… She raised an eyebrow, looking into his eyes. The uncertainty baffled her. How he thought she might leave was an enigma to her.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” she assured him with a whisper.

He responded with a sigh of relief, and a kiss to her hair, before shifting the two of them further up the bed so they could comfortably bury themselves under his sheets.

There was no second guessing herself as she wrapped her arms around him, his back pressing against her chest. She held him close, smiling to herself when he found her hand, lacing their fingers together in such an affectionate position.

They laid there, lit by only the city lights that spilled through the edges of his curtains, for a few more minutes. Listening to the beating of each other’s hearts, and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.

“Will you stay for breakfast?”

Grace opened her eyes, giggling softly. “Yes, Robert. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Oh, darling… that would be forever.

[dark-twist-fairytales]

"All it takes is a little self control.."

Amber-red eyes could only glare at the person in question, rage like a fire burning in his chest as he snarled, arms crossed over his chest as he glared through his eyebrows.

"And yet, there was not a single ounce to be found. What do you have to say to yourself, Mr. Smith?"

A scoff left the teenager, shuffling backwards in his seat bored-ly. Steady breaths. Keep focus. "He swung first, like I said, and I have the right to defend myself." He all but hissed and snapped at the principal, instead shrugging his anger away as best he could. "And if I didn't, then someone else would've, and they'd be in heaps more trouble than I am."

"What are you implying, Mr. Smith?"

"That you're targeting my group of friends for various reasons and haven't let up for months now." Kai sat up right, a glare off happening between the principal and the student. His hands gripped his knees. Steady breaths. Keep focus. He cleared his throat and forced his shoulders to relax, but didn't lose his fire behind his words. "You try to put on the act that you care for every one of your students, and yet take advantage of those that can't defend themselves, and expected me to be the same: A pushover to get your way. I'm not a pushover, and my friends will no longer be pushovers to your ablest policies."

A knock on the door came, and the principal simply smirked, his elbows on the table as if he had the high ground. "Come in, Mr. Kognito!" The door opened behind him, and Kai shifted uncomfortably in his seat underneath the principal's gaze. "What happened?" The rougher voice of Ronin spoke from behind Kai, concern lacing it, as a hand settled on Kai's shoulder. Steady breaths, keep focus. Explain, clearly and thoroughly.

"Your nephew was caught fighting another student today, unprovoked." The principal said, causing Kai's eyes to widen and expression turn confused, as if the principal had grown an extra head. "Witnesses say-"

"It was out of self defense for my group. The guy was about to hit Jay, I got in the way and swung to protect." Kai said, swiftly turning in his chair to look to Ronin, his uncle. "You have to believe me." He said, his tone almost pleading with his uncle. Unsteady breathing, but still keeping focus- Not too shallow, you're okay. Deeper breaths, deeper breaths.

"Got the camera footage?" Ronin said, causing Kai to noticeably relax. And the principal to pale just a bit, before scoffing and reaching in his desk. The clicks of a mouse could be heard, as well as a bit of keyboard typing, before the monitor got turned to where all three of them could view it.

Ronin settled in the spare seat beside Kai, both looking to the screen eagerly as the image played. Just as Kai explained, someone shoved Jay to the lockers, and although there was no audio, Kai could clear hear the metallic bang that rang through. That's when past Kai came up, shoving the guy out of the way. Moments later, the guy swung first, landing right on Kai's chest, and a crowd of students surrounded them. Some tried to pull them away, others cheering.

The principal gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, would you look at that.. Ahem, uhm, what did you say that student's name was again?"

"I didn't." Kai lightly hissed through his teeth, but smirked at the victory. "His name was Hank Jones."

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 2) Chapter Twelve

Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Trouble with Spies

Summary: Tribbles and infestations in the quadrotriticale are not the issues (Y/N) wants to deal with. Spies are a little more interesting.

            Spock and (Y/N) walked back onto the Bridge, expecting to have to deal with how to smooth over the incident with the Klingons; instead, though, they found a room filled with tribbles. On the consoles, on the seats, on the bannisters, the trilling creatures were everywhere.

            “Wow. Uhura, how has your tribble managed to multiply this much?” asked (Y/N), picking up several tribbles and depositing to the side of their console.

            “I have no idea,” sighed Uhura. “I got one. At least they’re cute.” She happily petted the one sitting with her.

            “Troublesome, though,” said Spock as he removed the tribbles from his station.

            “Dr. McCoy, how did these get on the Bridge?” asked Kirk. “You were looking over them in Sickbay.

            Bones shrugged. “It’s the tribbles that keep multiplying. We can’t stop it. Or, at least, we haven’t figured out a way. But if we don’t get them off this ship, we’re going to be hip deep in them.”

            “Would you explain that?” asked Kirk.

            “Well, the nearest thing I can figure out is that they’re born pregnant,” said Bones. “Which seems to be quite a time saver.” He chuckled. “And from my observations, it seems they’re bisexual, reproducing with whatever tribbles are around them at will. And boy do they got a lot of will.”

            “Captain, I am forced to agree with the Doctor,” said Spock. “I’ve been running computations on their rate of reproduction. The figures are taking an alarming direction. They are consuming our surprise and returning nothing.”

            “Oh, but they do give us something, Mr. Spock,” said Uhura vehemently. “They give us love. Well, Cyrano Jones says that a tribble is the only love money can buy.”

            “Uhura, even I like the emotions the tribbles create in us, but they’re interrupting our work and disrupting our life,” said (Y/N). “We need to figure out a way to remove them from the ship.”

            Uhura sighed, knowing they were right. “I know.”

            “Get the maintenance crew to clean up the entire ship,” said Kirk. “And then contact Mr. Lurry and tell him I’m beaming down.”

            “Aye, aye, sir,” said Uhura.

            “Have him find Cyrano Jones and hold him,” ordered Kirk. He sighed. “And get these tribbles off the bridge. (L/N), Spock, with me.”

l

            “Captain Kirk, I’m mystified at your tone of voice,” said Jones incredulously. His friendly tone was belied by the nerves of his emotions. “I’ve done nothing to warrant such severe treatment.”

            “Oh, really?” said Kirk.

            “Press him, he’s nervous,” murmured (Y/N) to Spock.

            He listened to them. “Surely you must have realized what would happen if you removed the tribbles from their predator-filled environment into an environment where their natural multiplicative proclivities would have no restraining factors.”

            “Well, of course…What did you say?” Jones was thoroughly confused.

            All the better for Spock to press him further. “By removing the tribbles from their natural habitat, you have, so to speak, removed the cork from the bottle and allowed the genie to escape,” he said.

            “Well, if by that you mean do they breed quickly, well, of course!” Jones chuckled. “That’s how I maintain my stock. But breeding animals isn’t against regulations, only breeding dangerous ones. And tribbles are not dangerous.”

            “Just incredibly prolific,” remarked Kirk dryly.

            “Precisely, and at six credits a head—eh, well, that is, body—it mounts up,” said Jones happily. He stood hurriedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

            Kirk stopped him. “You ought to sell an instruction manual with those things.”

            “If I did, what would happen to man’s search for knowledge?” asked Jones. “Well, I must be tending to my ship. Au revoir.” He left before they could say another word.

            As he left, Baris and Darvin walked into the meeting room.

            “Go ahead, sir, tell him,” said Darvin.

            “Captain Kirk, I consider your security measures a disgrace!” declared Baris. “In my opinion, you have taken this entire very important project far too lightly!”

            “On the contrary, sir, I think of this project as very important,” said Kirk. “It is you I take lightly.”

            “I am going to report fully, to the proper authorities, that you have given free and complete access to this station to a man who is quite probably a Klingon agent!” cried Baris.

            Spock raised an eyebrow. “That is a very serious charge.”

            (Y/N) crossed their arms. “A Klingon agent? Who?”

            “The man who just walked out of here!” said Baris.

            (Y/N) deadpanned. “Cyrano Jones—a Klingon agent?”

            “You heard me,” said Baris.

            “They did. They simply could not believe their ears,” said Spock.

            “What evidence do you have that Jones is a Klingon agent?” asked (Y/N).

            Baris’s smug emotions were overpowering as he continued. “My assistant here has kept Mr. Jones under close surveillance for quite some time, and his actions have been most suspicious,” said Baris in satisfaction. “I believe he was involved in that little altercation between your men.”

            “Anything else?” That is flimsy. The most involved Jones was was drinking at the bar while we had our “altercation.”

            “Well, Lieutenant, I checked his ship’s log, and it seems he was within the Klingon sphere of influence less than four months ago,” said Darvin.

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Even Baris’s assistant had such negative and fervent emotions that they cringed.

            “The man is an independent scout. It’s quite possible that he is also a Klingon spy!” cried Baris.

            “Spock, what do you think?” remarked (Y/N).

            “We have already checked on the background of Mr. Cyrano Jones. He is a licensed asteroid locator and prospector. He’s never broken the law, at least not severely, and for the past seven years, with his one-man spaceship, he has obtained a marginal living by engaging in the buying and selling of rare merchandise,” said Spock. He sighed slightly. “Including, unfortunately, tribbles.”

            “But he is after my grain!” cried Baris.

            “Do you have any proof of that?” sighed Kirk.

            “You can’t deny he’s disrupted this station,” said Darvin angrily. His emotions were a bundle of nerves and anger. The nerves were unusual, but the anger was as strong as Baris’s.

            “People have disrupted stations before without being Klingon agents,” said Kirk. “Sometimes all they need is a title, Mr. Baris. Unfortunately, disrupting a space station is not an offense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to tend to. Au revoir.”

l

            Aboard the Enterprise, tribbles had taken over the entire ship. They were in every meeting room, everyone’s quarters, and even the cafeterias and food dispensers.

            “It’s even in my tea,” sighed (Y/N), putting down their cup sadly.

            “Fascinating,” murmured Spock as his food came out covered in tribbles.

            “They spread through the ship so quickly,” observed (Y/N). “It’s not just their multiplication that’s impressive, it’s their ability to spread, too.”

            Spock nodded. “Most likely, they found their way into an air vent.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Like the air vents that go to the space station?”

            Spock furrowed his brow worriedly. “And the storage compartments.”

            “Oh, no. The quadrotriticale,” realized (Y/N). “We have to tell the Captain.”

            Spock nodded, and in sync, they put down their food and drinks and quickly left to get Kirk and return to the space station. Disaster may have struck the precious grain.

l

            “What’s wrong?” asked Baris as he and Lurry met Kirk, Spock, and (Y/N).

            “Plenty, if what we think has happened has happened,” said Kirk grimly.

            He led the way to the quadrotriticale storage containers where two guards stood watch.

            “Guard, is that door secure?” asked Kirk.

            “Yes, sir, nothing could get in,” said the guard.

            “Good. Uh, open it,” said Kirk.

            The guard pressed in the code and tried to open the door, but it didn’t budge. “It’s not working, sir. It seems to be stuck.”

            (Y/N) sucked in a breath. That wasn’t a good sign.

            “Here, let me try,” said Kirk. Still, the door didn’t budge.

            (Y/N) stepped up and pulled at the trapdoor of the container. They successfully slid it open, and as they did, hundreds, no, thousands or tribbles tumbled out down and around in a fluffy avalanche. Kirk was buried in them, but Spock reached out and pulled (Y/N) out of the torrent of the tribbles. They stumbled back into him, and his hands rested on their arms to steady them as their back pressed against his front. It was an intimate position for “colleagues,” but (Y/N) and Spock didn’t mind since their hearts felt more than just friendship for one another.

            Finally, Kirk freed himself from the pile of tribbles. Spock removed himself from (Y/N)’s side as business returned to normal, and he picked up a tribble.

            “They seem to be gorged,” he observed.

            “Gorged?! On my grain?!” cried Baris. “Kirk, I am going to hold you responsible! There must be thousands.”

            “Hundreds of thousands,” agreed (Y/N).

            “1,771,561. That’s assuming one tribble, multiplying with an average litter of ten, producing a new generation every twelve hours over a period of three days,” said Spock logically.

            “And that’s assuming they got here three days ago,” sighed Kirk.

            “And allowing for the amount of grain consumed and the volume of the storage compartment,” added Spock.

            “Kirk, you should’ve known!” cried Baris. “You are responsible for turning the development project into a total disaster. And I am through being intimidated, Kirk!”

            (Y/N) sighed as his stupid anger burned. It was growing irritating.

            “Now, you have insulted me. You have ignored me. You-you’ve walked all over me,” declared Baris. “You have abused your authority, and you have rejected my requests. And this, this is the result. I am going to hold you responsible, Kirk.”

            “Mr. Baris, I’ll hold you in irons if you don’t shut up,” said Kirk, clearly over the situation and Baris’s dramatics.

            “Jim!” said the (strangely) cheerful voice of Bones as he walked into the room. “I think I’ve got it. All we have to do is quit feeding them! We quit feeding them; they stop breeding.”

            I feel like I’ve entered a farce, thought (Y/N).

            Kirk sighed. “Now he tells me.”

            “Captain, this tribble is dead,” said Spock, frowning.

            (Y/N) examined a few others. “So are these.”

            Bones scanned the mountain of tribbles. “A lot of them are dead. A lot of them are alive, but they won’t be for long.”

            I think I’d feel sadder if they’re not already repopulating on our ship, thought (Y/N).

            “A logical assumption is that there is something in the grain,” said Spock.

            “Yes. Bones, I want the tribbles, the grain, everything analyzed,” said Kirk. “I want to know what killed these tribbles.”

            “I haven’t figured out what keeps them alive yet,” said Bones. Another tribble fell from the open hatch onto Kirk’s head, and Kirk deadpanned. Bones held up his hands. “Alright, if I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

            “That isn’t going to do you any good, Kirk,” said Baris. “This project is ruined, and Starfleet is going to heart about it, and when they do, they will have a Board of Inquiry, and they will roast you alive. And I am going to be there, Kirk, to enjoy every moment of it.”

            “Until that Board of Inquiry, I’m still the Captain, and as Captain, I want two things done. First, find Cyrano Jones, and second, close that door.” Poor Kirk was still getting hit by tribbles periodically falling from the container.

l

            “Really, Captain Kirk, I must protest this treatment,” cried Jones as guards pushed him and his handful of tribbles into Lurry’s office.

            “Ah, Mr. Jones, and an armful,” said Kirk. “A couple questions—”

            “Captain Kirk!” said Koloth, storming into the office.

            (Y/N) scowled as Kolax followed him in. Not only were the Klingons’ emotions a negative cloud, but (Y/N) didn’t want to see Kolax after his insults. Spock’s eyes narrowed as he saw Kolax, and he stepped up beside (Y/N). If Kolax tried to approach them, he’d have to deal with a tall, imposing, strong Vulcan prepared to protect his Celian.

