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hier--soir · 1 year

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

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

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

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

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

Your presentation.

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

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

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

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

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

She says your name sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

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

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

“You didn’t ask.”

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

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

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

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

“Where were we then, my dear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

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

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

“Maybe,” you smile.

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

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

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

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

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

“Why not?”

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

“Where did you study?” you press.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And before that?” you press.

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

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

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

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

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

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

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

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

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

“What?”

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

“What?”

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

“And what did you expect?”

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

Joel nods, quiet.

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

“I was impressed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then— “The Pendry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

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

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

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

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

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

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

“So take it off,” you challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

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

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

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

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

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

“Tell me,” he urges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he gasps.

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

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

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

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where?” You call the shots.

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

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

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

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

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

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel doesn’t respond.

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

thank you for reading! x

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

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kapriisunz · 1 year

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TENDER | LA!Buggy x ambiguous!reader

synopsis: You give your clown lover much needed love after he came back from Arlong Park.

Warnings: NONE - Live action Buggy with long hair cause I need this man in a ponytail and a face mask with some cucumbers on his eyes.

A/N: I know I know I said I’ll post the Sanji fanfic but it’s taking a longer time than I thought to get it out to you. So! I thought that I can feed y’all some snippet/drabble.

p.s: If it comes out that the actors don’t want their portrayal too be used in this way, I’ll delete this out of respect. Until then, Enjoy.

When you saw Buggy practically drag himself back into Orange town on a dingy boat demanding his crew too pack up and set sails to. . . somewhere? You got concerned yet happy.

From the fact that he was attempting to hightail it out of the town and that he was still alive after being taken captive by Arlong and his crew for four days.

Which is why you have your jester sitting in front of you in his captain quarters raking his long wet blue hair with a bristle brush.

It’s been a long time since you’ve both had a relaxing day without interference of new pirates, or pirates in general as well as entertaining keeping hostage of the folks in Orange Town.

Buggy sighs in content, taking in the feeling of your presence and the sway of the boat against the sea waters. Relaxing into the feeling of you running your fingers down from his scalp after setting the brush down.

You tap him on the shoulder and ask him to turn so that he isn’t facing away from you.

He turns, you give him an affectionate smile seeing how his hair is gradually drying and framing his face.

You cup his face with one hand while cleaning off the paints with a damp rag.

He's a clown pirate, so it makes sense that he would be a little strange, but one of his peculiar habits is to knowingly avoid washing his face while bathing so his clown paint stays on.

And you think you finally figured out why.

He enjoys you pampering him, he wants it to last longer without telling you. He can see how much you care about him from this simple act of compassion.

He likes being adored, liked, and well-known by many of people, but it never seems to work out. That’s why he forces people too partake in loving him.

However unlike the ‘audience’.

You’ll always love him.

#one piece x reader #opla buggy #one peice #buggy x reader #fanfic #mmm buggy #opla #opla x reader

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sirfrogsworth · 8 months

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Mom's Antiques Auction

I wasn't sure if I should post this or not, but we are trying to auction off a lot of my mom's antiques. This particular auction isn't being held at my house, so I figured it was safe to post here.

The auction will be live until 2/13/24 with a "soft close" starting at 7pm Central. That's when items will be sold a few at a time as people place their final bids. It's just like a live auction without a fast talking fella in a cowboy hat. If you try to bid at the last second, that extends the time by 60 seconds so someone else can try to outbid. It's actually kind of exciting to watch.

If you are in the St. Louis area, you can pick up items at the auction place the day after the auction ends. If you miss the pickup window you forfeit the item. Auction rules are no joke.

Otherwise, they can do shipping but I don't know if they do anything outside the US. You can check out the shipping info and call for more details.

This auction is actually for multiple estates. So not all of these items belonged to my mom. Her stuff is from Lot 406 to 660 and in the furniture section at the end from Lot 978 to 999. The link above should take you to the start of her collection (page 17).

There are some really cool uranium glass items—including this knife.

I had no idea that was in the display cabinet. I might have kept it if I had known, but I'm hoping people will think it is super cool and it will go for a good price.

I know that website looks like it is from the 90s, but everything is legit. We already did one auction and it went very well and everyone got what they paid for.

On a personal note, it was surreal watching them remove everything that had surrounded me for all of my life. I know it was too much for me to maintain and take care of, but nearly every one of these antiques has a memory attached to it. Most of the items will go to the auction fandom—which I had no idea existed. Pro auction people sell to hobbyists. Big auctions turn into little auctions. It's like an auction feedback loop where each auction hobbyist thinks they can flip the item for a little more money. They even have little auction meetups to show off things they got for a steal because one auction person didn't know the value of something. It's quite competitive and they like telling auction stories (whether you are interested or not).

All that is to say, I know not everything is going to a home where someone will take over custodianship of the cool things my mom collected. But it would be neat if some folks outside the auction fandom got some of her precious wares.

Hopefully with the money raised I can restore my emergency fund, which lasted all of a month after the last auction due to a busted battery and leaky-ass tires. Also, there will probably be a few more auctions after this as my mom collected antiques for nearly 40 years.

Speaking of asses, this golfing piggy bank game does not work very well (I could never get the coin in the hole), but I only ever saw it displayed from the other side and never realize all the junk in that trunk.

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factcheckingmclennon · 2 months

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harry nilsson quotes double feature: fact or fiction?

"Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying 'I Love Paul'. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, 'Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?' He said, 'Because I love Paul.'" -Harry Nilsson

"I'm just like everybody else, Harry, I fell for Paul's looks." Harry Nilsson (on John)

these quotes get passed around unsourced, or wrongly sourced, constantly. so...

are these harry nilsson quotes about john lennon real?

shockingly, after getting an anon correction on the first one and then discovering myself on the second one through the world's most random search engine imaginable bc SOMETHING felt unfinished...... the final verdict for both?

...ish? the second one is sort of neutral bc it's taken a bit out of context but i'll get to that

let's get into it, because this one took me on a journey!

(and btw the sources on these were SUCH a pain in the ass to find due to lack of sourcing & wrong sourcing so i am on my hands and knees for these to get passed around w the proper sources now that they're in one place bc they're so good)

first of all, these quotes keep getting mixed up and messed around with different wording. which was my first road block on finding a proper source. second of all, they have been wrongly attributed to a) one single interview together and/or b) a rolling stone interview with nilsson. this made things aggravating. but in the end, an anon sent me the audio for the first quote and for the second one i FINALLY found someone a looong while back actually naming the book it's in & successfully found it!

made a post earlier concluding both were fake, but we just had to go a little deeper folks.

anyway, onto the good shit

who was harry nilsson? he was a friend of john's, specifically during his 1974 lost weekend era. they lived together for a while (along with others, including ringo!) and were pretty close.