            “Yes, what do you want?” asked Kirk, keeping his tone polite but starting to lose it as the situation got more and more difficult to handle.

            “An official apology, addressed to the Klingon High Command. I expect you to assume full responsibility for the persecution of Klingon nationals in this quadrant,” declared Koloth.

            “An apology?” repeated Kirk incredulously.

            “Yes. You’ve harassed my men,” said Koloth. “You’ve treated them like criminals. You’ve been most uncourteous, Captain Kirk.”

            “Uncourteous?” Spock raised an eyebrow, drawing attention to himself. “I believe it was first your own First Officer to insult one of our officers.” Spock glanced at (Y/N), and everyone understood what he meant.

            Kolax knew Vulcans avoided conflict, but he had the distinct impression that he should stay silent as Spock’s level gaze fell onto him. There was something warning in his eyes, and Kolax wasn’t going to mess with it.

            (Y/N), on the other hand, felt perfectly safe beside Spock. In fact, they turned a little pink as Spock defended them in his logical, Vulcan way.

            Koloth coughed slightly as Spock caught the Klingons’ lie. “Well, that may be, but if you don’t want a diplomatic incident, you’ll still—”

            “No, Kirk, you can’t let him!” cried Baris, joining the conversation. “That will give them the wedge they need to claim Sherman’s Planet.”

            “I believe that more than the word of an aggrieved Klingon commander would be necessary for that, Mr. Baris,” said Spock coolly.

            Koloth was determined to win his battle, though. “Mr. Spock, as far as Sherman’s Planet is concerned, Captain Kirk has given it to us already.”

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Happiness had entered Koloth’s emotions, which made sense if he believed Sherman’s Planet would be the Klingon’s, but alongside it was a dull happiness associate with satisfaction. They had a suspicion the Klingons were up to something. Obviously, the insults had been planned in order to create a conflict that was “started” by Starfleet, but there was something else going on. After all, something was wrong with the grain.

            (Y/N) looked at Kirk and nodded. Their observations matched with the theories Spock had come up with.

            “Well, we’ll see about that,” said Kirk, responding to Koloth. “But before I take any official action, I’d like to know just what happened. Who put the tribbles in the quadrotriticale, and what was in the grain that killed them?”

            “Captain Kirk, before you go on, may I make a request?” asked Koloth.

            Kirk sighed. “Yes?”

            “Can you get those things out of here?” Koloth gestured distastefully at the tribbles in Jones’s arms.

            Kirk waved a hand, and the guards picked up the tribbles. As they went to the door, it slid open, and Darvin and Bones appeared. The tribbles screeched as they grew close to Darvin.

            (Y/N) cocked their head. “Remarkable,” said Spock.

            “Hold on a minute,” said Kirk. He glanced at Jones. “I thought you said tribbles liked everyone.”

            “Well, they do,” said Jones. “I can’t understand it. The last time I saw them act this way was—

            “—at the bar. With the Klingons,” realized (Y/N). They walked over to the guards and picked up a tribble. Bringing it near to Kolax and Koloth, (Y/N) saw the tribble screech and try to get away. “Tribbles don’t like Klingons.” They pushed the tribble a bit closer, and they smirked as Kolax jerked back. Next, (Y/N) brought it to Spock. The tribble didn’t react. “They like Vulcans, though.” (Y/N) grinned at Spock.

            “Obviously, tribbles are very perceptive creatures,” said Spock.

            “Obviously,” teased (Y/N). They took it to Baris. “They like you, too. I guess their taste is somewhat questionable.” Finally, (Y/N) brought it to Darvin. The tribble screeched vehemently. They cocked their head. “But they don’t like you, Darvin. Why is that?” They noticed the obvious nerves coating his emotions. He was full of anxiety.

            Kirk nodded to Bones. “Check him.”

            Bones took his tricorder and scanned Darvin. “Heartbeat is all wrong. His body temperature is…” Bones’s eyes widened. “Jim, this man is a Klingon.”

            Spock automatically stepped up beside (Y/N) in case Darvin tried anything.

            “A Klingon?!” cried Baris.

            “I wonder what Starfleet Command will say about that,” remarked Kirk coolly to Baris, making an obvious point. “What about the grain, Bones?”

            “Oh, yes, it was poisoned,” said Bones.

            “Poisoned?!” cried Baris.

            “Yes, there was an implanted a virus,” said Bones. “The virus turns into an inert material in the bloodstream. And the more an organism eats, the more inert matter is built up, so after two or three days, it would reach a point of where they couldn’t take in enough nourishment to survive. The tribbles starved to death.”

            “In a storage compartment full of grain, they starved to death,” said Kirk.

            “That is essentially it,” said Bones.

            (Y/N) held the tribble out towards Darvin again. Darvin jerked back as it screeched angrily. “Mr. Darvin, have anything to say?”

            “No,” said Darvin, but his anxiety couldn’t be hidden from (Y/N). They held the tribble closer, and Darvin flinched. “Alright! I poisoned the grain! Take them away.”

            “And the tribbles had nothing to do with it?” asked (Y/N).

            “I don’t know—I never saw one before in my life, and I hope I never see one of those fuzzy, miserable things again,” said Darvin.

            “I’m sure that can be arranged,” said Spock, protectively staying beside (Y/N) as Darvin stared daggers at the tribble and them.

            “Guards,” ordered Kirk. “Take him.” Darvin was unhappily escorted out to a waiting holding cell.

            Baris coughed uncomfortably. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain.” He made an exit before Kirk could point out that Starfleet wouldn’t care about Kirk’s “unhelpfulness” in comparison to Baris employing a Klingon spy.

            Kirk turned to Koloth. “Now, Captain Koloth, about that apology…”

            “Yes?” challenged Koloth.

            “You have six hours to get your ship out of Federation territory,” said Kirk curtly.

            Koloth, knowing he couldn’t fight since he was undoubtedly connected to Darvin, made a hasty exit with Kolax. (Y/N) smirked at his scared expression.

            “That was satisfying,” they said to Spock.

            Spock quirked an eyebrow in an expression of amusement. “Yes. I imagine it was.” It was for him as well. Spock enjoyed seeing the man who had insulted (Y/N) so nervous and fearful. It was very satisfying.

l

            “Captain, Starfleet was able to divert that freighter,” said Spock as Kirk walked into the Bridge.

            “Good. That means Sherman’s Planet will get its quadrotriticale only a few weeks late,” said Kirk. He glanced around hesitantly. He saw no tribbles and frowned. “I don’t see any tribbles around here.”

            “And you won’t find a tribble on this entire ship, Jim,” said Bones proudly.

            “Bones, how’d you do that?” asked Kirk.

            Bones coughed. “Well, I cannot take credit for another man’s work. Scotty did it.”

            “Scotty! Where are the tribbles?” asked Kirk.

            Scotty blinked uncomfortably. “Oh, uh, Captain, it was really Mx. (L/N)’s recommendation.”

            “Of course. (L/N)?” asked Kirk.

            (Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “Well, Spock did the actual calculations.”

            “Mr. Spock?” asked Kirk, raising an eyebrow.

            Spock cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “Based on computer analysis, of course, taking into account the possibilities of—”

            “Gentlemen, I don’t want to interrupt this mutual admiration society, but I’d like to know where the tribbles are,” said Kirk.

            “Tell him, Spock,” said Bones.

            Spock avoided the question. “Well, it was Mr. Scott who performed the actual engineering.”

            Kirk heaved a sigh. “Mr. Scott. Where are the tribbles?”

            Scotty cleared his throat. “I used the transporter, Captain.”

            “You used the transporter?” Kirk furrowed his brow in confusion.

            “Aye,” replied Scotty.

            “Well, where did you transport them?” questioned Kirk. Everyone avoided his gaze. “Scotty, you didn’t transport them into space, did you?”

            “Captain Kirk, that’d be inhuman,” said Scotty, aghast.

            “Well, where are they?” asked Kirk.

            “I gave them a good home, sir,” said Scotty.

            “Where?” demanded Kirk.

            “I gave them to the Klingons, sir,” said Scotty.

            Kirk’s eyes widened. “You have them to the Klingons?”

            “Aye, sir. Before they went into warp, I transported the whole kit and caboodle into their engine room,” said Scotty, clearly pleased with himself.

            “Where they’ll be no ‘tribble’ at all,” said (Y/N) brightly.

            Kirk smothered a laugh and failed. He, Bones, and Scotty chuckled at (Y/N)’s pun while they just grinned. Spock even raised an eyebrow in amusement. (Y/N) was happy, and that was what mattered.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

[free-to-be-no-one-but-mee]

Snippet Sunday

I was tagged by @dear-massacre​, thank youuuu

And as I literally just uploaded the latest chapter of my fic, so here are TWO snippets from two vastly different, very unfinished sterek fics that might never happen but i like the ideas of

Derek: Will I, you know, fit in?

Stiles: we’re going swimming?? Why wouldn’t you??

Derek: I don’t know

Stiles: bc you’re hearing? 

Derek: Maybe, I don’t know

Stiles: I think you’re being a little bit prejudiced right now Derek Stiles: deaf people don’t only have “deaf-people things” to talk about Stiles: and we also don’t just know deaf people

Derek: I know

Stiles: lydia yeah she got bored with ADVANCED LATIN and decided to pick up asl right Stiles: scott my best friend he was the one who dragged me to ASL class when I first lost my hearing because he wanted us to be able to talk like we’ve always done and he was more enthusiastic than even I was Stiles: neither of them are deaf or partly so Stiles: kira, Scott’s girlfriend, is legally deaf but she got hearing aids which makes her able to hear quite a lot still which makes it possible for her to talk aloud without bigger problems, and she can read lips (not jealous) Stiles: isaacs deaf on one ear but doctors thinks he’s gonna go deaf on the other one as well so he’s learned asl to not be completely lost once he loses all hearing Stiles: andddd malia was born deaf Stiles: so it’s a combination Derek just like any other group of friends

Derek: But I don’t speak ASL

Stiles: and I think we managed pretty good anyway??? Stiles: and now you know how to say ‘awesome’ so like what more do you need

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Get down to it, then, Mr. Hale?”

“Mr. Stilinski—”

“Stiles, please.” 

Derek is so taken aback, he completely loses whatever he was going to say. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski.” It’s not really a question, but Derek’s pretty sure that what his tone of voice doesn’t ask, his eyebrows does. 

Stiles shrugs. “Well, long story short: Jessica Jones had a big influence on my life.” 

“Your alias is Stiles Stilinski?” 

Stiles grins at that, and Derek has no idea why. “Laura?” he prompts instead, eyebrow cocked. 

Derek shakes himself a little. “Yes. She’s—”

Although, Stiles doesn’t seem like he wants Derek to talk because he interrupts. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?” Stiles has put his chin between two of his fingers, and he absently bites at a third. “You two are not… romantic.” 

“I love her,” Derek says flatly. 

“Yes, but like a sister?” 

Derek nods short. “Brother in arms, all that. Neither of us have family to speak of. We keep each other afloat back here.” 

“Is it because you’re both gay?” 

Derek stares at him. “I’m not gay.” 

“If you say so,” Stiles replies with a hand wave. “Because she’s gay, then?” 

“She’s like my sister. That’s all you need to know.” 

“Ah, mhm, of course.”

If you want to to this, please see this is as a sign that I tagged YOU

[itismissswann]

@mvrtogg || continued from here

Murtogg was more than relieved to be away from the drunken brothel brawl he had successfully gotten Miss Swann away from. His hand was hurting but he was unaware that the drunken fool had stabbed at him with a small knife. He didn’t see it in the darkness, but what could he do about it now? Nothing, not that he was aware of it anyway. He didn’t know he was even in pain due to the adrenaline he was feeling.

As the pair finally made it to the Governor’s Mansion, he looked to Elizabeth with a small smile. “Are y'alight, Miss Swann?” he said, but before she answered, the change in her tone and proclamation of him bleeding gotten his attention.“Wot —.” he began, looking down to see the blood coming from his white shirt and. He wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t said anything. His redcoat hid the wound fairly well, but she was far to vigilant to not see it.

When she went to lift his shirt, he was slightly embarrassed but now the pain had finally hit him. “Oh hell.” he muttered in confusion, before looking with a lost like expression down at her. The exposed parts of skin she did manage to free, were pale and his head gotten a bit lightheaded. He felt like he was going to faint. He never fainted before, his surroundings went a bit blurry as he managed to see Governor Swann before him. He heard Miss Swann’s concerned voice and pleads but couldn’t make anything outh.

As they managed to get Murtogg into a room and on a bed, his uniform was half off ( well the tops parts ). He still felt like he was going to faint but he fought it the best he could. He felt the pressure and the pain from her hands. He looked up at her, breathing fairly heavy and wincing in pain. “I’ll be alright, Miss Swann.” he managed to say, hand going to her cheek before yelling out in pain. When the professional had came, that’s when Murtogg had blacked out.

He didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he woke up he was alone in the same room. His side hurt and he was shirtless. He was also bandaged up very well. He tried to sit up, but it hurt too bad to do anything. Murtogg froze for a minute, “‘Ello? Is anyone here?!” he called into the emptiness of the mansion.

Murtogg’s skin went ashen and he stumbled forward, Weatherby Swann and Mr. Jones, the butler, grabbing for his arms as he tried to keep his balance. He suddenly took on a pale look, as if he'd been painted with white-wash - even his lips were barely there. She could hardly comprehend why he was trying to comfort her, telling her he would be alright even though he barely managed to utter those words. Her gaze clouded with confusion while she marveled at how selfless he still managed to be.  The moment he lay down on the bed, he crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings. Panic swelled within her, growing stronger into the evening as her mental faculties gave way to emotions. She wanted to jump right out of her skin and join the ether. She felt like a child again, shaking, terrified. The constricted feelings grew, as if she was strangled by just the air about her. That's when she needed to hear some comforting words, words that would inform her everything would turn out fine. The doctor had arrived and worked its magic, stitching the wound and bandaging it properly. He promised he would return the following day to check on him and her father gave his words to keep him in his care until his wounds were healed. The butler escorted the doctor towards the door while her father turned around to face her. Elizabeth found herself on the receiving end of several scolding lectures; her concerned father advised her that she needed to be more responsible. Normally, she would have returned his lecture with substantiated arguments, but this time she endured in silence. Her father was right. She wished she had never left the manor. If she had been more sensible, Mr. Murtogg’s injury would never have happened; but it was no use saying that now.  Elizabeth awoke to the steady patter of rain upon her window, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of rising sun. It was still early, so she hurriedly descended the stairs to his chambers, knowing she wouldn’t get caught sneaking in. After closing the door silently, she leaned against it, keeping a significant distance between them. Their eyes met and she was unable to fight back the relieved smile that was curling her lips. “You’re awake, thank god.” Elizabeth spoke in a whisper and fiddled with the necklace that hung around her neck. After a short silence she questioned; “Can I get you anything? ... Mrs Wilson makes the most excellent tea.” The quiver in her voice exposing her concern and guilt.

[ukus-so-much-potential]

All in My Head; Junior Year, September, Rated T

Alfred’s eyes are fixed on Mr. Kirkland, but he’s hardly listening to the lesson being taught. Sometimes he thinks it might be some dream because at the end of last year, when Mr. Kirkland finished his student-teaching semester, he had told all the students that he would probably not be back, but it was such a pleasure to work with all of them and Alfred had only fantasized about the young teacher magically being back at Alfred’s school a million times over the summer.

He’d fantasized about a lot of other things too: like Mr. Kirkland’s piercing green eyes and his sexy English accent and how he smiled when he praised Alfred for being a “smart lad.” Alfred’s brain is tireless and very creative and with not much else to do over the summer, he’d taken all his observations of Mr. Kirkland and spun them into detailed, elaborate, ah... hormonally-charged fantasies of having a very inappropriate relationship with the English teacher.

And now he’s in Mr. Kirkland’s... Arthur’s class. Again. When Alfred had thought he might never see the man again.

The same girls that had been so flustered by Arthur before seem to have settled down... or at least they aren’t giggling and whispering to each other.

But Alfred hasn’t settled down. If anything... oh fuck. He shifts in his seat and tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down over his lap. Yeah, he hasn’t settled down at all. If anything, his feelings have only gotten stronger.

“Alfred.”

He blinks, wondering if he heard Arthur’s voice only in his mind or not.

“Alfred Jones,” it’s more stern.

Alfred snaps out of his reverie only to see Arthur giving him a cross look to match his exasperated tone. “Uh. What? Sorry. What?” Alfred says, smacking himself internally. Great. Now Mr. Kirkland is going to think he’s slacker... or at least isn’t as smart of a lad as he’d given Alfred credit for.

“Would you care to share your inner musings or would you rather join the rest of us in the here and now?” There’s a little bit of humor in his voice.

Alfred still blushes bright red and sinks slightly into his chair. “No. I mean yeah. I’m good. I’m here. Sorry Mr. Kirkland,” he mumbles.

He manages to pay attention to most of the rest of the lecture.

As the bell rings and class is dismissed for lunch, Alfred realizes it’s pretty warm, it is only early September still, and his hoodie could have better use at the moment. He tugs it over his head and grabs his backpack and heads toward the door.

“Alfred.” Arthur’s voice stops him, it’s softer than before. “Stay back a moment please.” He’s standing behind his neatly organized desk. He has unbuttoned his fitted vest, it looks like he’s loosened his tie a little, and he is unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “Christ, this room is a sweatbox,” he mutters.

Shit, Alfred really fucked up. He stops in front of the desk, clutching his hoodie and mentally pleading for any kind of divine mercy. “Um, listen. Mr. Kirkland, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. Swim practice is really early and I didn’t sleep super good last night. I won’t zone out again, I promise.”

Arthur chuckles a little. “You’re sixteen, Alfred. Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. It’s alright. It happens, but you were so out of it there that it had me a little concerned.”

Alfred’s heart rate picks up.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Alfred is most definitely not alright. He swallows around a lump in his throat, his gaze latched onto Mr. Kirkland’s forearms--both of which are embellished with extensive black ink. The tattoos, which Alfred’s mind can’t seem to resolve into actual images yet, extend over Arthur’s elbows and up under his sleeves. Fuck. Seriously? Fuck.

Arthur glances down and then winces self-consciously, mercifully misinterpreting Alfred’s stunned reaction. “Ah. Yes I know it’s not exactly typical to see an educator this heavily tattooed,” he says. “I try to keep them covered during school hours, but I didn’t realize this classroom would be so much warmer in the afternoon.”

Alfred manages to shake himself enough to smile. “Nah. I mean, yeah it’s not typical and all, but it’s nice to see some adults are actually cool.”

Arthur looks relieved. He laughs. “You make me sound old. I’m not really that much older than you.”

And Alfred is a hundred percent certain that Mr. Kirkland didn’t mean anything by that. It doesn’t stop his brain from doing what it had been doing all summer. 

“Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your lunchtime, go on.”

“Ha. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Kirkland,” Alfred’s mouth is dry. He leaves the room, stopping outside to breathe cooler air. On the one hand, Mr. Kirkland returning to the school to teach now seems like a lesson in being careful what you wish for... but on the other hand, Alfred thinks, there’d been something there... right? 

Alfred turns the conversation over and over in his mind as he walks down the hall and by the time he reaches the cafeteria, he’s convinced.

There’s definitely something between him and Arthur.

[fizzingwizard]

I finally watched Persuasion. As a fan of Jane Austen, I can't approach it without thinking about the book... try as I might, I have a bias. It's not impossible to make Austen movies I like - I adore the old BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series, and I enjoyed Emma with Anya Taylor-Joy with only a few quibbles. Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet in Sense and Sensibility was slow-moving but a decent adaption (although I struggled to like the romantic interests as much as I did in the book). Northanger Abbey with Felicity Jones wasn't my favorite, but neither is the book.

So, Persuasion. I wanted to keep an open mind. The first few scenes didn't work for me, but then things started to look up for a while once Anne went to Uppercross, and for a while I really did like the not-quite-canonical-but-close-enough modern spin.

I was back and forth about the humor. A few jokes landed well, others felt forced. But it will be interesting to see how I feel about it if I ever watch this again. The tone was of course completely different from the book, but I don't mind that. Persuasion is a difficult book to make a movie out of because so little happens, so much of what does happen occurs mainly in Anne's head, and Anne is one of Austen's most tactful and conscientious characters. With the absence of narration, she needs a sense of humor and distinct voice to avoid coming across as judgmental and dull.

Speaking of narration, I was also back and forth about Anne introducing everyone and cracking jokes and explaining how she feels at the moment etc etc. Sometimes it worked for me, others it didn't so much. I definitely don't hate it, but I guess my opinion is the tone of this movie is confused. Is it a comedy or isn't it? The source material is not, so that's always going to become an impediment without a lot of work.

Now here are the things which really bugged me:

There were so many comments about how women don't need marriage, women don't need a man, etc the same kind of phrases parroted in all romance movies these days, faced with the same paradox of all the characters involved winding up married by the end :P Only Mrs Russell is spared with her "European tours," which was a fun addition, but doesn't help the weirdness of watching woman after woman declare "You don't need a man to be happy - but I know you want one!"

Wentworth is one of my favorite Austen love interests, but I strongly disliked him here. In the book, yes, he is bitter, but it isn't so freaking obvious. He hides it by fooling around with other girls and generally ignoring Anne. In the movie they don't have him ignore her and they more or less erase his leading Louisa on. Yes, they're still a thing in the movie, but his thing with Henrietta is NOT, which makes him seem so much more sincere about Louisa. So even when we find out he doesn't really love her, it's hard to blame him. Also he's just sad all the time. Not attractive. Really hard to see the successful, hard-working, thoughtful young man Anne was so in love with.

Anne's awkwardness takes away from her chief quality which is that she's supposed to have good judgment. In the name of humor, they made quite a fool out of her. I'm sure it was to make up for how hard it is to express "no one pays attention to her" in a movie versus in a book with exposition. But, like, she's meant to NOT be awkward, lol. And worse than that, her narrative throughout the movie is quite judgmental of her family - and although they deserve it, when Wentworth comes out with "She's privately judging everyone in her head," it's like - well, yeah, Anne, you definitely are! You're 100 times worse than Lizzy Bennett lol. Which is not true to Anne's character at all.

Mary is a pest so it's no surprise that she lost her few redeeming qualities in the movie version. But the Musgroves also lost their less virtuous qualities. Henrietta isn't toying with both Wentworth and Hayter; Charles Musgrove isn't self-serving; Louisa is Anne's close friend (a change I actually liked a lot, but it still falls under this umbrella); Louisa and Henrietta have just as much, if not better, judgment and tact than Anne around difficult types like Mary. The reason this is a problem to me is it sucks out so much of the complexity in their relationships. Anne can't shine because everyone else doesn't need her. They are fine. She's the problem, not them. Also Louisa being so likable makes her jump from the steps kind of out of nowhere and ridiculous. I'm certain she was meant to seem playful rather than conniving, but I didn't vibe with how that scene was handled.

A small thing but it made me roll my eyes: After Wentworth says Anne is judgmental, he then blames her... for being easily persuaded. And yeah, that is the point of the book, that is their point of contention. But imagine saying someone's opinions are strong and then immediately following up by saying their opinions are weak. That's basically what he did here. That's why this is not how things go down in the novel, lol.

Now, in the book, yes, Anne goes up to Benwick and starts soothing his grieving heart with poetry and sermons. And yes, even in the book, it makes me cringe. But at least in the book she has time to lead into it. She doesn't just go, "Hi Benwick, heard your wife died, you should read Byron." She makes a little bit of small talk beforehand, AND the book does take care to point out that she waits to gauge his reaction to her advice before saying anything more bold. At least book Anne seems aware that she could be saying something totally cringey.

I'm torn because I did really enjoy Anne and Wentworth becoming "friends." But it felt so unearned. Technically it was earned: by Anne's support of Wentworth during the meal, and by his admiration of her taking charge of Louisa's injury. But I didn't feel that anything had changed, that's all I can say.

"You'd make a great admiral" This felt like feminism SHOEHORNED IN soooo hard. I wouldn't mind if it didn't feel like there were so many token feminist moments in this movie, without really having any characters who broke typical female tropes in romance movies. And it's even more ridiculous when almost directly afterward Anne acquiesces to her sister without so much as a protest, even though it was Wentworth's personal request that she stay with Louisa, AND what she preferred to do herself. Book Anne is not a great advocate for herself, it takes her a lot of time to get there. But movie Anne is definitely no Admiral.

Mr Elliot. I think I shouldn't be surprised that he's so odious... but he's so much worse than in the book. I really don't think that Twilight-style love triangles work in Austen adaptions. They are too juvenile. Elliot getting all up in Wentworth's business, as well as Wentworth being so openly annoyed by him just existing, even before he even began courting Anne, just felt so teen drama to me. And then the result is him wildly making out with Mrs Clay! I may be remembering wrong, but I'm pretty sure they weren't officially a married couple at the end of the novel, rather a couple of convenience. But that's no big deal. By having him propose to Anne then immediately start making out with Mrs Clay, they reduced Elliot to a horn dog. AND they completely erased what ACTUALLY makes him such an awful person: his treatment of Anne's old school friend and her husband. That was just entirely left out! In the book it's a long, honestly pretty boring passage of just telling the story to Anne, so I'm not surprised but - it's the revelation of Elliot's true character, and I don't like that they replaced his cold-heartedness with "he's a playboy."

The "Who loves longer, men or women?" speech. -__- I love that speech... in the book. For many reasons. But it's so truncated here that I don't like it one bit. Wentworth's letter saves it a little, by softening Anne's insistence that men don't love as long as women and making it something more realistic. But I can't like it because ANNE is supposed to make it realistic. Once again she's not allowed to show her discernment of human nature. She can only be despairing over unrequited love at all times.

What I was most curious about, beyond anything else, was whether Wentworth and Anne's discussion of persuasion (THE TITLE OF THE STORY) would be included in the finale. It is so, so important. Why? Because Anne spends the whole novel beating herself up for letting her family persuade her out of marrying Wentworth the first time, yet also struggling to decide how she could have brazenly ignored the advice of people she loves and respects when she was so young and inexperienced. And she concludes that she was NOT wrong in being persuaded, because when you love someone and they are worthy of respect, you take their opinion into account. You don't have a crystal ball, you don't know that they're right, but you also don't know that they're wrong. Wentworth's conviction that she should have blindly followed him out of love alone is the beginning of tragedy for many a heroine, after all. This doesn't mean she made the RIGHT choice! The whole point is maybe there wasn't a right choice, but a choice needed to be made nonetheless. And she made it, and it's not worth resentment and bitterness over, and though there will naturally be regret, she doesn't need to blame herself for it. That is such a critically essential final thesis of the novel, and honestly, THAT is feminist: a woman isn't wrong simply because a man feels conviction, and soft power is also power!!! But did it make it into the movie? NO OF COURSE NOT. The movie is the story of a girl who didn't follow her heart and got punished for it, and the only reason she gets her happily ever after is because the Perfect Boy waited for her with big puppy eyes.

Now I've written all that I'm sure it seems like I hated the movie. Well, I don't - I just don't think it's a good adaptation of Persuasion. It misses the point of the story. It messes up characterization so badly that they're hardly recognizable. Out of fear of Anne being too boring, they gave her a sense of humor not her own and the price was her strength of character. She's only "better" than her sisters because her sisters are truly awful. Unfortunate.

[le-amewzing]

Late-Night Promises

I love it when a rewatch gives me OTP feels. :3c

Fic: "Late-Night Promises" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Alden Parker/Jess Knight, background OCs

Rating: very light T

Words: ~990

Additional info: romance, humor, fluff, 3rd person POV

Summary: It's been on Parker's to-do list for more than a year, to get his alarm system fixed. Alas, he's full of apologies to his neighbors like usual.

      He knew he'd been sound asleep. Comfortable. Warm. Cozy. All the things anyone wanted during a rather chilly start to autumn in the D.C. suburbs.

      But Parker's body tensed and his eyes protested opening at the familiar whine of his alarm system hiccupping in the middle of the night, trilling as it woke him and the rest of his floor (if not the whole damn building) up. He groaned.

      Already, Parker could hear the muffled grumbles and some angry shouts out in the hallway. Yeah…this wasn't going to be good. Continuing to put off replacing the system was a bad habit of his, and all of his neighbors knew that by now. It didn't help that the condo complex was a little on the small side, so it was a digital shriek that was hard to ignore once someone stirred.

      He begrudgingly slipped out of the warmth of his bed, covers and all, stifling another groan to himself, and exited his bedroom, turning left out into the short hallway and marching towards the inside of his front door. The closer he got to it, the stronger the sound drowned out people's growing grumps and snarls, but those sounds grew in volume, trying to match the din. So Parker scurried to cover the last couple feet to disable the system, punching in the code—3194—twice until the alarm chirped and quieted.