"because i love paul"

this one gets misquoted the Most honestly like you'll find a bunch of different variations of it, but you can find it in a 1984 interview with geoffrey giuliano as such:

GIULIANO: Did he miss the Beatles? Was he mournful about what happened, over the, you know—? HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]

(source) (and again, it's a tumblr blog, but given that it's audio, i'm marking it trustworthy. i just uploaded it to archive.org in case it ever gets deleted)

"i fell for paul's looks"

this one. this one was a goddamn journey and a half. this sent me on several rabbit holes and dead ends. the author of the last source said "nope it's definitely not from the tapes i found this audio from or i would've posted it too" and couldn't find the source either. no one had a source. until finally i found someone on a forum saying it was in the ballad of john and yoko published by rolling stone in 1984, in an essay titled "harry remembers" and thank christ it was on archive.org

so here's the full quote, found on page 236

"He spoke the way James Joyce wrote. And to me he was the Beatles. He was always the spark. In a late wee-hours-of-the-morning talk, he once told me: 'I'm just like everybody else, Harry. I fell for Paul's looks. George knew more chords, so he was in. And Ringo, he's just Ringo.'"

(source)

so this one gets a... true/neutral rating from me. why neutral? well, the "i fell for paul's looks" part is certainly there. but in the full context, he's talking about why he wanted each member in the beatles. basically, paul was the pretty face. however, he did say that verbatim and it is incredibly fucking gay imo. like specifically the "i fell for" wording is craaaaazy to me. but i do think the full context should be included if we're talking about it, as well as the actual source.

so no, they were not indeed both from the same interview. one isn't even FROM an interview. but they are both true! which is great bc i love both of these quotes and truly thought they were fake! pleasantly surprised on this one

now, take these with a grain of salt. the first quote is a third-hand source. it's nilsson recounting what some random fan told him john had done YEARS prior. the second one is a second-hand source and nilsson and john were like pretty infamous for getting drunk/high together. but the quotes themselves? certainly exist from harry nilsson, and that's the question. believe them if you want to, or leave them! i'm certainly taking them lmao

#mclennon #type: factcheck #checked: true #A REDACTION...... truly stunned at these im ngl but you know what. we all have the sources now and i can move on in peace #had to pause this to go get coffee w a friend i was literally a lil late bc i was trying to speedread that essay FJASDFJASDF

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lurkingshan · 3 months

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The Miracle of Teddy Bear Saved the Gays

Last weekend, both @twig-tea and I had time off and were in the mood to binge something, so Twig suggested we finally watch The Miracle of Teddy Bear. Both of us had missed it while it was airing live (because it didn’t have international distribution) and had been given the impression by others that it had a sad ending that included some anti-queer messages. It was also very long, so we were not exactly rushing to get to it. But we are stubborn and like to judge things for ourselves, so we decided since we had the time and the show was now available, we should jump in. And imagine our surprise when we found out everything we had been told about it was wrong (we have our theories about why). This is one of the best queer dramas we have ever seen, with phenomenal acting, writing, and direction, and we have so much to say about it. The post that follows is co-written by the two of us. Strap in, folks, because it’s a long one.

If you haven’t seen this show yet and don’t want any spoilers, stop reading this right now and head over to YouTube, where international fans can now watch it for free with English subtitles. We’re going to go deep on the show below, and because this drama is designed to slowly reveal information in a very deliberate way, nearly everything counts as a spoiler. We’ll try not to give too much away in the early sections, but be warned!

The Story

The Miracle of Teddy Bear is the tale of a deeply traumatized gay man in desperate need of healing, and the teddy bear who comes to life to help him. In the process of taking care of his person, our bear uncovers deep family trauma and many secrets and lies, accidentally solves crimes, makes lots of friends, heals a family, and saves several lives. He is a very good bear, and through this adventure he contemplates his own existence, learns how to be human, and discovers what it means to truly love someone.

This is primarily a family drama with important things to say about queer truth, and while it includes several bl storylines, it is not a romance. Intertwined with the family drama is a bl show within the show and a series of interrelated mysteries that slowly get unraveled as the story goes on. One of the things this show does best is parcel out information from various perspectives at the perfect time to keep the viewer one step behind—we found ourselves constantly almost guessing what the show was going to do next, but it always chose a direction a little to the left and surprised us in the best way.

In the end, every question we asked was answered, and every time we thought a character’s motivation felt a little too shallow, we were given more. The experience of watching this show was deeply satisfying and really made us feel seen. This show gets us.

The Characters

The Bear: Tofu

Tofu is the titular teddy bear who comes to life via drama magic and does his best to support his person. He starts the series incredibly innocent, and the show and his actor, Inn Sarin, do an incredible job of depicting the change in him as he lives life as a human, becoming more complex and less naive. Tofu is the heart of the show, and it is his love and kindness that enable the growth of the other characters in this story.

The Core Family: Nut, Na, and Kuenchai

Nut is our protagonist, and his struggles with life as a gay man are the soul of this story. He lives with his mom, Na, and their dog, Kuenchai, and Tofu is his beloved teddy bear. Yes, Nut is a cranky ass grown man with a beloved teddy bear. It will make sense eventually, we promise. Nut is a bl novelist working through old trauma via adapting his work for the screen. Na is a woman who has been Going Through It, and while we start the story with only the vague sense that something is not quite right with her, we spend a lot of time on her history as well as her growth in the present until we get the full picture. The way Nut and Na’s stories are tied together gets to several of the core themes of this show (discussed more below).

The Sides: Gen, Song, Prib, and the nosy neighbors

Our cast of friends and allies who support Nut and Tofu and have romantic trials and tribulations of their own. Without giving too much away, we’ll just say this: all of these characters have satisfying arcs, and some of them may have caused us to squeal in delight.

Specters of the Past: Neung and Tarn

Telling you literally anything about them is a major spoiler so just know they are here and they are important and you will fully understand why and how by the end. Oh yeah, and Neung looks exactly like Tofu (or should we say Tofu looks like Neung?) for Reasons (which are explained! We love this show).

Villains: Saen, Sib, Jan, and Parit

Expect these four to show up often and cause a lot of trouble. Their motives and exact crimes are revealed over the course of the show.

Other Elders: Anik, Juea, Kanya and Sittha

They are mostly here to serve a few key plot functions and represent a spectrum of parental figures (related by blood and not) and acceptance of queerness.

And we cannot forget: The inanimate objects

In this show, inanimate objects can come to life under a certain set of magical conditions, and they are Tofu’s friends and helpers along the way. Some of their stories are shockingly touching! They also add some needed levity to the show, especially the grumpy ones. Special shoutout to the cactus and the spare blanket, our crime solving MVPs. We have to admit, the animation for these took a bit of getting used to, but within a couple of episodes we were cheering these creepy blinking eyes on.

The Themes

And here is where we start to get into spoiler territory about specific character arcs. This show had so many clear and well-articulated themes, and they stayed consistent throughout the story.

Queer people can be happy

This is stated explicitly as well as demonstrated through multiple storylines: gay men can love each other, have good relationships and fulfilling sex lives, and get their happy endings. Those who argue that people should fight against their queerness because it will make their lives harder and keep them from happiness are not just wrong, they have it backwards.