      But, while the noise inside vanished, outside was another issue. Parker yanked open his door, greeted by the unfortunate but familiar sight of his neighbors in their sleepwear. "Sorry! Sorry," he said, half shouting over their voices. "It won't happen again."

      Mrs. Nally from the end of the hall stood on his welcome mat, sliding her glasses from her gray hair onto her nose. "Can you really promise that, Mr. Parker?" she said in the clipped voice of a schoolteacher. The other half a dozen tenants behind her, practically a small crowd, murmured their approval of her reproving tone. "It's the third time this week, and it went off just two nights ago!"

      "I understand, and I—"

      "For crying out loud!" That was Jones, at the back; so, even he'd come downstairs to complain. He pointed an angry finger at Parker over the tops of everyone else's heads. "DUDE. You never buy one! I don't know if you forget or what, but—I will buy one online myself. Overnight delivery! If it just means the damn building will get a decent night's sleep!"

      Parker cracked his door open a little further and threw up his hands to placate them all. "Uh, no, no. That's not necessary, thanks."

      They stared at him, as if waiting for a proper response. Jones even pulled out his phone and began clicking around on the screen.

      "Look, I'll—" Parker glanced over his shoulder, back to his bedroom. "I'll take care of it this week and install it myself. I promise."

      Jones stopped clicking, and Mrs. Nally huffed, but the gathered crowd mumbled a general consensus to give Parker one last opportunity. Parker's neighbors finally dispersed, but not before Mrs. Nally settled him with a schoolmarm's stern look to remind him that he really ought to keep this promise…or Parker would find he'd completely worn out his welcome here.

      Parker sighed as he closed the door and put all the locks back on. He dragged a hand over his face, scratching his beard along his jaw when his eyes rested on the now silent alarm pad. He had half a mind to tear the thing from the wall. …but, really, that would make it hard to get his deposit back from the security company if all he sent back were pieces, so he thought otherwise on it and turned on his heel to shuffle back to his room.

      Back where he was supposed to be, Parker lifted the covers—but he paused when he noted his spot wasn't as empty as he'd left it. "Scoot over," he piped up. "You're hogging the bed."

      He received a groggy grunt in response, but Parker managed to slip back into place in bed…only for a toned, long, athletic leg to be slung across both of his.

      Parker snorted and turned his head to the right, wondering how awake she was. "…hey, Jess."

      "Mfm," Knight mumbled into his shoulder. Well, at least she'd turned her head his way. Her hair tickled his arm in her sleep as she adjusted to him getting resettled under the covers.

      "Sorry about the alarm again."

      "Alden, it's fine, just go back to sleep."

      "Make it up to you tomorrow?"

      He didn't have long to wonder if she'd fallen back asleep. Knight's answer came in the form of that same leg of hers withdrawing slightly, just enough to thread through his, her thigh pressed flush against one of his thighs and her knee tantalizingly grazing the other. An arm rested across his middle an inch above his waistband, too, for good measure.

      Parker snickered, liking where her mind went, but he rested his hand atop hers, pointedly ignoring the lackadaisical circles she drew with her thumb along his hip bone. "I meant we go shopping for a new system tomorrow, together."

      She didn't remove her limbs, but a little huff escaped Knight's lips, sending the tiniest blast of heat against Parker's shoulder. She pressed a toe into his calf, where the fabric of his sleep pants had ridden up and gathered. "Weekend chores, greeeeeat…"

      He smiled to himself, though, cozy once more and feeling tired again now that the abrupt excitement was over. Cozy. Comfortable. Warm, with Knight half wrapped around him on this chilly night. Parker managed to tack on, while it still occurred to him, "Thought you should have the new code, too…"

      And he drifted off to sleep just as Knight's eyes snapped open at the surprise decision Parker made at three in the morning.

XD Smthg incredibly silly with a hint of smexy at the end there bc I love them so much. ;D But honestly, tho! The inspiration for this came from rewatching s19e8, "Peacekeeper," bc Parker mentions in passing to the team while they scout the security expo that he's got a finicky if not faulty alarm system, which tends to wake up his neighbors at all hrs…so this happened! B3c Ahhhhh, as I type this, we are days away from the season finale, but I'm looking forward to learning more about Parker (even if my condo hc for him gets trashed, *lol*), and I'm looking forward to posting loads more Parknight content this summer since I have so much! So keep on reading, read the stuff you've missed before, come chat with me about Parknight, feel free to request, and don't forget to enjoy all the fun Parknight content on my tumblr sideblog for them, parknights! :3c There is plenty of Parknight goodness to go around~ (Also yay, my first drabble for them in sooo long…bc these two tend to get carried away when I write them and want nearly everything to be a oneshot! XD)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[alias-sam]

Pierced by a Golden Soul

Chapter 11. Fiesta Time....?

Platonic Jojo's x Reader

Summary: Fate is a bizarre concept with countless more bizarre implications. In life sometimes such extraordinary events happen that the only reasoning left must be fate. The tragedies that constantly befall the Joestar bloodline for example may be the unluckiest series of cards drawn in human history, or perhaps the work of a greater power. There is no way to tell for sure. Had Dio Brando or Jonathan Joestar moved slightly on a divergent path the world itself would be left very different. The fate or luck of the noble Joestar bloodline has led to destruction of evil likes of the Pillar Men and DIO. This story is of a similar caliber to that of the other Joestars (as I am sure you are familiar with them). This is a story of lost souls, compassion, hope, and above all fate.

Word Count: 1,839

(Crosspost from Wattpad, full fic is already posted there.)

"Please wake up."

You knew that voice...Jaya?

"Get up already you idiot!"

You knew that voice too. Learco. You slowly cracked your eyes open, allowing them time to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights. The world felt like a blur at first before slowly coming into focus.

"....Ow." You groaned, allowing your eyes to open all the way.

"Y/n!" Jaya frantically helped you into a sitting position.

"About time." Learco grumbled.

"How are you feeling?" Jaya asked. There was a dull pounding in your head, but it was bearable.

"Foggy." You shifted, trying to stand up, but an unexpected pain shot through your arm. "Shit! That's hurts!" You yelled but Jaya shushed you.

"Why don't you take it easy a moment?" Jaya looked you over before focusing on your arm.

"Sure but... what happened?" You winced again as the area around your wrist erupted in pain. "Ow."

"Sorry." Jaya apologized, moving your hand so you could see the burn on your wrist. It didn't look major, but it was large, sprawling all around your wrist and up your hand.

"You got...electrocuted? I think? And then fainted, and when you hit the ground, you hit your head pretty hard."

"It was pretty pathetic to watch really." Learco sighed. You noticed you were sitting on the floor in the hallway. Tim and the football player were nowhere to be seen, but there were teachers and admin surveying students. None of them had burns like yours but they looked just as out of it as you.

"Don't worry about being in trouble." Jaya whispered. "Everything happened so fast that nobody really knows what caused this."

"Attention students." The intercom crackled with the voice of the principal. "Due to the electrical problems we have in the building at the moment, we are sending all students home for the rest of the day. Please be careful as you exit the building."

........................................

"I'm fine mom." You stood at a pay phone, speaking to Senora Jones.

"Do you need to go to the doctor?" Your mother asked, worry evident in her voice. You looked down to Jaya who was fiddling with your hand, slowly healing it with her sunlight breathing mojo.... stuff.

"Uh... no I'll be fine." You reassured your mother. "Do you mind if I go meet up with somebody really quick?" Your mother stopped to think for a moment.

"Sure sweetheart, just be home before dinner." She had a hint of reluctance in her tone.

"Thanks, love you. Bye." After you hung up that call you took out your wallet, immediately bringing out the business card Jotaro gave you after your first meeting. Hesitantly, you dialed the number. Jaya gave you a questioning look, you motioned for her to wait a minute. The phone barely rang before it was answered.

"Hello." A monotone voice greeted. "This is the Speedwagon Foundation help desk. How may I help you?"

"Ummm hi." You faltered, all of your built up nerve dissipating. "I was wondering if you could help me reach Mr. Jotaro Kujo?" You heard a shuffling of papers before the operator spoke up again.

"Who is this?" They asked.

"Y/n Jones." You answered.

"Alright I'll redirect your call to Mr. Kujo."

"Okay." You were surprised it was that easy. "Thanks." The line clicked and yet another person answered the phone.

"Hello?" Jotaro's voice came on the line.

"Mr. Kujo! Thank god! I was worried that wouldn't work." Jotaro sighed deeply.

"I'm guessing something happened?" He asked.

"Yeah....Would it be possible for me and a friend to meet up with that stand user guy?" Jaya once again gave you a questioning look. You once again motioned for her to wait a minute.

"Sure." Jotaro answered.

"See you in ten?"

Jotaro told you the apartment number before hanging up. You pulled your hand away from Jaya so you could write down the information on some paper you had in your wallet. It seemed you underestimated how bad your burns were though because you immediately dropped everything.

"Careful!" Jaya gasped. "I told you to take it easy, didn't I?"

"Sorry doc." The contents of your wallet spilled out on the sidewalk. Jaya quickly helped you pick everything up. She stopped when she came across your student ID.

"Your middle name is Jovi?" She asked, looking over at you curiously. "Isn't that the name of a singer?"

"Yeah." You affirmed absentmindedly as you shoved everything back in your wallet. Jaya looked like she was contemplating something, and handed you the last of the things you dropped

"Here you go Jojo."

"Huh?" Immediately you stopped what you were doing to look at Jaya. "What did you just call me?"

"It's the nickname I came up with! By combining the jo from your middle and last names Jovi and Jones. Jojo!"

"W-why?"

"You've taken to calling me doc from time to time, so I came up with a nickname for you. It's fine that I call you Jojo right?" You thought about it, a bit flustered. You had half a mind to tell her you didn't like the name, but somewhere deep down you actually kind of liked it.

"Fine, but don't go telling people to call me that." You sighed, already starting down the street towards Jotaro's.

"Yay!" Jaya clapped.

........................................................

Before you knew it you were in Jaya's apartment building, standing on the top floor where all of the larger, nicer flats were.

"Remind me again why you wanted me to come?" Jaya asked as she followed you towards the specific room Jotaro told you over the phone.

"Apparently there's this guy who can shine a light on what's going on. That, and I need to tell Jotaro about what happened at school today." You said as the two of you stood in front of the door. "I just wanted you as my backup in case anything goes wrong. I kind of trust Jotaro but you can never be too careful."

"Don't worry! I've got you covered." Jaya gave a thumbs up. "You can count on me." You knocked twice on the door and took a deep breath. For whatever reason you were extremely nervous about all of this.

When Jotaro opened the door Jaya took a step back. She was not expecting your acquaintance to be so intimidating. Both Jotaro and Jaya stared at each other for a solid minute, almost like they were sizing each other up. It was pretty comical to see the short bubbly blonde straighten her back, trying to look at least a bit taller next to the giant that you knew as Jotaro. It was even more hilarious to watch Jotaro tower over and stare down at your friend. It was almost like they could sense they were complete opposites. Their heated staring contest probably would have gone on forever if you hadn't cleared your throat.

"Hi." Jaya mumbled.

"Come on in." Jotaro sighed, moving aside for you to enter. You stood frozen until Jaya nudged you to go ahead. Hesitantly, you followed Jotaro into the flat, Jaya not too far behind. From the entryway you could see a sitting area and kitchen, moving boxes were scattered around, but the place was relatively put together. On one of the couches in the sitting area you could see an old man. Paralyzed by the situation you and Jaya remained in the doorway.

Jaya suddenly jumped into your arms, causing you to stumble, it was a miracle you managed to stay standing.

"Keep that thing away from me!" She yelled looking fearfully at the ground. Curious, you also looked down, only to find a large turtle nibbling on your shoe.

"Do you... have a problem with animals?" You asked, judgmentally glaring at your friend.

"No, I love animals! Dogs, frogs, heck I can even appreciate spiders and crickets, but.... turtles..." Jaya said the word with absolute disdain. "They give me the creeps." She shivered. After some resistance you managed to put Jaya down. She kept a fair distance from the creature while you bent down to run a hand over its shell.

"Don't mind Donashello. He belongs to my grandma" Jotaro said, moving towards the old man. You laughed when Jotaro said the ridiculous name with a dead serious expression. Jotaro continued into the living room. "Jiji, they're here."

"Hmm?" The old man looked up cupping his ear. "What was that, Jotaro?"

"I said the guests are here." Jotaro said just a little louder. He was surprisingly patent as he took a seat next to the old man.

"What? The fiestas here? No thanks sonny. I'm getting pretty tired."

"No Jiji." Jotaro facepalmed. The old man looked away from Jotaro to see you awkwardly frozen at the entryway. He smiled warmly at you.

"Who's that at the door Jotaro?"

" Y/n. The stand user we talked about."

"Don't just stand there kiddo!" The man motioned for you to come closer. "Take a seat, this shouldn't take very long." You glanced at Jaya.

"I'll go wait outside." She whispered. "If anything happens, just yell and I'll come running." You nodded before slowly walking over, taking a seat on the couch opposite to the two men. Could this guy really be a powerful stand user? With all due respect, he looked like he had one foot in the grave.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." The man extended a hand for you to shake. "My name is Joseph Joestar, I'm Jotaro's grandfather." You were nervous, but Joseph's kind demeanor put you slightly more at ease.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Joestar. Jotaro said you may be able to help me?" You asked, incredibly curious as to what this old guy's stand could be.

"Yes of course. Some troublesome stand users have recently made themselves known, and you need some guidance on what your own power is. Right?"

"Yes, Jotaro said your stand could help." Mr. Joestar suddenly started laughing.

"Is that what he told you? Forgive my grandson he's not the most patient, especially when it comes to explaining things properly." The man held a hand in front of himself and a tangle of ghostly vines manifested. "This is my stand: Hermit Purple! It grants me divination abilities which can be projected onto objects. I usually use cameras or other technology as a medium, but practically anything will do."

"Enough beating around the bush old man." Jotaro sighed. "Can you help them or not?"

"No need to get snippy Jotaro, I'm just filling them in on the things you refuse to stop and elaborate on."

"Can you help me?" You hesitantly asked.

"I can certainly try. You'll have to forgive this old man though. My powers aren't as sharp or reliable as they used to be." Joseph reached into a box near his feet and pulled out a polaroid camera and sat it on the coffee table in front of you. "I'm not entirely sure which of your dilemmas Hermit Purple will show you, I haven't used my stand in a very long time. All I can really do is point you in the right direction." The man closed his eyes and let the brambles of his stand wrap around the camera. There was a light click before a photo slowly ejected onto the table. You waited in anticipation for the picture to show up. What would it be? The key to your power? Or a clue to your enemy.

[aci32]

DYING FETUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey everyone, here is my 7th review of 2022, Dying Fetus! It had been a decade since I last saw them which was on Saturday March 24th, 2012 on the Metal Alliance tour with 3 Inches of Blood and Devildriver. Funnily enough on May 31st of yesterday it had been exactly 12 years since I saw them for the first time which was at the MOD Club with Misery Index and Arsis and then the next night was Obituary with Entombed, which made for an awesome double shot of death metal. This was also a show with a lot of unforgettable moments.

Let’s begin the festivities!

First band up was UNDEATH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I had heard of this band by name before but never got around to listening to their music but from what I saw on metal archives is they were a death metal band from Rochester, New York and they had a great show. Frontman Alexander Jones had beckoned the crowd to take a few steps to the front which they did and when he commanded the crowd to ignite a circle pit, they complied with his order. Funny moment that happened was a guy saying “Wall of Death, Wall of Death!” and he was doing a couple of jumping jacks in the crowd which made me laugh and Alexander Jones had said “I didn’t ask for a wall of death” and then went on to make more funny banter about it, so a wall of death was formed and the guy doing the jumping jacks was taking command of directing both sides to charge when he gave the signal. Definitely a fun band to see.

Next band up was FROZEN SOUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Another band I hadn’t heard of before but looked them up and they played Death Metal except they were from the Lone Star State of Texas and from the city of Dallas. I also liked before their song Hand of Vengeance that during the recording I heard the familiar voice of Mr. Freeze from Batman The Animated Series, which I thought was really cool. Frontman Chad Green had a banter going that was half amusing and half serious and the funny part he said was “Goddamn you make a fat man proud” Then he shifted towards a serious tone by saying “These last two and a half years have been anguish. Tragedy on every corner. Mental health is no joke. I’m sick of losing friends. We need to take better care of each other, here this is like a family. If you need someone to talk to, message us, and we will reply. Come by the merch table if you want to talk”. I definitely got the notion that by trade Chad Green is a psychiatrist or therapist or one who is a mental health advocate and wants to try and be there for as many people as possible. It was also cool how he dedicated the next song to Trevor Strnad who had recently taken his own life and to late Power Trip frontman Riley Gale who had died from a drug overdose 2 years ago as well. Another funny moment that happened was when Chad Green ordered the moshers to get down and do push ups like a Drill Sergeant at boot camp.

Last two bands were Bodysnatcher and Chelsea Grin, the latter I brand as Hell Pee Rubbish Bin, and I’ll say both were absolutely boring and awful, typical generic deathcore that puts me to sleep as if I’m breathing in sleeping gas fumes. Would’ve much rather heard a recording of Taco Hell induced diarrhoea to make me laugh hysterically.

Last band up was DYING FETUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was my 3rd time seeing them and as well the first time catching them live in a decade and man did it feel great seeing them live once again as they’re solid live. It would’ve been my 4th time catching them had I seen them at Wacken Open Air 2018 but I missed them as Judas Priest were playing at the same time. After they finished playing Schematics, John Gallagher got on the mic and said “We’d like to dedicate this set to a guy named Bob Shaw. His wife had requested that I spread his ashes inside the opera house” so John pulled out a small jar filled with the ashes of the late Bob Shaw since he was a fervent supporter of death metal and the death metal scene in Toronto and then spread them inside the opera house, which was definitely a touching moment. I will add that John looks so much different compared to the last time I saw him when he was bald and clean shaven as he grew his hair out and grew a beard, so with that look and wearing his hat backwards, he’s got the Rob Barrett look going on. Plus at one point John Gallagher had said “This next song is about a guy going to TIm Horton’s to pick up some timbits. He then buys them and everything for the bitch. He then takes her back to his motel where he gouges out her eyeballs and proceeds to have sex with her cranium. You know what song I’m talking about? This song is called Skull Fucked!” I cracked up at that banter. I’ll also add there was a roadie wearing pink jean shorts who would be dancing around to the techno music being played and as well two girls wearing green and purple teletubby hats, which I thought was also funny as clearly people were out to let loose and not take themselves seriously. Here’s Dying Fetus’ set:

The Boys Are Back in Town(Thin Lizzy song)Play Video

SchematicsPlay Video

Subjected to a BeatingPlay Video

In the TrenchesPlay Video

One Shot, One KillPlay Video

From Womb to WastePlay Video

Atrocious by NaturePlay Video

Skull FuckedPlay Video

Epidemic of HatePlay Video

Grotesque ImpalementPlay Video

Homicidal RetributionPlay Video

Your Treachery Will Die With YouPlay Video

Wrong One to Fuck WithPlay Video

Kill Your Mother, Rape Your DogPlay Video

Celebration(Kool & the Gang song)

Overall a great show and a great way to spend a Tuesday night.

HEAVY METAL FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fruitcoops]

Drop the Gloves

Not Fic O'Ween, but I was really in the mood for some baby Remus and Hope being an excellent mom tonight. Hope you enjoy! SW characters go to @lumosinlove <3

TW for schoolyard bullying, fighting, minor injury

Hope loved her son. He was kind, and funny, and sweet, and brilliantly clever, and still had those squishable little cheeks even at almost ten years old—it was impossible not to love him.

But sometimes…sometimes she questioned his decision-making skills.

“Mr. Lupin,” the principal began, leaning over the desk with his hands folded. “Would you like to explain yourself?”

“He deserved it.”

Hope closed her eyes. Not he started it. Not he was being rude.

He deserved it.

“Remus,” she said quietly. “I think Mr. Delano was asking what happened.”

“Your son hit mine, that’s what happened!” the pinch-faced woman in the opposite chair snapped, pulling the little boy next to her even closer. “Unprovoked!”

“It wasn’t unprovoked!” Remus protested.

“Mr. Lupin—”

“It wasn’t!” Beneath the smudge of a bruise covering his left eye, Remus’ gaze was fiery when he looked to Hope. “Mom, Aiden was being unkind. I asked him to stop and he kept going and then I hit him.”

The principal raised his eyebrows. “So you admit that you hit him?”

“He did,” Aiden whined with a nod of his head. He was significantly bigger than Remus (though that wasn’t saying much), and yet he still shifted away when Remus whipped around to face him.

“And I’d do it again!”

“Remus!” Hope scolded, turning him back to face her with a finger under his chin. “Remus John Lupin, that is unacceptable behavior.”

“But mom—”

She held her index finger up and he fell silent with a petulant pout. “We do not solve problems by hitting people, Remus. I don’t know what possessed you to think that was a good idea, but we’re going to have a further conversation at dinner tonight with Dad, alright?”

“A further conversation?” Aiden’s mother seethed. “Just look at my son’s face!”

“Look at mine!” Hope countered. She had to admit, Remus’ scowl made his black eye look quite a bit more intimidating than the swelling near Aiden’s nose. For a scrawny kid, he could pack a punch.

“Alright, I think we’re done here,” Principal Delano sighed. “Thank you both for coming in today. Remus will serve two weeks of detention for injuring another student. I expect better behavior from both of you in the future.”

Hope stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I think he was quite clear,” Aiden’s mother said frostily.

“You’re not even going to let Remus explain? Or punish Aiden as well for hitting him back?”

Principal Delano shrugged. “Aiden was defending himself.”

“He wasn’t!” Remus interrupted before Hope could speak, clutching the arms of the chair. “Aiden was calling Lucy really horrible names and then he hit me after I told him to stop!”

Aiden’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not true—”

“Don’t be a liar—”

“I’m not a liar!” Aiden wailed.

“You were saying bad words to her!” Remus hollered back, just as loud.

“That’s enough!” The boom of the principal’s voice sent all of them into silence. “Remus, two weeks of detention. Aiden, five days of no recess.”

“Five days?” Hope and Aiden’s mother exclaimed at the same time with wildly different tones of voice.

Principal Delano took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mrs. Jones, it is undeniable that Aiden did, in fact, injure another student. Mrs. Lupin, seeing as your son was the instigator—”

“Have you asked Lucy what happened?” Hope asked. “Considering she’s the one who was apparently being bullied by Aiden in the first place.”

He shook his head. “Let’s not make this any more complex than it has to be.”

“My son isn’t a liar,” she continued, keeping her voice as steady as she could make it. In her periphery, she saw Remus look up in surprise. “Anyone who knows him knows that he is kind to everyone. It’s entirely unbelievable to me that Remus would hit another student unprovoked and then lie about the cause when he already knew he would be punished. He was wrong to resort to physical action but I am appalled by your lack of fairness and attention to the truth, Principal Delano.”

The room was quiet for a moment before he exhaled through his nose. “One and a half weeks of detention for both of the boys for fighting on the playground. That much is undeniable. Thank you for your time.”

Hope kept a hand between Remus’ shoulder blades as he grabbed his backpack and guided him toward the hallway with a bitter tang in her mouth. “Keep your son in line,” Aiden’s mother hissed as the principal’s door closed behind them.

“I could say the same to you,” Hope answered coolly. “At least mine isn’t a bully.”

The cold autumn air outside was a balm on the embers of her fury; unfortunately, the tough part wasn’t over. She waited in the driver’s seat without turning the car on as Remus fiddled with the cuffs of his coat, sneaking glances at her every few seconds. “You’re mad at me,” he finally said, hiding under his floppy bangs.

“I’m not mad. We don’t hit people outside of hockey, Remus.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“He kept calling her names, even after we told him to stop.” He sniffled, rubbing his forearm under his red nose. “An’—an’ so I yelled at him, but he pushed me, so I punched him in the nose.”

She reached over to smooth the front of his hair out of the way and trail a thumb over his bruised cheekbone. It was hot to the touch and swelling fast. “And then he hit you?”

Remus nodded. “And then I hit him again. It was kind of a lot, to be honest. I think I skinned my knee on the concrete.”

Hope sighed and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and down the familiar route back to their house. “I’m not going to appeal that detention, because fighting is not allowed, but I’m sorry Principal Delano didn’t listen to you. And I’m sorry you felt like you had to hit Aiden in the first place.”

“He was being so mean. I don’t understand why people say those kinds of things.” He chanced a look at her again before clenching his hands around his sleeves again. “I don’t regret it, mom. Lucy’s my friend.”

“I know, baby.” She kept her eyes on the road and reached over to ruffle his hair. “You’ve got all this justice and nowhere to put it, huh?”

“It got me in trouble.”

“Sometimes justice gets us in trouble,” she agreed. “And that’s really tough to deal with. Next time, try and find a way to beat him without throwing a punch, okay? More people listen if you talk to them.”

“Aiden doesn’t listen.”

“Well, then you talk a little louder. God knows you’ve got a set of lungs in there somewhere.”

He looked at her in suspicion. “Are you telling me to yell?”

“I said no such thing,” she answered with a wink, pulling into the driveway. “Come on, let’s get you some ice for that battle scar.”

Remus slung his backpack over his shoulder once the car was off and began trudging through the thick banks of fallen leaves coating the sidewalk, but Hope reached out and caught his shoulder just before the base of the stairs; he melted into her hug with a hitching breath. “I was so mad,” he said thickly.

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rubbed some warmth into his back. “I know, love, I’m sorry.”

“She’s my friend and then nobody would listen and my eye hurts really bad,” he hiccupped, balling his fists in the thick wool of her coat. “I’m still angry.”

“It’s okay to still be angry, Remus.” He sniffled again and she knelt, digging a crumpled tissue out of her pocket to dry his tears and the snot from his nose. Alright, Lupin, time for a Mom Moment. “Things like that happen sometimes. I am so beyond proud of you for standing up for Lucy when she needed help. Hitting him wasn’t the best choice, but everything leading up to that was very mature. The most important thing is knowing that you won’t be angry about this forever.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, bending for one more hug before following her up to the house. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Well, it’s not every day I get to show up because my kid got in a rumble at school,” she teased. “Let’s get some soup in you and some ice on you, slugger.”

Remus offered a mischievous grin as he kicked his shoes off. Little menace, she thought with no small amount of pride. “It was a pretty good punch, huh?”

“Good enough to get you two weeks of detention that you get to explain to your father when he gets home.”

[dothwrites]

13 and 20

13. and 20.--Detective AU and Teacher AU

---

Castiel represses a sigh as he stands up straight. His spine pops as he subtly stretches out the kinks in his aching body.

He'd thought that he was a reasonably fit man, but bending over and scrubbing at filthy floors and tables every day is playing hell with his lower back.

The bell rings, and Castiel curses under his breath as he moves back against the wall. Less than thirty seconds later, all of the doors near him burst open and a flood of teenagers courses into the hallway.

Castiel's had a lot of unpleasant assignments in his life, but going undercover at Carver Edlund High School is among the worst. He thought that he'd seen some of the worst that humanity had to offer: murderers who cared nothing for the pain of their victims, kidnappers who plunged families into turmoil for years, robbers who were willing to kill just in order to get a few quick bucks. But upon seeing the horror show of the cafeteria after a group of freshmen finished lunch, Castiel has to start reevaluating his list of atrocities.

The tardy bell rings, and Castiel sighs as he steps out in the hall. He rolls his eyes at the debris that the students have left behind and grabs his push broom to start clearing it away.

Going undercover at Carver Edlund wasn't Castiel's first choice of assignments, but with several students ending up in the hospital due to drug overdoses, something drastic had to be done. Castiel's job is simple: gather as much intelligence as he can about where the drugs are coming from. If possible, he's to find the dealer and shut the whole production down.

In theory, it's a good assignment. Success here would mean a potential commendation, maybe a promotion if the operation is big enough. But the reality of the situation is much different. Castiel's been masquerading as a member of the maintenance team for a little over a week, and he's no closer to finding the source of the drugs than he was when he started.

His captain had ultimately decided to send him in as a member of the janitorial staff for access reasons: as a janitor, he has keys to every door. Not even lockers are safe from him. There's no place in the school off-limits to him. Unfortunately, it also means that his opportunities for questioning potential suspects are limited: no high school student wants to have long conversations with the janitor. He's reduced to sweeping around gaggles of kids, hoping that they'll just so happen to let something slip.

His plan hasn't worked. So far, he's learned about the latest TikTok challenge, who's rumored to have slept with who, and who on the football team is getting suspended, but drugs? Either these kids are savvier than he gives them credit for, or they don't know anything.

"Oh, sorry, 'scue me... Oh. Hi, Steve."

It takes Castiel just a second too long to respond to the name. Part of that is because he's still not used to answering to his cover name, and part of that is because he's still not sure how to act around Dean Smith.