Queer people can only be happy by living their truth

This is perhaps the main thesis of this show, and it comes across in so many ways over the arc of the story. We see this theme exemplified in particular through Nut, Tarn, Song, and Gen, with each of them representing different versions of the queer experience that shape who they are and how they show up in the world. Even before the story tells you, it’s clear what kind of experiences each has had from his relationship to his own queerness and his general demeanor and outlook on life. Nut has survived an abusive homophobic father, and that shows up in his anger, his self-protective rejection of others, and his struggle with emotional regulation. Gen has been raised by loving and accepting parents who support his choices in all ways, and this shows in his good humor, balanced perspective, and confidence to be himself. When we say good media should show, don’t tell us its point, this is a fantastic example of what that means.

Accept and love your queer children or pay the price

Relatedly, this story is very interested in the consequences for parents who fail their queer children, and explores a whole spectrum of acceptance from enthusiastic support to negligent ambivalence to misguided suppression to violent bigotry. We see so many different parents and parental figures react to learning about their gay sons and gain insight into them by how they respond—and only the ones who manage to get it together to love and support their kids get to keep their families. Critically, the adults who fail their queer children are convinced they’re acting in their best interests at the time, and we are along for the ride as the redeemable ones go through the stages of first admitting they were wrong but still thinking their intentions justify the pain they caused to fully acknowledging the damage they have done and making amends.

Be patient with others, you never know what they’ve been through

That said, the show also invites us to stop and consider what might be behind aberrant behavior before judging it. Tofu is unfailingly patient with others, and even with the worst people in this story, he always seeks to understand why they are behaving a certain way before giving up on them. The show slowly and methodically reveals information that recontextualizes things we thought we understood and encourages us to keep digging for empathy and missing context. People in this story behave very badly and make a lot of mistakes, but a lot of it becomes more understandable once you have the full picture.

Unprocessed trauma will prevent you from healing and cause you to perpetuate harm on others

Speaking of bad behavior, so much of what’s wrong in this story is driven by unprocessed trauma of one sort or another. Nut’s anger is at its core a deep hurt from being betrayed by the person he trusted most to be on his side. Na’s refusal to live in reality causes her to continue to hurt herself and her son. Saen’s denial about his own actions leads to far-reaching consequences he could not imagine. And the healing process depicted in the show is not linear; people who have made mistakes in the series make them more than once and advance and regress as the situation around them changes.

People are responsible for their own actions and inactions

And while the show is clear that trauma is the source of the bad behavior of these characters, it is also clear that this is not an excuse. Everyone in this story is held to account for the things they do, as well as the things they don’t, no matter how understandable their reasons are. The people who refuse to heal face serious consequences in addition to seeing the damage their unprocessed trauma causes others.

Noble idiocy leads to everyone being unhappy

One of the biggest sources of said unprocessed trauma in this story is characters making self-sacrificial choices for the ostensible benefit of others and bringing misery to everyone in the process. We love a drama that recognizes noble idiocy for the selfish and destructive act it truly is and clearly says you have to communicate with your loved ones if you don’t want to make a mess of everyone’s lives.

You can’t appease an abuser

No amount of hiding who you are or making yourself small will convince an abuser to treat you better or guarantee your safety. This theme is most obvious in the main storyline between Nut, Sib, and Na, but Jan is another example of a manipulative and emotionally abusive character who other characters continually try to play nice with, to no avail. She takes every opportunity to be cruel, whether the person she’s talking to is kind or combative in return. The show reinforces that abusers will always find an excuse to justify their behavior; changing yourself for them is pointless.

Love is wanting the best for someone, even if that means letting go

This is really the show’s core point where romance is concerned: being with you may not actually be what is best for the person you love, and if your love is true you have to accept that. The people who could not see this—Saen and Jan—were the ones who continued to cause harm to their loved ones and themselves, while the characters who honestly worked towards the happiness of their beloveds even if that happiness was not with themselves—Tofu, Tarn, and eventually Prib—were rewarded by seeing that happiness play out and ended our story truly content. The MVP of this theme is Tofu, whose pure teddy bear love for his person became more complicated and selfish as he became more human. But in the end, he held to the truth at his core that Nut’s happiness was his happiness.

You can have more than one great love, and one doesn't tarnish the others

Which brings us to one of the most beautiful takeaways from this show, and something that dramas so rarely do well. Nut loves two different men, neither more than the other, and he never chooses between them. They both hold important meaning in his life and he honors that whether they are with him or not. When Nut is with Tofu, he remembers his past love with fondness but he is clear that these memories do not make his love for Tofu any less real. A lesser show would have had those moments where Nut was thinking about his past cause him to distance himself from Tofu. But in this show, Nut sharing his past and working through his lack of closure was when he and Tofu had some of their closest and happiest moments together. This show is extremely clear that we can have happiness with more than one person over the course of our lives, and it is not only okay but encouraged!

The Resolution

From here, we will be talking about the ending, and so by necessity will no longer be avoiding major spoilers. If you’re intrigued by the above and want to avoid being spoiled fully, stop now! One of the things that is so brilliant about this show is the way information is slowly revealed, so if you think you would like this show we recommend experiencing it for yourself. If you’re still not convinced and need to know the ending before you decide, read on.

In our view, this story ends exactly as the show signals it will from the very beginning—and the way it should—and the ending is unambiguously a happy one. Tofu realizes that he and Tarn’s life forces are tied together, that it was Tarn going into his coma that caused him to awaken, and that as long as he continues to live as a human, Tarn will not recover. We and the characters have come to love Tofu in his guise as a human, but the truth is he does not belong there—he is a teddy bear, and for him to stay by robbing an actual human being of their life would be wrong. The story took pains throughout to show us how tenuous and restricted Tofu’s existence is, because he is not a real person and thus can’t live a full life (for example, he can’t get a job or safely leave the house because he doesn’t have documentation or any life experience). We also see Tofu struggle so much with the added complexities of the human experience that he becomes ill with overwhelm multiple times. He repeats to us through the whole story that all he really wants is to be a comfort to Nut. While he finds value and joy in being human, it does not change who he is at his core. And so he allows himself to be poisoned by Jan, sacrificing his human existence to bring Tarn back and exposing Jan and Saen’s crimes in the process.

With this decision, the other characters get the chance to mourn him and move on. Nut grieves, finally makes the connection between human and teddy bear Tofu, goes to therapy (!), makes peace with his mother, and writes his love story with Tofu as his next show. Tarn wakes up and begins his recovery, and he and Nut slowly reconnect and rekindle their relationship over time. Na finds joy in her lucid moments and enjoys time with her family, finally free of the hell Saen and Sib unleashed on her life. Gen and Song get their happy ending with acceptance from Song’s dad, and Prib’s fixation on gay men becomes clear when her new female love interest enters the scene (let’s go, lesbians!). We get confirmation that the nosy neighbors are, in fact, an elder gay couple. Even Kuenchai and some of the inanimate objects have character arcs! Kuenchai is instrumental in making sure Nut is reunited with bear Tofu, and we get to see a slipper gain some independence from her other half and a grumpy bolster cuddle in to comfort her people when they need it.

We end our story with several happy families who love their gay children and a call for marriage equality via Nut and Tarn deciding to marry whether it’s legal or not. Tofu is a bear again but his human life is very much not forgotten—Nut speaks to him every day, honors the love they shared, and talks about him openly with Tarn. And we even hear from Tofu again, see a final moment between him and Nut in a beautiful dream, and are reassured that Tofu is happy to still be with Nut in his original form and to see him living so well. It’s everything he wanted, and he made it happen. He truly is the very best bear.

The Purpose

We wanted to take some space to get a little extra meta and talk about why this show matters so much in the broader queer media landscape. First, it was a landmark queer television event in Thailand—please read this post by @flowerbeasblog to get the background on its significance in the cultural landscape. This show was broadcast very intentionally to educate and send a message to a broader audience in Thailand than is typically reached via bl dramas. And that’s why understanding and taking its themes seriously is so very important.

This is a story that is deeply rooted in queer truth, written by a queer man who wants people like him to be seen and understood. The show puts forward an unapologetically pro-gay message on broadcast television (on a major national network! during primetime! that does not shy away from the sexual component of queer love!) and embeds important political commentary in a fantastic and engaging story in a format familiar and comfortable for the Thai audience. It’s not meant to be received as a romance, and its nuanced and mature take on love and relationships is certainly not designed for ship wars. The writer even turns directly to the camera and underlines this in the final episode: while he respects the importance of bl in the media landscape, he has a bigger agenda in mind for this show and important things to say.

And that’s why some of the discourse around this show is so frustrating. A small portion of international fans who watched this show live seemed to misunderstand it deeply and created such a false impression of it that it caused others to stay away. Contrary to some of the takes out there, this show does not have a sad ending, Tofu’s resolution is not remotely anti-queer, and there is no woman who ends up with Nut (we are so confused that this was anyone’s interpretation; Nut at every age and several times within the show explicitly shouts about how very extremely gay he is). To see this story as a tragedy because Tofu “dies”—which he doesn’t; his human body disappears but he returns to being a conscious and content teddy bear—is to misunderstand Tofu’s character journey, his narrative purpose, and his agency. We can only assume that shipping got in the way of comprehension here, and people who wanted to see human Tofu and Nut end up together focused on that to the exclusion of pretty much everything this show was saying and doing.

At the end of this story, Tofu is happy. To think that Nut was better off with Tofu than with Tarn is to not allow for the complexities of human experience; Nut did love Tofu, but he loved Tarn, too, and their relationship was a positive force in his life both before and after Tofu entered it. And Tarn was an actual gay human man in a coma who could not wake up while Tofu existed. Tofu was the creation of Tarn’s love for Nut; his existence was limited, and he found being a human extremely difficult. All Tofu wanted was to be Nut’s teddy bear and stay with Nut forever. He wanted Nut to be happy, because Tarn wanted Nut to be happy, and during his time as a human he worked to enable that happiness. He was instrumental in moving forward several stuck characters and uncovering many secrets, all of which were necessary for Nut to get to where he ends up at the end of the show. Being in a relationship with Nut was a bonus. He enjoyed the experience of being in love with Nut, but in the end he chose to sacrifice his human life so that Nut could have a permanent, lasting happiness with someone who was real. Tofu’s human death is not an example of the bury your gays trope; in fact, it is a total rebuke of it. Tofu, and this show, saved the gay men in this story and gave them full and happy lives. We cannot recommend watching and supporting this show enough.

#the miracle of teddy bear #thai drama #thai bl #long post #intergenerational trauma challenge

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scribblesofagoonerr · 3 months

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— You can kiss my ass, cowboy!

pairings: leah williamson x reader!monkey

summary: monkey's continuing her adventures in nashville with leah and her family, and of course she's her usual chaotic self throughout.

pt. 8 of chaos fc. ↪ read the rest here: chaos fc masterlist

thank you to @alotofpockets for help with this chapter with the aesthetic photos & shizzle.

ps. brace yourself folks, this is quite a long one.

"Shut that alarm up!" You grumble, your peaceful slumber being interrupted by the annoying sound of the blondes' alarm clock blaring right through from the other side of the wall in the adjoined room - You wish that you were trusted to have your own room, far away from Malfoy and that stupid alarm of hers.

But apparently that isn't the case...

"Leeeah!" You shout aloud in annoyance, before attempting to block out the noise by shoving a pillow over your face.

Did it work? Nope.

"Oh and good mornin' to you too, Monkey," Leah teases, peering her head into your hotel room to find you curled up on the bed with the pillow shoved over your head.

"Just shut it off already!" You exclaim in protest.

The blonde chuckles and fiddles with her phone, finally turning off the blaring sound, "That better?" She jokes, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, "You're never a morning person are we, eh?"

You remove the pillow and scowl at her, "What'd you think?"

"Come on cranky," Leah pats at your leg which is covered up with the duvet, "The alarm was set for a reason anyways, it's time to get up." She adds in a cheerful tone of voice.

"Too early for your cheeriness," You grumble, trying to keep hold of the duvet before the blonde has a chance to rip it away from you.

"You're so dramatic sometimes," Leah remarks as she attempts to rip the duvet covers away from you like the meanie that she is.

Whining in defiance, you scowl at the blonde again, "I'm not dramatic! You're the insane one for waking me up this early!" You exclaim, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

Sure when you're awake you're a menace, but you actually love your sleep a lot and its' precious.

"For somebody who had a fair amount of sleep last night, you're still exceptionally grumpy, eh?" The blonde continues to tease you.

"I can't help bein' tired, I'm a teenager. It's what we do-- Wait, how'd I get back?" It finally dawns on you that your in the hotel room, however, you don't remember much of how you get here at all.

"Took you long enough to realise that one," Leah quips in, shaking her head in amusement, "You crashed out at the festival, so I ended up carrying you back here." She explains.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, "What? No you didn't!" You refuse to believe that you fell asleep on the floor of a crowded place.

"I did, you were completely out of it after the sugar crash from eating all of the churros that I told you not to eat," Leah remarks, pursing her lips, "So I had no choice but let you sleep on me until we came back here." She adds.

"They were too good to not eat them, Le!" You insist, holding your head in your hands to hide your initial embarrassment when you remember its' not just you and Leah, but also her family too.

"Yeah, well that's what you get when you eat so many of them at once," The blonde still continues to tease you for her own joy, "I have photos for proof if you want to see them?" She offers.

"Oh my God, no!" You're quick to deny seeing evidence of your state of sleep the previous night, "You didn't post them on Instagram, did you?" You can't help but ask, already dreading the answer.

"What do you think?" The blonde has a shit eating grin plastered on her face, "That's going straight in my Instagram photo dump."

"You wouldn't dare!" You narrow your eyes at her, although you know pretty well, she most definitely would.

Leah continues to smirk proud of herself as she shrugs her shoulders, "You know you actually looked like well, not such a menace like usual with your face buried in my neck while you snored-- Whoa, hey!" She shrieks, dodging the pillow that you just so happen to have thrown in her direction.