He braces himself before he turns around, but that still doesn't prepare him for the sight of Dean Smith leaning against the wall. Looking at him is like looking into the sun, if the sun was in a dingy hallway with flickering florescent lights and questionable stains on the floor. Even with those inauspicious surroundings, however, Dean Smith, with his sandy hair, vibrant eyes, freckles, and bright, crooked grin, stands out.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel allows the hint of a smile to cross his face. He'd called Dean 'Mr. Smith' exactly once before Dean had put a stop to it.

"Oh, no," he said, grimacing in distaste, "I get enough of that from the kids. Just Dean, man." Castiel hadn't argued, and the slightly stuffy Mr. Smith became Dean.

"Another beautiful day cleaning up the debris of the world?" Dean gestures towards the small pile of dirt and dust that Castiel has managed to collect.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," Castiel answers.

No doubt his superiors would be screaming if they could see him right now. Zachariah, his Captain, would sneer, You're there to catch drug dealers, Novak, not to play nice with pretty boy teachers, but Zachariah isn't here right now. Plus, it's not like Castiel's making any headway on the drug dealers, so he might as well indulge his crush with a guy who's miles out of his league.

Dean is the kind of good-looking that gets noticed by modeling companies in the line at the cafe. Castiel has found himself wondering, more than once, what a guy like him is doing substitute teaching. It's obvious that Dean is smart, and he doesn't doubt that he could have a job doing whatever he wanted. Still, Dean's being a substitute teacher works out well for him, so he doesn't complain. Not if it means that he can be just a little closer to him.

Maybe if Castiel wasn't undercover and wearing an unflattering jumpsuit with the name 'Steve' stitched across the front pocket. Maybe if he were dressed in his customary suit and had a badge and gun to flash around. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Don't talk to me about dirty jobs," Dean says, his voice entirely too low and insinuating for the circumstances. Heat blooms underneath Castiel's collar.

"Well, I'm not sure what else to talk to you about," he confesses. He resents the broom handle in his hands.

Dean shrugs. His smile is still carefree, but there's something else in his eyes when he says, "What about any books that you've read lately? TV shows that you've watched?" His eyes flash to Castiel's, and his tongue flirts with his lower lip as he asks, "Restaurants that you'd like to go to?"

Castiel's heart stutters. For a second, it sounded like... But that can't be right. Dean can't be inviting him out. Guys like Castiel don't go out with guys like Dean. That's just the way the world works. Maybe if he was Detective Castiel Novak, but now when he's Janitor Steve.

He takes a second too long to answer. By the time that he's managed to figure out that Dean is serious, Dean's expression has shuttered. He flashes a painfully fake smile at Castiel. "Hey, man, don't worry about it. I'll catch you later, okay?"

He's turning to go, and fear grabs at Castiel. He knows that if he lets Dean walk away, then everything will change between them. No more jokes, no more stolen conversations in the hallways. They'll become nothing more than vague, uneasy colleagues, at least until Castiel's assignment ends and he disappears forever from Dean's life.

The indignity of his assignment and the frustration of his ineptitude rises in Castiel, and bursts out of him in a quick call. "Dean!"

Dean turns around. Hope flickers in his eyes before he hides it. "Yeah?" he asks. The carefully blank tone in his voice is like a knife twisting in Castiel's chest.

"I like Italian food," Castiel answers. He offers a hesitant smile towards Dean, hoping against hope that Dean will accept his overture.

After a second, Dean's smile spreads slowly across his face, as bright as the sunrise. "Yeah," he says, nodding slowly, "yeah, I think we could do that."

---

Dean's heart dances in his chest as he walks away from Steve.

He did it. After weeks of ogling and tentatively flirting, he finally asked out the hot janitor.

Steve is a lot more than a pair of pretty blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow that makes Dean's lip yearn for stubble burn, though. (Though Steve does fill out a jumpsuit better than anyone Dean's ever seen. One day, he was lifting a desk onto the dolly so that it could be moved, and Dean thought his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. Between the thick thighs attempting to pop the seams on his pants, and the biceps rippling, Dean hadn't known where to look.) Steve has a wicked sense of humor, an innate sense of kindness, and he's caught every single one of Dean's literary references (the pop culture ones, not so much. Seriously, who's never seen Indiana Jones?). There's more to Steve than meets the eye, and Dean's itching to peel back the dozens of layers.

He ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head (which sounds like an alarming mix of Sam and Bobby) saying Don't get too involved. This is a temporary thing. Dean frowns and tries to tell the voice to shut the fuck up.

He's only here for as long as it takes him to figure out who's bringing drugs into the school. At the first viable lead, he'll be yanked out, and Dean Smith, substitute teacher, will die, to be replaced by Agent Dean Winchester of the DEA.

Because of the environment, there are multiple law enforcement agencies working on this case. There's state police, the DEA, and maybe even a few FBI agents sniffing around. It's naive to believe that there aren't other agents working in the school, but he hasn't come across any yet that he knows of. He's not entirely sure; he lets Bobby deal with all of the inter-agency bullshit. He has his mission and his cover, and Bobby, as his handler, can navigate every other pitfall.

Beyond small talk and leading conversations, Dean hasn't tried to get close with anyone. Every smiling face could conceal an undercover agent or a dealer. With suspicion everywhere, it's best not to succumb to temptation.

Which makes his attraction to Steve all the more intriguing.

Just thinking of the other man sets off a series of fireworks in the pit of Dean's belly.

This is probably a terrible idea, doomed to failure, but Dean is going to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Whistling, he goes back to the classroom and prepares for his next class.

[stylesharrys]

seven hours [dadrry]

summary: y/n and harry finally have some time to themselves.

word count: 7,172

warnings: kissing, teasing, swearing, smut; dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex

a/n: this is heavily based on that gif of harry on stage and waving with a massive grin to the camera, and there was no way in hell that i wouldn’t write what i fantasised in the tags of my reblog lmao. it’s smut (again), so enjoy!

//  

Neya bounces on her toes, fingers clinging to the edge of the kitchen counter as she looks over it, eyes as wide as saucers when she notices her mother packing away two Fredo chocolates in her lunch box. Her eyes meet Y/N’s as she presses a finger to her lips, winking at the young child, and Neya’s smile grows twice as wide.  

“Neya, baby. Are you ready?” The sound of Harry’s voice from the other room has them both quickly closing her lunchbox and giggling softly between them both. Neya thinks Y/N sneakily put chocolate in her lunchbox without Harry knowing, but Harry always knows.  

It’s not like he doesn’t allow the seven-year-old sweet goods, because he does, but only in moderation and Y/N often gets a little frustrated about his strict parenting when it comes to Neya’s diet. A bar of chocolate here and there isn’t going to harm the young girl, but Harry begs to differ.  

“Ready, Daddy!”  

It’s Neya’s first school trip and while Y/N and Harry have both been sharing the overwhelming amount of anxiety on the situation -- of letting their baby go off with her school for an entire day where they’re a two-hour drive away from her.

Though just last week, Harry had come to the realisation of a fascinating revelation for the both of them that’s had them both eager and lighter about the idea of her going off on a school trip.  

“Sure? Got your lunchbox? Your juice? D’ya have Mr Snuffles?” The girl nods her head vigorously at each of his checks. The stuffed pig’s tucked under her arm and Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how adorable her baby looks in her school uniform -- a white polo top with a purple jumper and a pair of grey school trousers.

God, she’s cute.  

Neya’s been overly excited for the school trip since she took in her consent form three weeks ago. She’s an adventurous little soul, loves the unknown, and it’s something that’s always boggled Harry and Y/N’s brains.

She loves to be fierce and try new things on her own and yet, they can’t remember the last time she slept a full night without coming to them and sharing their bed until morning.  

She’s not clingy, though. No. Neya quite enjoys her space and only really offers much affection when she needs it. She just so happens to need said affection every night when Harry is about to go down on his wife, or she’s about to ride him. Neya has her timing, and Harry thinks she gets it from her grandmother.

Even as teenagers, Anne was the one who was accidentally interrupting them both.  

“Right, come and give me a big cuddle.” Y/N crouches down to her girls level, arms open wide as Neya toddles into them to squeeze her mother.

“Have fun, be good, and listen to Miss Jones, okay? No wandering off. And if you want to come home, we can come and pick you up, okay?” Y/N reminds her, going through everything she and Harry had agreed when they signed her permission form.

They don’t have any doubts about the teachers in Neya’s school, but rather the doubts about the world around them and how oblivious Neya can sometimes be. She’s just like her father -- chooses to see the good in people and often forgets about the dangers around her when she has something else on her mind.  

Neya nods her head and pulls away to give Y/N a fat smack of a kiss to her cheek.

“Bye, Mummy. Love you.”

There’s not a hint of nervousness in Neya’s tone, and Y/N doesn’t want to let herself get in the state of worrying any more than she already has on the build-up to it.  

She grins a smile and toddles off to the front door, plonking herself on the floor to shove her feet in a pair of school shoes and as Y/N raises back to her feet, Harry makes his way over; a somewhat of a cocky smirk on the corners of his lips and Y/N can feel herself grow a little giddy.  

He hasn’t looked at her like that in a long time, and she thinks her body is igniting in a familiar flame—a flame of her youth, from before Neya.  

She shies into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and gazing up at him through long lashes. Harry thinks he’s fucked already, got a semi from the thought of having an uninterrupted seven hours with his wife.  

His smirk grows at the idea of all the things they could get up to in seven hours, and he uses both of his large hands to cup her cheeks, brushes some hair from her face and he leans down to meet her lips in a gentle, teasing kiss -- one where their lips barely touch, and she’s keening for more.  

Her eyes flutter open when he pulls away, but she can still feel the warmth of his breath on her face. It’s no secret that Harry’s only gotten more attractive with age, with his scruff of a beard and age lines that adore his skin.

Y/N thinks he’s never looked better every time she looks at him and if she’s honest, she’s fucking desperate for a good fucking.  

“Want you naked in that bedroom when I come home.”

The tone of his voice sends shivers down her spine, and Y/N can feel her thighs involuntarily clench shut. She rolls her lips between her teeth, eyeing up his pink mouth when her mind starts to wander to the memory of it kissing on her cunt.  

She blinks, words in a hushed whisper. “Better be quick then. Can’t promise I won’t start without you.”

Harry’s lips twitch, that glimmer of controlled dominance in his eyes and Y/N thinks tonight will be the greatest night since their week-long honeymoon seven years ago.

Though this time, she isn’t sure she wants to fall pregnant straight away again.  

He leans closer, enveloping her lips with his in a sloppy kiss and he pulls away, giving her cheek a gentle tap and offers her a cheeky wink. She’s left gnawing on her bottom lip, watching him scoop Neya up in those strong, tattooed arms and fuck, if she doesn’t want them wrapped around her naked body to keep her in place while he fucks up into her.

Harry leaves her in the house as a flustered mess, but he’s not much better. He just about manages to strap Neya into her car seat and driving to her school is proven a little more complicated than usual when all he can think about is his wife sitting on his face while he’s sporting a semi.  

It’s been tough for both of them, since the birth of Neya.

There’s only so much the parents can do in the thirty minutes they’re usually able to steal. And sure, they’ve sent nights together when Neya has stayed at a relative’s, but one of them has always been kept by work, or they fuck once, and then they’re too tired to be genuinely attentive to one another’s needs after.

Harry can remember all the times they’d sneak off to the laundry room for a quick fuck while Neya took a nap -- or maybe the few times he’d give her a quick fingerbang on the sofa after Neya settled to bed. And there’s been a time or two when Y/N’s offered a risky blowie in the car to pick her up from school.  

But neither of them can genuinely remember the last time they spent an entire night just living each other -- tending to the other’s needs and getting lost in the overwhelming waves of pure pleasure.  

During the ten minute drive to the school, Harry can’t do much but hum along to whatever nonsense Neya rambles out. Harry tries to listen, he does, and he feels awful for being so eager to get rid of her for the day, but he has needs, and they haven’t much been satisfied the way they used to be years ago.

Neither Harry nor Y/N anticipated how much drought their sex life would go through -- didn’t realise how many quickies they’d have to get used to and make do. Harry just wants to spend more than three minutes between his wife’s thighs before they’re being interrupted by a little Styles or a ringing phone.  

And it’s not they don’t love being parents with every ounce of their beings -- because they do. They’d never give that up for any amount of money in the world. Saying that it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t mind a little alone time from their angel once in a while.  

Pulling up to the school, he’s quick to jump out, ignoring the stares of the single mum’s that have ogled him since he first did the school run years ago. He tries not to let his blood boil.

He’s got nothing against them, perse, though he can’t look at them without remembering the way Y/N would come home upset after dropping Neya off because the mums didn’t believe her when she said she was married to the Harry Styles.  

He still remembers the look on their faces when he picked Neya up that afternoon with Y/N; hands held and smiles on their lips. Recalls the complete shock horror when he reached down to envelop Y/N’s lips with his and the excitement on Neya’s face when she ran out and screamed for her father.  

He finds it quite amusing if he’s honest. On more than one occasion he’s picked Neya up from school, and the other mums have tried having a go at chatting him up, only for their flirty grins to drop when he tells Neya he’s taking her and Y/N on a special date for his two favourite girls.  

Harry hasn’t got it in him to entertain the lonely ones today. He’s eager to drop his kid off and speed home to spend at least the next hour with his face buried in his wife’s cunt.  

He opens Neya’s door, encourages her to unbuckle her belt and with his hand beneath her underarms, he hoists her out of the Range Rover and settles her to the ground -- quickly reaching in to retrieve her book bag and lunchbox.  

Neya waits patiently, hand in the air as she waits for her Dad to take it, and he closes the door, letting his baby guide him through the playground and toward her classroom.  

He wanders past the group of unfaithful wives, hands tighter on Neya’s as they approach her classroom door that’s screened in paper daisies the kids had coloured and cut. His fingers are twitching in excitement, eager to get his hands on his lover again.  

“Are you here for the trip?” The gentle voice of Miss Jones draws Harry’s attention, and he smiles at the older woman -- the one that’s been such a rock through Neya’s progress in school.  

Harry lets out a hearty laugh through a clipped sigh, nodding as he offers a kind smile to the woman. “We are indeed, aren’t we, Neya?”  

The seven-year-old grins as she bounces on the balls of her feet and down to her heels.

Her wild hair had just about been tamed by Y/N this morning, but Harry knows by the time she gets home this evening, it’ll be a certified mess.  

Miss Jones smiles down at Neya, offering a high-five, which the child happily reciprocates, and she leads them through the classroom and to the other side of the school where the Arriva bus is waiting.  

Parents hover around the vehicle, huddled and chatting as their children wave excitedly through the windows from their seats. Neya’s jumping in her little shoes as she spots her best friend, Ellie, sitting in the middle section with a packet of sweets in her hand.  