"Your so annoyin' sometimes," You grumble in annoyance, slowly moving to get out of bed with very little effort that you have, "So mean, Malfoy." You add quietly, barely loud enough to hear.

Leah snorts in amusement, "Really? Speak for yourself, Monkey. Speak for yourself," She states as she takes a minute to realise what you said, "Oi. What have I told you about calling me that!" She states, firmly.

"I know, I'm a menace to society, yada, yada, yada! Kim spent the whole ride back from that open training session in Melbourne lecturing me about it," You murmur, rolling your eyes, "The bus ride was so long back to the hotel!" Walking off to grab your clothes out of your suitcase, you leave the blonde standing there in disbelief at your usual antics.

"Can we eat yet? I'm starvin' marvin!" You complain, being sat at one the tables in the diner that you're currently waiting on Leahs' family to join the pair of you.

You're not very patient most of the time, but you can't help that.

"Just be patient and wait a bit longer," Leah gives you one of her usual pointed looks that your more than familiar with.

You can't help but huff impatiently, "It's bad enough to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn and now you're making me wait to eat-- Neglect. Complete neglect!" You shout loudly, catching the attention of a few people, who look at you in concern.

Leah's eyes widen in horror as she laughs slightly, "Shes' fine, shes' fine, honestly, shes' just being dramatic," She reassures them the best she can before she turns back you and swats the back of your head, "Oi, don't shout that out loud in here. What is wrong with you?" She scolds, trying to hide her overall embarrassment.

"I'm hungry," You whine, ducking down in your seat.

"We're waiting for my grandma and cousin. Can you be patient enough to wait ten minutes before making a scene?" The blonde questions, completely mortified how you'd just acted.

You groan dramatically, "You're killin' me here, Le! I'm completely wasting away!"

"So dramatic," Leah murmurs, rolling her eyes, "Honestly, even Buddy doesn't make this much of a fuss sometimes." She remarks, referring back to her 3 year old and your favourite little buddy.

You wish that she could have joined you on the trip, it would have been fun. However, shes' spent the week on holiday in Greece with Jordan.

You decide to make the most of your time by attempting to stack the salt and pepper shakers on top of each other to try and make a make-shift tower, finding other little bits to add to it.

Leah could've said something but she was just grateful enough you weren't shouting the house down and causing a scene in the cafe.

"Sorry, we're late," Leahs' cousin, Jordan, calls over to you both as two older women enter the cafe.

"Finally!" You exclaim being miss dramatic over here.

Leahs' face blushes red slightly, "Yeah, sorry about her. Someones' impatient to wait long enough to eat." She remarks, poking fun at you.

"I'm hank marvin' I can't help it!" You whine in protest, while in the process you end up knocking over your newly built tower, "Awh, shucks!" You mumble, scrunching your face up slightly.

"Ah, I see," Leahs' grandma, Berny, chuckles and moves to take a seat at the table, "Did you sleep well, love?" She wonders, turning her attention to you.

"You definitely were conked out on the floor last night," Jordan chips in.

This time it's you who faintly blushes, "Ehm, yeah. I er, I didn't realise I passed out the way that I did." You admit, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

"Shall we order?" Leah chimes in, sensing your shyness with her family.

It might come as a surprise to some people, but you were, at times, incredibly shy.

Especially when it comes to blondie's family.

You didn't know why, but you tried to always be respectful and not be a complete menace around them.

Of course you have known them all for a while, having moved in with Leah when you first joined the team at 16 and you'd found a way to slot yourself into her home and family, but it still didn't mean you weren't shy around them.

It's only this holiday that you've really started to come out of your shell around them, both of them having seen what happened the previous night.

"I want pancakes!" You perk up at the mention of food, "A whole stack of 'em with bacon and tons of syrup!"

"That's not healthy, Monkey," Leah grimaces at your choice of breakfast.

"So? I'm on my holiday, innit!" You flash the blonde an innocent smile, "What Thanos doesn't know, won't hurt him." You remark, shrugging your shoulders.

The blonde tuts at your choice of breakfast, "You're not having that much sugar, regardless of being on holiday or not," She quotes, using her fingers as air quotes to mock you, "You can have a few pancakes or none."

You can't help but feel annoyed about Leah putting her foot down on this one and of course you protest about it, "It's not even that much sugar. What's the big deal?" You question, huffing slightly.

"The big deal is that its' enough sugar for you to be bouncing off the walls and we don't need a repeat of last night, do we?" Leah remarks knowingly.

Awh, shucks...

"Mean Malfoy," You murmur in disagreement, slumping back into your seat and pouting at the blonde.

"I heard that," Leah states, still not much a fan of her newfound nickname.

"Good you were meant too," Sticking your tongue out at her because you can't help but be a complete menace sometimes.

Leah tuts and shakes her head, "Sometimes I forgot who the toddler is."

"I think Buddy's more well behaved, isn't she?" Leah's grandma chimes in.

"Probably right there," Jordan chuckles in agreement.

You continue to pout in your seat at the older women's comments, "That's rude."

"But true," Leah states, blunt as ever.

"I don't like being ganged up on like this, this isn't fair!" You huff in protest about it all 3 older women saying what did, "I think for this I deserve to get all the pancakes that I want!" You insist.

Leah snorts slightly and shakes her head, "Ha, nice try but the answers still no, so pick again."

"Damn it. I really thought I had it then!" You grumble, slumping your shoulders in protest, thinking that you will be able to get away with that one.

"I'm free as a bird!" You exclaim, walking out of the cafe with a newfound love for american style pancakes and chocolate flavoured milkshakes that you had luck with getting Leah to cave in eventually.

"What?" Jordan asks, puzzled with your carefree spirit to run wild.

This is definitely a side in you that nobody in Leah's family ever usually sees, unless sugar is involved.

Also one of the reasons why you don't have it too much.

Leah exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "This is normal, don't worry-- Monkey, careful near the road!" She shouts aloud, yanking a hold of your arm when she catches you wandering way too close to it with the cars zooming past at the speed they did.

"Awh, I just wanted to see if I can balance on the curb like I do back home!" You insist, being caught out as you try an improvised balancing act to keep your brain distracted for a bit.

It seems to have done the trick, until blondie yanked you away from it.

"You're about to get yourself run over by that distraction," Leah clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "Come on, we're heading this way." She gestured in the direction of where the road led to a strip of shops.

You're not at all keen to follow that direction until you set your eyes on your version of heaven.

"Oh my God," Your eyes widen in amazement, her mouth dropping in shock and excitement, "I'm in heaven!" You exclaim.

A lego shop, your perfect version of heaven!

"You're what now?" Leahs' cousin questions, confused and more so concerned for your sanity.

Leahs' family look bewildered while Leah is more used to this type of conversation with you.

"Oh boy, she's seen it," Leah remarks jokingly, shaking her head.

"I'm in lego heaven!" You repeat the sentence, "OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THAT! WOW, ITS' SO COOL! A GIGANTIC FREAKIN' LEGO COWBOY!" You shout aloud to nobody in particular, too much excitement to care about any concerned looks whatsoever.

You don't waste any time yanking your arm out of the blondes' grasp and run directly towards it, wanting to see it better up closer.

"Oh great we got a runner," Jordan jokes, watching as you run off.

Berny chuckles in amusement, "Shouldn't you go and chase after her, love?" She questions.

"Nah, she'll be fine, wait actually, yeah... I'll be back," Leah speaks aloud in realisation, quickly chasing after you before you end up causing more trouble, "Monkey, come 'ere, now!"

"Oh she's definitely got her hands full with that kid alone," Jordan remarks, laughing as her cousin runs after you.

"I agree," Berny replies.

"Monkey? C'mere!" Leah catches up to you, looking slightly annoyed but you couldn't care less when you are in lego heaven, "You need to stop wandering off so much!"

"Look, Le, look! There's a lego cowboy!" You squeal in excitement, jumping up and down on the spot, "I want one, I want one! Can I pleeeease get one?" You all but plead, wanting your own lego cowboy.

Sure you're technically an adult but you don't handle money well at all, so you had your bank card held captive by Malfoy, something about your lego habits being out of control... but who can blame you when they're so cool to build?

Leah can't help but chuckle in amusement, "I don't think you really need one of them, do you?" She wonders.

You gasp at the blonde in fake horror, "Are you serious? I need one. We haveeeee to get this, it would be so sick," You insist excitedly, "Buddy would love this as well!" Knowing that your favourite little buddy would indeed love this as much as you do, you hope Leah caves at that.

Hearing the mention of the 3 year old, Leahs' more lenient to listen to your pleading, "Fine, alright. We'll get it." She agrees.

"For real?That's awesome!" You're incredibly excited now as you all but drag the blonde inside the lego store, your eyes widening in complete awe, "Can we get this one as well?" You ask, motioning to another lego set.

"I think just one is fine for now," Leah shakes her head in disagreement.

You can't help but pout then, "But you know Buddy would love it as well, not just me!"

"Really? Using my kid as a way to get things," Leah quirks her eyebrow and continues to shake her head while you continue to give her your best puppy dog eyes, "Oh you know that doesn't work on me now... Alright fine, we'll get that one as well, but that's it!"

"Yay!" You jump for joy and pick up the second lego set, the excitement was unbearable to be able to build it.

"Oh my God, this is the best day ever!" Walking along the road near to the venue of the festival, you come across a fluffy cow in the field, "Oh my God, Derek. Is that you!?"

"Off she goes again," Leahs' grandma remarks, shaking her head, "That kid sure is a whirlwind." She adds.

Leah pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "Monkey, where are you goin' now?"

"Look! I found Derek-- How'd he get here from Scotland? That's so far!" Your eyes widen in confusion, "Look, Le! It's Derek, the fluffy cow!" You point over to the field where there's a cow that is the exact replica of the one that you saw in Scotland.

"Oh... She's not serious, is she?" Jordan looks at her cousin for clarification.

"I fear she might be," Leah admits, biting her bottom lip.

Jordan can't help but laugh, "Are you sure you don't think its' wise to get her tested, for you know, obvious reasons?"

"I'm not crazy, I'm just quirky!" You shout aloud before dashing to the field to where the fluffy cow is, "Hi, Derek. Quick this is the perfect photo opportunity-- Ay Malfoy, can you take mine and Dereks' photo?"

"Malfoy," Jordan snickers in amusement.

"My names not-- Fine," Leah begrudgingly snaps the photo of you with your new favourite animal, somehow accepting her new nickname.

"It's nice to meet you bud, thanks for the photo!" You grin and pat the cows' fur gently, "Le, wouldn't it be so cool if we could get a fluffy cow as a pet?"

"NO!" Leahs' quick to disagree, "We don't have a house big enough for a fluffy cow, don't get any ideas!"

"But we could though!" You insist, trying to find a reasonable solution to have your own fluffy cow.

"No! Come on, lets' go before you get any more crazy ideas!" Leah is grabbing hold of your upper bicep and all but dragging you in the direction of where you were previously heading to the venue.

"My ideas aren't crazy, I'm just havin' a good time," You huff in protest and reluctantly follow after them to walk to the venue for the second day of the festival.

"Come on menace," Leah remarks.

You grin excitedly still in awe of seeing the cow, "I still can't believe that Derek's here! I am shook!" You exclaim.

"You know he's not... Ah, never mind," Leah shakes her head, giving up on the explanation, not sure if you'd understand it right now, "Think you can stay awake this time round?" She jokes.

"Shut up," You blush red at the mention of your antics the previous night, continuing to follow them until you saw something else that looks pretty cool in your opinion, "Wow, that looks awesome! I wanna go on it! I wanna go on it!"

The 3 older women look in the direction of what's caught your attention and all laugh in amusement.

"Think you stay on long enough without falling off it?" Jordan challenges.

You scoff in agreement, "Please, I'd be a pro!" You're more than up for the challenge, already heading in the direction of the mechanical bull.

"Don't sound too confident about that one," Leah stifles her laughter before she reaches into her pocket to take the money out and pay for the ride, "Try not to fall off, menace." She jokes.

"Yeehaw' lets' go!" You exclaim, rushing towards it and hopping on, the bull starts up in a slow motion as it starts to fasten the pace, "Woohoo! This is great, I love this-- YO NASHVILLE!! YEEHAW MUTHA FUCKER!"

Leah's way too busy filming this to even be bothered to scold you about your use of colourful language, this is pure entertainment at its finest.

"She's' really enjoying herself on that thing isn't she," Leah's grandma comments as she beams a wide smile, happy that your able to be carefree as you want, however she is certainly surprised about the words that come out of your mouth.

Leah's cousin is cracking up in laughter, "I'm surprised she hasn't fallen off it yet. You know she's definitely going to try and get you to buy one of these things now, eh?" She jokes with the blonde.

Snorting in amusement, Leah shakes her head as she saves the video for later and pockets her phone in her pocket, "She can try all she likes, where on earth would I have room to fit one of those in the house?" She wonders.

"I'm sure she'd try and fit it in her bedroom if you let her," Jordan remarks, shrugging her shoulders as she continues to watch you have an absolute blast on the mechanical bull.

"That was... That was awesome!" You exclaim, stuttering your words as you try to get your breath back after being thrown around, "We have to get one of them!"

"Told you," Jordan states, looking at Leah knowingly.

Leah chuckles and slings her arm around your shoulder, "We are definitely not getting one of them," She states, letting you have a few minutes to catch your breath again before you continue to yap about something else.

"I don't think it would be safe or practical in a house," Leah's grandma chuckles.

"But it would be so cool, wouldn't it? You know Buddy would love that!" You insist, knowing its' the blonde weak spot to mention the little 'un.

"Oh no, you're not doing that again. There's no chance I am letting Buddy near one of these things at all any time soon," The blonde states, firmly much to your own disappointment.