Harry pretends he doesn’t see the way his daughter tries to tell her best friend to put the sweets away from in front of her Dad, and he pretends not to hear her whisper it in a strained voice either.

He busies himself with digging through her book bag for her permission slip and palms it off to Miss Jones, readjusting the bag on Neya’s shoulder and he crouches down to his knees, kissing her forehead and straightening out her uniform.

“Right. Be good, listen to the teachers. And if you want to come home, you just gotta tell them, and me and Mummy will come and pick you up, alright?” He goes through it again, wants her to know he’s only a phone call away.  

Neya offers a bone-crushing hug, eager to get their pleasantries over with so she can join her friends on the bus. He doesn’t hold her up too long.

Despite feeling desperate himself in getting home to his hopefully naked wife, he’s still got that anxiety about watching his child go off on her first school trip.  

He’s starting to understand now why Y/N didn’t want to watch her go — she knew she’d feel too damn anxious to let her go.  

He lets her toddle off toward the bus; cranes his neck as he watches her bounce on her seat with Ellie. His arms cross over his chest, his weight leaning back on a brick wall of one of the classrooms and he tries to ignore the apparent whispers as to why Y/N isn’t dropping Neya off with him.  

He’s itching for the damn bus to leave, as awful as it may seem. But Harry’s been missing his wife for far too long and when the opportunity arises to spend an entire day between her thighs, Harry’s bound to jump at the chance and do whenever he takes to make sure he doesn’t lose a second of that time.  

He tries to ignore the lingering looks from across the playground. His foot is tapping impatiently on the slightly gravelled concrete, and his teeth are gnawing on his inner cheek.

Greed is getting the better of him.

All he wants is a taste of his wife -- to escape the responsibilities of parenthood for a few hours.  

In what Harry would consider being a lifetime (which is realistically ten minutes), the bus is filled to the brim with buzzing children and stressing teachers and Neya is waving out of the window to her father.

Harry’s got a wicked smirk on his lips as he waves back at his little angel, blowing her a tender kiss that she pretends to catch and shove in her pocket.

Few mothers watch in awe, others listen in complete and utter arousal, and all they can think about is letting him have his way with them. Harry’s only ever got one woman on his mind -- his wife.  

He doesn’t attempt to wait around to say goodbye to the other parents, or to entertain the ideas that he and Y/N are midway through a messy divorce, no. He makes quick work of avoiding another person before hauling himself in his car and starting up the engine.  

There’s no lie that he’s got more than a bit of anxiety about his baby going on a trip without him or another member of the family with her because if he’s honest, he wasn’t entirely in love with the idea before, and he still isn’t now.

But, like before, he didn’t have the overwhelming hunger and need to be between Y/N’s thighs like he does now -- and that need and want is tending to override the previous anxiety he felt.  

It doesn’t take long for him to make it back home, maybe skipping a red light or two when he thought he could get away with it but Harry didn’t care at the moment if he didn’t. He’d happily pay a speeding ticket or two if it meant he had longer loving on his lover’s body.  

Harry is a greedy man, and what he wants, he gets. He’s rock hard by the time he gets home, fists clenching at his sides as he makes his way inside. It’s quiet -- too quiet, and Harry thinks it feels like she’s hiding like he’s stalking his prey. It’s like a game of cat and mouse and Harry wonders if he’s the predator or if she’s about to pounce.  

He toes off his shoes by the door and his sock-clad feet pad through the house. He makes straight for the stairs, eagerly nibbling on his lower lip and he feels like a naughty schoolboy -- as though he’s about to discover something so incredible that Harry knows he’ll get scolded for, but it’ll be worth it.  

It’s pure adrenaline and excitement, a little giddy from nerves as he reaches the top of the stairs and stops outside their bedroom. The door is cracked open, can barely see inside, but what he does notice is a flicker of a flame and the silhouette he knows too well, cross it.  

A rush of need flows to his cock, and he can feel himself twitch in his pants. Harry lets his hand wander -- lets it cup himself over his trousers as he slowly pushes the door open. The curtains are closed, and the room is dark but lit with the warmth of almost fifty candles.  

She’s lit them on every surface imaginable and dressed in a pair of cotton knickers and his old Hot ‘N Hard shirt; she sits on her knees at the foot of the bed. Her lashes are fluttering up at him, lips swollen and Harry thinks if she keeps looking at him like that, he’s going to cum his pants.  

“Got cold waiting for you.” She answers his unasked question -- the one where he wants to know why she’s clothed when he specifically asked for her to be naked.

Harry doesn’t complain. Could never complain. Especially not when she’s dressed in his clothes and looking at him like that with those eyes.  

“Fuckin’ hell.” His throat is dry at the sight of her.

He doesn’t honestly remember the last time they lit a bunch of candles and fucked in a bed and the thought of spending at least the next couple of hours doing so is utterly overwhelming to them both.

They’re giddy -- nervous. It feels like it’s Harry and Y/N’s first time, and every idea of Harry dominating the shit out of her and pinning her to the bed while he fucks her cunt until she’s begging for a break, are long forgotten.

Now, all Harry wants to do is love and adore her. He thinks he could easily spend the next forty minutes kissing up her legs and caressing her hips and thighs while he does so.  

But Y/N is giddy and eager, and as much as she wants to let Harry worship every damn inch of her body, she’s far too touch starved to have the patience for it. She’s kneeing the sheets beneath her, pussy pulsing between her heated thighs and her eyes feel heavy, chest heaving in anticipation.  

Harry notices her nipples pebbling beneath his shirt first -- the way they poke through the tattered fabric, and it’s when his eyes finally flitter up to her face that he notices the desperation in her eyes and he snaps.  

Two massive strides are all it takes to get to her -- to have his hands on her finally. He kneels onto the bed, palms cupping the sides of her face as he brings her lips to meet his. It’s hot and uncoordinated, but God is it perfect.  

Their lips barely break apart; smearing tenderly and tongues swirling. The taste is intoxicating, like a drug they haven’t had the pleasure of in so long. They feel like horny teenagers, caught in the moment and desperate to tear any piece of fabric that separates them.  

“Missed ya so bad,” Harry mumbles his words against her lips in loose pants, but she’s seen him in every state that Y/N knows just what he’s saying to her.  

She nods her head, and he’s easing her onto her back, shimmying her further up the bed until her head meets the pillows.

He’s hovering between her parted thighs, hands trailing down her sides to feel up her legs. Smooth and soft.  

She shaved for him.

He pulls away just enough to meet her eyes, and Y/N’s got a shy smile on her lips. She knows he noticed the silkiness of her skin and she knows he’s wondering if she’s the same under her cotton knickers or not.

The teasing smirk on her lips suggests he’ll have to look to find out.  With a groan and taunted smirk, he shakes his head and meets her lips in a brief kiss.

Harry wraps his hands around the backs of her knees and tugs her down a little. Y/N shrieks, a laugh softly following and Harry shimmies himself back until he’s laying between her parted thighs.  

There’s a hunger in his eyes as he refuses to falter their gaze.

Y/N’s chest is rattling, and he knows that even after all these years, that look always has her almost quaking. He hasn’t even touched her yet.  

His lips pout as kisses gently pepper their way up the meaty flesh of her thighs -- his large palms tenderly kneading the skin.

Y/N’s breathing is uneven, and she feels warm with excitement. If she’s honest, Y/N doesn’t remember the last time she had his tongue on her cunt, and she’s fucking gagging for it.

She reaches stammering hands down until her fingers meet his hair, and she gives the messy brown locks a generous tug closer to her core. He’s ginning. Can’t help but feel wholly smug and content with himself for making his wife feel like they’re teenagers again.  

“Love when ya get like this.”  

She shies into her shoulder, eyes heavy when she feels his warm breath on her cunt. He nips playfully at her hips before rolling her shirt up and tucking it under her chin. Her breasts are free as they bounce slightly on her chest.  

The skin is slightly stretched from the growth and changes her body faced over the years, but Harry still thinks she’s never looked sexier. Stretch marks on her breasts and lower stomach. The perfect pouch of slightly worn and saggy skin on her tummy. He can feel his eyes starting to water and just how gorgeous she is.  

It’s a beautiful body that birthed their beautiful daughter.  

He’s overcome with love and adoration. Instead of his lips wrapping around her nipples like he usually would, he presses tender kisses to every stretch mark he can see, and Y/N thinks she’s the luckiest fucking woman alive.  

“No idea how much I fuckin’ love you.”

She does. She knows just how much Harry loves her, but that’s not what she wants right now. He shows how much he loves her every second of every day. Now, all she wants is for him to show her how much he needs her.  

Y/N nods, pulling his head a little higher until her hands can cup the sides of his face and her thumb is brushing over his plump bottom lip. “I know how much you love me. I just wanna know how much you need me.”

His eyes darken, she can see. The way they shadow over with the overwhelming clouds of lust and desire, and there’s this carnal sin that holds his gentle soul hostage. He feels the blood rush to his ruddy tip -- his hands balling into fists that have his fingernails scarring crescent moons into his skin.  

“Yeah?” his voice is gruff when he asks, an octave or two lower than usual but it’s still that sexy, low drawl that awakens the flittering fire in Y/N’s stomach.  

She nods her head, bottom lip caught between a row of teeth, and she knows she’s in for it. If there’s anything she knows about Harry, it’s that when she asks for something, he always delivers to the highest standard. She knows this will be no different.  

“Ya want me t’ taste your pussy, baby? Want me to make you feel good?”  

He lowers his face, nosing along the apex of her thighs. His teeth nip at the waistband of her knickers. Harry loops his fingers between her hot skin and the fabric, tugging the cotton piece away from her core and down her trembling thighs.  

Harry can smell her; the sweet scent of pure arousal and he thinks he’s about to pass out. He’s been eager for too long, and it’s overwhelming to have her again.  

Y/N’s squirming in anticipation beneath him and he decides against teasing her as he had initially planned. Instead, he gets himself comfy and thumbs at her heat, spreading her folds and a soft squelch meets his ears as he sees how wet she is.  

“Fuck…” he’s breathless. Harry can’t believe how soaked he’s got his girl after just a little bit of teasing, and he doesn’t waste any time before he’s licking his way into her.  

Y/N’s body shudders at the warmth of his tongue, the way she’s missed such a pleasurable sensation for the longest time. Her head’s thrown back as he works it through her folds, lapping up her arousal and spreading it up to her clit.  

His warm lips wrap around her bundle of nerves, offers a gentle suction on her button and her thighs twitch and jerk once, then twice.  

Harry’s got her knees bent over his shoulders, arms looped around the very tops of her thighs and his hands gently push on her lower stomach to keep her still.

Y/N struggles against the restrictions he puts on her body, and the fire continues to lick at her soul with every stroke his tongue makes.

“So good.” She swallows around her words, eager to catch her breath, but he doesn’t give her a moment long enough to. He sucks a little harder -- faster.

His tongue is hot on her clit, and Y/N is sure she’s about to combust. Her thighs start to tremble, fingers tangled in his locks and they tug at his scalp, but he loves the burn of it.

“Taste so good,” his muffled voice vibrates her through her cunt.

Y/N’s eyes roll back, chest heaving and jaw slack.  

There’s always been something so magical about Harry’s mouth, but after not having the pleasure of feeling it on her for so long, it’s suddenly three times as better as she last remembers.  

“More, please,” she shudders. “I need more.” His grunts against her core spur her on, and with one hand leaving her lower stomach, she’s able to thrash that little bit more.

His lips are sucking her clit still while his tongue skillfully flicks and rubs against the nub.

She’s struggling to make sense of anything, and while she can feel herself burning to that boiling point, she needs something more to send her over.  Harry smacks her inner thigh, the sound of skin slapping a shrill to her ears as she gasps wetly.

Harry teases his middle finger across the opening of her cunt. It’s slick with arousal, her little honey pot, and it only takes a few tries before he’s easing in two thick fingers and curling them against her g spot.  

Y/N starts to shake, her body in a state of euphoric bliss and when she lifts her head to get a look at him between her quaking thighs, he’s already looking up at her. His cheeks glisten with her wetness, and there’s darkness in his eyes that suggests even this can’t quench his thirst.

“Fuck, please. I need to cum, H.” He nods against her, his eyes fluttering closed and a rough groan tears through his chest.

He curls his fingers faster, fucking into her cunt and sucking her puffy clit like it’s all he knows.

Y/N’s body is convulsing sporadically, can’t keep still, and even Harry is struggling to keep her down with his left hand pressed against her abdomen. But he feels it -- the way her body tenses and how her stomach coils. He moans louder, harder; gets her to that breaking point before sucking harder.

She’s a mess of wet moans and desperately pleads and whines. Her entire body jolts and spasms beneath Harry’s touch as her orgasm washes over her. Her shoulders droop as it takes over -- all senses of tense discomfort, finally leaving her body as her eyes roll to the back of her head.  

Harry laps up everything he has to offer; his assault on her slopping cunt easing as he licks softly and removes his fingers. His tongue makes for her hole, eager yet attentive to not complete overstimulate her.

He whimpers at the taste.

Sweet with a hint of saltiness. Addictive is what it is -- and Harry hasn’t had the feeling of her in far too long. He wonders how he went as long as he did without it on his tongue.  

“Did so well f’ me.”  His voice is raspy, words slightly broken in his slow drawl as he catches his breath.

Harry licks at his lips -- refuses to waste a bead of her taste as she struggles to gain her bearings. He kisses at her thighs, sinking his teeth into the exceptionally fleshy parts and it jolts her back toward him, her head tolling.  

She lets off a shy giggle -- one that suggests they haven’t been together for years -- that they don’t have a child together.  

Her grip is loose in his curls as Harry slowly crawls up her body -- kissing her tender skin along the way and a lazy smile is prominent on his lips when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Y/N pulls him down for a kiss.  

She can taste herself on his tongue, and it has her mind heavy, spinning. It’s intoxicating and all too sexy for Harry to handle.

He whimpers into her mouth, and when he settles his body between her thighs, she finally feels just how hard he is, and she shudders; soaked again. Y/N pulls back, catching her breath and licking over her swollen lips.

He looks fucked, yet utterly gorgeous. In the soft, hazy light front he candles, his skin looks much tanner than it had earlier in the morning and Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his beauty. Thinks she’s the luckiest fucking woman on the planet.  

“Love you so much,” she mutters breathlessly, starry-eyed and Harry grins wide.  

He cocks a brow.

“Sure you don’t just’ love my mouth?” Y/N snorts -- an unattractive sound that Harry thinks is music to his ears and she rolls her eyes at his comment but nods her head -- feeds into it.