"It would be so fun though, wouldn't it?" You try and give a convincing speech to get your own way, but judging from the look from the older blonde, you're having a hard time with that, "Guess I'll just have to get one when I get my own place."

Leah snickers and shakes her head, "You're definitely way off that happening any time soon at all, Monkey." She tells you.

"Really? I think it would work out pretty well," You insist, shrugging your shoulders, "It's okay to admit that you'd miss me though, I get it." You joke, knowing secretly that the blonde will definitely miss you too much when you move out, even if she doesn't openly say it.

"I wouldn't miss you," Leah remarks as you all walk into the venue of the festival, "Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight when you think that takeout meals, sweets and energy drinks are an acceptable diet-- Oh you think I didn't know about them ones, huh?"

"I thought you were banned from energy drinks?" Jordan asks, knowing that you don't react well with them.

"She is supposed to be, but someone sneaks them when they think we don't know about it," The blonde remarks, looking at you.

"He, I'm a menace," You smirk at the both of them, "I can't survive without sugar sometimes!" You declare, you love sugary drinks and you can't get enough of them.

However, some people, i.e. responsible adults, think differently about them, so sometimes you have to get creative to get a hold of them.

Leah clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "We seriously need to talk about your caffeine addiction before it gets out of hand, Monkey."

"I think you might be past that point love," Berny chimes in, amused at the conversation.

Leah exhales a sigh and nods her head slowly in agreement, "I fear you might be right there, grandma. Our Monkey's habit of caffeine certainly is concerning." She states.

"Yo, this music is my passion!" You exclaim loudly over the volume of the noise, enjoying yourself being in your element once again, "Nashville's a total vibe!" You shout, even louder if that's even possible.

"If this is her without so much sugar then I hate to see what she's like with it," Jordan remarks, leaning in close to Leah so she could hear her over the music.

"Carnage, complete and utter carnage," Leah states, wincing at the flashback of the last time you had a ridiculous amount of sugar.

This is tame for you.

"I fuckin' love being in Nashville!" You scream at the top of your lungs, standing on a chair and swinging your cowboy hat around in the air.

"Hey! Language!" The responsible adult, ie, captain of the fun police chides you, because it's' just so typical of her, "Get down before you end up breaking your leg!" She adds.

"Geesh, calm down there, Captain America!" You roll your eyes, but begrudgingly get down off the chair to save the defender having a cardiac arrest right there and then.

The blonde clicks her tongue, "You're such a menace sometimes, Monkey!" Completely caught off guard when she watches you pull a pair of glow in the dark glasses out of your back pocket, "Wha-- Where on earth did you get a pair of them from?" She questions, bewildered.

You smirk and slide the pair of glasses on, "What, you mean you don't carry a pair of these at the ready?" You gasp in shock horror.

"You really are something else sometimes, Monkey," Leah remarks, shaking her head.

"I'm impressed," Jordan chips in.

"They suit you love," Berny pipes in.

"Thank you," You grin at the older women before you turn to look at Leah, "See? I'm totally rockin' them! Wanna pair, they come with two!" You offer the spare pair to the blonde.

"Oh no, I think only you can pull off a look with a pair of them glow in the dark glasses and cowboy hat," Leah states, amused with your usual antics and doesn't miss the opportunity to snap a picture for the memories.

"I gotta take a video of this and send it to Kyra," You state, sliding your phone out of your pocket to pull up the camera app, "You know, I wish she could be here to experience this!"

"I'm glad, I don't think I could handle the pair of you together," The blonde tells you honestly.

You can't help but smirk confidently, "Only because she calls you Lord Farquaad far too much for you to handle!"

"Lord Farquaad?" Berny questions, confused.

"That's certainly creative," Jordan chimes in as she tries and fails to stifle her laughter.

Leah groans and shakes her head, "I don't know what it is with you pair and coming up with these nicknames." She mutters in disbelief.

"Oh, we made code names for everyone!" You exclaim, remembering all of the time it took you and Kyra to come up with them all, "We called Katie leprechaun cos' she's Irish, innit?"

"I'm sure she loved that," Leah deadpans, trying to figure out what went on inside your head sometimes.

"Smile, Le," Taking the perfect opportunity of Leah pulling her usual frowning face, you snap a picture and upload it to your Instagram right there and then, "I got the perfect shot, Instagram approved."

"Don't you even dare post that, Monkey!" The blonde states, firmly.

"Eh, its' too late for that," You flash her an innocent smile and pocket your phone again and start to dance to the beat of song that you recognise.

"Hey sweetheart, you're lookin' like a fine thing," A man attempts to horribly flirt with you and gets a bit closer to you, "Wanna have a dance and maybe even a kiss?" He offers.

You scrunch your face up in disgust, "Ha, no. I tell you what you can kiss though," You state as you near his face, "You can kiss my ass, cowboy!"

"Well if the offers there," The man smirks in agreement.

"Ew," You murmur, not understanding why he wasn't going away.

"Whoa, hey, no, no," Leah shakes her head in disagreement and moves to stand up, trying to square up to the man, "Back off, mate. Shes' too young for you!" She states, not having none of it.

The man holds his hands up in mock surrender, "Geez, alright, no need to be so protective," He jokes as he backs off in the other direction.

"You can't say these sorts of things, that man literally took it like that!" Leah shakes her head in disbelief, "You should know that men don't always think with their heads!"

You huff in disagreement, "I had it handled though, you didn't need to intervene. I was totally gonna wind him up about it!"

"Menace," Leah mutters to herself.

"I'm thirsty, I'm gonna go and get a drink," You declare, going to move in the direction of a bar.

"Hold on, I'm comin' with you. I don't trust you alone with what just happened," The blonde's quick to say, following after you before you can wander off once again.

"Are you sure I can't have a beer?" You try your luck with this once again, maybe hoping the blonde has changed her mind.

"That depends if you want to sit in jail for the night," Leah remarks as the two of you wait to be served by the bartender, "Hi, can I get 2 vodka cokes, 1 gin and tonic and a coke as well, please?" She asks.

"Comin' up," The bartender nods and gets to work pouring the drinks one by one.

"Oh, no ice or oranges!" You interject, holding your finger up in the bartenders direction.

Leah snickers, "Do you mean lemon or lime, instead?"

"Whatever," You murmur and shrug your shoulders.

With the drinks passed over to you both, you start walking back to Leah's family as something on the ground catches your attention all of a sudden.

"Er, what's that?" You move closer to inspect it, reaching out to try and poke it out of curiosity.

Leah's eyes widen in horror as she's quick to swat your hand away from it before you can reach it, "Ew, no. Don't touch that!" She states, firmly.

"Why?" You cock your head in confusion as you inspect it closer and the realisation suddenly hits, "Oh-- Ew, ew, that's gross! Oh my God, I almost touched that! Why... Why's it on the floor-- Why did you nearly let me touch it?" You screech in disgust, having a complete meltdown over it, earning a few odd looks.