“That too.” He noses at her cheek, enveloping her lips in a sloppy kiss again and Y/N claws at his t-shirt.

"You’re wearing too much,” she comments. Harry grins into the kiss, a quiet but hearty laugh slipping between their lips. He pulls away, sitting on his knees as he watches her.

She’s fucked beneath him -- hair a mess and eyes blown wide. Her nipples pearl and she reaches for them, twists and pinches them between her fingers as Harry rids himself from his shirt.  

Even in his late thirties, he’s still fit as fuck. His chest littered with a dusting of dark chest hair, and he’s even more riddled with tattoos than he was when they were in their mid-twenties.  

She watched with parted lips and laboured breathing. Harry’s smug, they both know it, and he does not attempt to hide it. He gets off on seeing how riled up he can get her -- hot eager and desperate and needy she can get for him.

Unzipping his pants, he can see her cunt start to leak; can see her pussy pulse around emptiness. Y/N’s got her bottom lip caught tight beneath her front teeth and his cock bloats impossibly harder at sight.  

He manages to pull his pants off, toeing off his socks when Y/N raised a brow at them, and he settles back between her thighs, voice shaky and eager.

He’s not nervous, though Y/N would argue otherwise.  He just doesn’t know how long he’s going to last when he finally gets inside her again. They’re kissing again; lips are smacking and tongues swirling.

Harry’s hips are rolling against her cunt, and he can finally feel the wetness of her on the pink head of his cock.  

Harry lets out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering as he pulls away from her lips. She lets out a sigh, swallowing back a whine.

”Want me to ride you?” She offers, reckons he might be a little fucked out -- recognises he can’t go as hard for things anymore.  

He shakes his head, huffing out a breath. ”Wan’ you t’ jus’ sit back and enjoy it.” He tells her, and Y/N can’t help the grin that tugs on the corners of her lips.

”Think I’m going to enjoy it, either way, H.” His smug smirk only grows, and it’s a boost of confidence he didn’t know he needed.

Harry nips at her jaw, reaching for himself to rub his purple-ish head across her entrance. They both start to hiss at the sensation, and Harry knows straight away that he won’t be lasting very long.  

“Ya gonna make me cum so fuckin’ quick.” He offers her a forewarning. Y/N smiles, head rolled back as he kisses up her neck.

“Least I’ll know I still get you going,” she comments, and Harry can’t help but frown.  

He lines himself up at her entrance, pushing in just slightly to get her used to that familiar stretch and burn. His eyes lock on hers.

“You always get me goin’.” He thrusts slowly, letting her adjust as her jaw falls slack and eyes start to widen. His teeth are gritting as he breathes through laboured exhales.

“Got no idea what you fuckin’ do t’ me, love.” Her eyes roll back as he sheathes his way inside her.  She’s soaked; wet and warm and so fucking tight.

Harry can’t think straight -- his vision is blurred and dotted, and Y/N can’t even open her eyes. He can’t remember the last time he felt this good, and she can’t remember the last time she ever felt this fucking full.  

With nothing between them, Harry gently starts to pull out, leaving just his head inside before he snaps his hips back to hers, and fucks up into her. Her body jolts; moves with the thrust, and a shriek slips past her parted lips.  

“Oh, fuck!”  Harry’s ears are ringing, but he still hears her perfect fucking whines and cries. She claws at his back while his forearms rest on opposite sides of her head, trying to keep his weight from crushing her body.  

His lips part -- hot breath fanning over her contorted face and harry can’t fucking look away. He can see the pleasure painted all over her features and it’s the best fucking sight he’s even had the honour of witnessing.  

“Fuck, you’re so sexy.” Harry seethes through gritted teeth, and the sound of his desperate tone only makes her wetter.  

The room is full of pants and whines and slapping skin. Y/N’s not embarrassed by the squelching noises her little cunt makes as he ruthlessly pounds into it. The two thrive off it -- makes him move faster and her moan louder.  

They haven’t had the pleasure of being as loud as they like for the longest time, and now the two feel like animals; like they don’t have to silence their cries and pleads of more, need it harder, please!

Y/N’s tits are bouncing on her chest; her nipples are grazing against Harry’s butterfly tattoo, and the sensation of it makes her shudder. She’s got her legs wrapped around his narrow hips, locking him in place as his heavy balls hit against her ass.  

“So fucking big!” She chokes out. It does everything to stroke his ego, and Y/N knows it.

While they’re not as filthy with their talk as they used to be; they still know what gets the other going and how to initiate it all.  His eyes light up; jaw clenched as he pounds harder -- faster.  

“Yeah? Feel me in y’er tummy? Such a good girl f’ me, baby.” He praises her back just as much, knows how much she likes when he praises and compliments how well she does for him.  

Y/N’s nodding eagerly, head rolled back and hips desperately trying to move in rhythmic waves against his. They’re vigorously chasing their highs, and they both know they’re close. She’s gripping him like a vice, and he’s twitching between her slick walls.

“Need to cum. H, please make me cum, been so good.” She cries out.  

Her eyes roll back, can’t force them to look at him, and he knows how much she truly loses control of herself when he fucks her that well. Harry shifts his legs a little, sits up, on his knees and drags her by her thighs until he’s holding them over his forearms and lifting her bum off the mattress.

She watches with dazed eyes at the change of position that now gives him full control, doesn’t even register that he’s managed to keep himself sheathed inside her the whole time.  

Their eyes are locked, lips parted and skin wet with a sheen layer of sweat when he starts to thrust, and the new angle allows him to hit a little deeper. Y/N can’t help the moans that fall from her lips.  

“Oh, fuck.” She rushes out in an urgent drawl, and the bed begins to rock. They’re both panting, Harry using every damn ounce of energy he can muster up to fuck into her, and she’s rolling her hips on his cock, desperate for another release.  

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum. Want me t’cum inside?” He pants out.  

Y/N’s nodding. She’s pushing her tits together, pinching her pebbled nipples between the middles of her fingers and rolling her head back into the sheets.  

Harry’s throbbing in her squelching cunt, and with several desperate and broken pleads of letting her cum, her warmth finally explodes around his prick. She’s filthy, how she whines, her body jerking and jolting, and the extra squeeze has Harry’s cum spurting out and coating her walls in white ribbons of arousal.  

Gruff moans and desperate cries sound through the room as her cunt continues to clench around him.

He lowers her legs to the bed, lets himself fall onto her body. His crushing weight is comforting on top of her. She can feel him softening as they both start to catch their breath, and blink away the hazy orgasms.

It’s silent as he moves his lips to pull out, and they both hiss at the lack of warmth and contact, but Harry makes no effort to roll off her body. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, and his face presses against the crook of her neck. They’ve both got their eyes closed as they try to calm down, to find their bearings.

It feels a bit surreal to have tended to one another’s needs so well, and now be able to rest in one another’s arms. Y/N’s got an itch to grab the blanket and cover them back up, but she has to remind herself that Neya isn’t home. It’s just them.  

“Fucked now.” Harry rumbles into her skin breathlessly, and Y/N barks out a hearty giggle, reaching her hands to his head to pet his hair.  

“So that’s round two out fo the window.” His head shoots up, brow arched and his nose is brushing against hers -- a playful, accusatory look on his face.

“Now, I never said that.” He bites her nose after she bursts into a laugh, and kisses across her aching cheeks.  

She watches him climb off her and waddle to the bathroom, reaches across the bed to smack his ass as he moves and he jumps a little, holding his crotch and playfully scolding her.  

She’s staring up at the ceiling, feeling completely and utterly loved and satisfied when she feels the bed dip beside her. Harry wipes the cold washcloth between her thighs. She hisses at the coldness of it and Harry coos her, assures her he’s just cleaning her up.  

He’s still naked, lying beside her when he’s done, and Harry tosses it across the room and into the laundry hamper, high-fiving Y/N when he makes the shot.

She’s got her head on his chest as he plays with her hair and they’re both yawning.

They know that second round won’t be for at least another two hours -- after they’ve had a nap and something to eat.  

“Still got six hours, y’ know,” Harry mentions, taking note of the alarm clock on his nightstand and Y/N hums, a little sleepy as she plays with the hairs on his chest.

Even having time to cuddle like this is a rarity for the two.  

“Is it bad that I don’t miss her yet?” she speaks up, voice hesitant like she feels guilty.  

Harry purses his lips. He can’t say it’s bad because he feels the same. As much as he loves his baby girl, he needs time alone with his wife -- even if for just a couple of hours. Harry shakes his head.

“Not bad. We’re allowed to want some time alone.” The reminder sits heavy on her mind, and she nods her head.  

“You’re right.” She agrees, but Harry knows that’s not the end of it. He waits a moment. Then two.

“But think we should phone the school in a minute, just to make sure she’s okay.”

Harry barks out a hearty laugh, leaning down to kiss Y/N’s head and she cranes her neck to look up at him, lashing fluttering. “What? What are you laughing at, ya knobhead?” He shakes his head again, grinning down at her and his spare hand caresses her cheek.

“I mean… ya could phone the school. Or you could take a nap wi’ me, then we can make some food and have that second round in the hot tub?”

The seconds silently tick away between them as neither say a thing. Harry has his brows raised, waiting for a reply, and she’s got her lips parted as she mulls over his offer.

Eventually, she moves her head back to his chest and snuggles closer to him so he can feel her lashes fluttering against his skin.

“Set an alarm for an hour.”

//

Okay, so this is like my welcome back fic I guess. I know I didn’t go anywhere but I stopped sharing my stuff on here for a few weeks bc I was tired of the lack of feedback and stuff. 

If you enjoyed a fic, please reblog it! Us writers put so much time and effort into writing these stories to share with you for free so it means a lot when you guys reblog them and put something nice in the tags. 

So please, give it a reblog if you enjoyed it and please, leave some feedback. Thank you for reading and thank you for your support <3

(YOU CAN BECOME A PATRON FOR EARLY ACCESS TO MY FICS AND ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT!)

[alifeasvivid]

this is the new drabble from Alfred’s pov from the student/teacher au which is mostly ukus btw but I’ve referred to it as the student/teacher au and tagged it as such so much now that that’s what it’s called LOL

This ficlet takes place at the beginning of the first semester of Alfred’s junior (3rd) year so it’s basically part of the start of the whole story because after the end of the previous year, Alfred had thought he’d never see Arthur again.

-----

Alfred’s eyes are fixed on Mr. Kirkland, but he’s hardly listening to the lesson being taught. Sometimes he thinks it might be some dream because at the end of last year, when Mr. Kirkland finished his student-teaching semester, he had told all the students that he would probably not be back, but it was such a pleasure to work with all of them and Alfred had only fantasized about the young teacher magically being back at Alfred’s school a million times over the summer.

He’d fantasized about a lot of other things too: like Mr. Kirkland’s piercing green eyes and his sexy English accent and how he smiled when he praised Alfred for being a “smart lad.” Alfred’s brain is tireless and very creative and with not much else to do over the summer, he’d taken all his observations of Mr. Kirkland and spun them into detailed, elaborate, ah... hormonally-charged fantasies of having a very inappropriate relationship with the English teacher.

And now he’s in Mr. Kirkland’s... Arthur’s class. Again. When Alfred had thought he might never see the man again.

The same girls that had been so flustered by Arthur before seem to have settled down... or at least they aren’t giggling and whispering to each other.

But Alfred hasn’t settled down. If anything... oh fuck. He shifts in his seat and tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down over his lap. Yeah, he hasn’t settled down at all. If anything, his feelings have only gotten stronger.

“Alfred.”

He blinks, wondering if he heard Arthur’s voice only in his mind or not.

“Alfred Jones,” it’s more stern.

Alfred snaps out of his reverie only to see Arthur giving him a cross look to match his exasperated tone. “Uh. What? Sorry. What?” Alfred says, smacking himself internally. Great. Now Mr. Kirkland is going to think he’s slacker... or at least isn’t as smart of a lad as he’d given Alfred credit for.

“Would you care to share your inner musings or would you rather join the rest of us in the here and now?” There’s a little bit of humor in his voice.

Alfred still blushes bright red and sinks slightly into his chair. “No. I mean yeah. I’m good. I’m here. Sorry Mr. Kirkland,” he mumbles.

He manages to pay attention to most of the rest of the lecture.

As the bell rings and class is dismissed for lunch, Alfred realizes it’s pretty warm, it is only early September still, and his hoodie could have better use at the moment. He tugs it over his head and grabs his backpack and heads toward the door.

“Alfred.” Arthur’s voice stops him, it’s softer than before. “Stay back a moment please.” He’s standing behind his neatly organized desk. He has unbuttoned his fitted vest, it looks like he’s loosened his tie a little, and he is unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “Christ, this room is a sweatbox,” he mutters.

Shit, Alfred really fucked up. He stops in front of the desk, clutching his hoodie and mentally pleading for any kind of divine mercy. “Um, listen. Mr. Kirkland, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. Swim practice is really early and I didn’t sleep super good last night. I won’t zone out again, I promise.”

Arthur chuckles a little. “You’re sixteen, Alfred. Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. It’s alright. It happens, but you were so out of it there that it had me a little concerned.”

Alfred’s heart rate picks up.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Alfred is most definitely not alright. He swallows around a lump in his throat, his gaze latched onto Mr. Kirkland’s forearms--both of which are embellished with extensive black ink. The tattoos, which Alfred’s mind can’t seem to resolve into actual images yet, extend over Arthur’s elbows and up under his sleeves. Fuck. Seriously? Fuck.

Arthur glances down and then winces self-consciously, mercifully misinterpreting Alfred’s stunned reaction. “Ah. Yes I know it’s not exactly typical to see an educator this heavily tattooed,” he says. “I try to keep them covered during school hours, but I didn’t realize this classroom would be so much warmer in the afternoon.”

Alfred manages to shake himself enough to smile. “Nah. I mean, yeah it’s not typical and all, but it’s nice to see some adults are actually cool.”

Arthur looks relieved. He laughs. “You make me sound old. I’m not really that much older than you.”

And Alfred is a hundred percent certain that Mr. Kirkland didn’t mean anything by that. It doesn’t stop his brain from doing what it had been doing all summer. 

“Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your lunchtime, go on.”

“Ha. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Kirkland,” Alfred’s mouth is dry. He leaves the room, stopping outside to breathe cooler air. On the one hand, Mr. Kirkland returning to the school to teach now seems like a lesson in being careful what you wish for... but on the other hand, Alfred thinks, there’d been something there... right? 

Alfred turns the conversation over and over in his mind as he walks down the hall and by the time he reaches the cafeteria, he’s convinced.

There’s definitely something between him and Arthur.