"That's why I swatted your hand away before you did, Monkey," Leah exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "You should know better than to touch things on the floor, anyways." She adds, expecting you to have some sort of common sense.

You pout at her words, "I was curious. I didn't realise it was a condom!" You whine in disgust, trying to move away from it now, "I'm innocent, I don't know about them things!"

Leah laugh in amusement, "Well, at least you know for next time," She remarks, pulling you in the direction of where her family members are, "Here you go." She hands the drinks to them and sits back down in her seat.

"I just almost touched a freakin' condom," You murmur in horror still, feeling traumatized about the experience.

"What?" Jordan blinks in confusion.

"It was right there on the floor, like ew, why would anyone leave such a thing like that on the floor?" Your close to having a complete breakdown over this, "That is totally disgusting! Absolute filth! Wha... Why would somebody-- I just don't understand it!" You exclaim.

Berny and Jordan can't help but laugh, while Leahs' holding her head in her hands feeling somewhat embarrassed for you making a scene like you did in typical you style.

"Oh dear," Leah's grandma states, amusedly.

"Calm down, Monkey," The blonde tries to calm you down, but your not having none of it as you continue to wave your arms about in the air and still have a complete meltdown over it.

"No, no! It's not right, its' horribleeee! What if... What if I actually touched it? I could have... I could have picked up anything at all!" You screech in horror, displeased about the whole thing.

"Monkey, relax. It's fine, you didn't touch it," Leah states, trying to stifle her laughter as she has to admit watching you freak out in this way is funny, and it proves that you really are innocent with some things after all.

You huff and slump down in your chair, not liking being mocked fun off as the beat for a familiar song kicks in, "Hey this song's great-- Yo, Le, have you sung this to Lia at all?" You joke, you can't help but want to mess with the blonde.

The speculation from fans is always wild about Leah being with Lia, of course you know they're just the best of friends, but you're a little shit and you can't help but want to stir trouble even more.

"Monkey!" The blondes' glare is enough to make you crack up laughing even more, "Enough of that!" She states, annoyed.

"You know I just can't help it sometimes," You reply trying to feign your innocence, "Are you sure there's nothing more serious going on there? I'll give the fans the inside scoop-- Agh! No, get off meeee!" You can't help but screech loudly as the blonde is quick to pull you into a headlock and press her hand over your mouth to shut you up before you continue to talk.

Yep, definitely worth being a menace sometimes.

monkeymenace_ just posted.

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 18,023 others.

monkeymenace_ adventures in nashville with malfoy and co, my dreams came true in more ways than one!

from getting to pet derek the fluffy cow, finding the best lego store and riding a bull, and that's without even talking about the music. it's been a blast!

nashville, you have my heart! 🤠❤️

leahwilliamsonn: glad you have had the best time, monkey! 🐒❤️

bethmead_: ha, that denim jacket is perfect for you! ↪ leahwilliamsonn: i thought the same when i brought it her

kyracooneyx: missin' you, eagle 1 😢🦅 ↪ monkeymenace_: missin' you too, eagle 2 😭💔🦅🦅

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #woso one shot #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso #leah williamson x reader #chaos fc #monkey #leah williamson #woso community

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Note

Hi hi! So this is a request for the 4k followers thing and if it sounds like word vomit I apologize cuz I have no idea how to word this. Could I ask for prompt 10 ("I think we should go to dinner first.") with mc x azul? The scenario here is like that one twitter post that was going around awhile ago about how a falls first but b falls harder, with a being azul and how once he realizes his feelings he resigns himself to forever pining from afar bc he's convinced himself that any relationship between them would be doomed to failure since mc is from another world and would have to go home someday. But while mc is a bit dense when it comes to their own romantic feelings they've always been an upfront person and as soon as they realize they like him they kinda just,,,, barge into his office and say so, and I feel like the sentence prompt would be said by azul after a pretty intense make out session (maybe nothing spicy spicy but yeah) where at the end oh yeah he remembers he's a gentleman

Also after a bit of searching I found the twitter post I was talking about

Gender Neutral Reader x Azul Ashengrotto Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 10: "I-I think we should go for dinner first."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

Azul had been avoiding you.

Which was so strange and wholly out of character that the first few days of it went by in a weird sort of fugue. You hadn’t even noticed an entire week had passed in blissful, mafioso-free silence until you were heading to your Friday night shift at the Lounge and realized you hadn’t seen your favorite octopus even once. Normally the House Warden was fluttering around you like a scam artist to an old folks’ home. Poking, and prodding, and ‘ah, Prefect, I know you weren’t a fan of the last contract, but perhaps this one would suffice, hmm?’

And when you arrived in the little, employee-only locker room—still fully unbothered and not offered even a single opportunity to sell your soul—you wondered if maybe he’d gotten sick.

You were in the middle of taking some Savanaclaw student’s order when you finally saw him at all. Just a quick glance out of the corner of your eye to catch his shining, silver head of hair popping into his office. You smiled brightly and offered a wave. But Azul only went stiff and closed the door with a bang.

Which was…

Huh.

“Is Azul feeling okay?” you asked Jade between running an armload of drinks to a table of Pomefiore students.

The eel hummed and gave you one of those smiles that never really looked like it was meant to be a smile. “Our fearless leader is clinically sound.”

You frowned. Because that felt like one of the Vice Warden’s non-answers that he’d throw your way sometimes like a taller, meaner older sibling holding your favorite toy just out of reach.

“So he’s alright?” you pressed, hesitant.

“Oh, I never said that,” he chirped pleasantly, before ducking off to go catch the stack of plates that Floyd was in the process of juggling through the kitchen.

The bubbling panic popping in your gut was the worst sort of tummy ache. The kind that spread its miserable pain until it’d left your chest hurting, and head spinning, and something deeply wrong throbbing at the heart of you. Because Azul, despite his inherent tendencies to treat you like a particularly stupid pack mule, was still your best friend. The person you cared about most in all the world! Sure, he enjoyed bamboozling you and your fellow students, but, like he hadn’t done anything genuinely malicious in ages now! Like a paid hitman retiring into selling seedy vacation timeshares.

The idea of him just—just not wanting you anymore struck something horrible in you. Of finally realizing that the silly little human from worlds unknown wasn’t worth the wobbly pair of legs you were standing on. And it left you feeling small, and afraid, and—and—

“Oh? Are you feeling unwell, Prefect?” Jade called from somewhere behind you.

“Does Azul hate me?” you blurted out before you could help yourself.

The eel blinked his bi-colored eyes at you—slow and unbothered. Perhaps a bit surprised, if you had to put a name to the expression. Jade’s face was like that sometimes. An enigma. Like someone had wired him up just slightly wrong when putting it all together. On any other living creature, that sap-slow nonchalance would have certainly bordered on outright boredom, but you knew him well enough to know there was at least something else going on there.

“Why would he hate you?” he asked, equally dripping and slug slow.

“Because—!” you squawked, and waved your hands around your head. “Because!”

“I see,” he nodded. And then latched a gloved hand onto your shoulder and steered you back towards his boss’s office. He didn’t even bother to knock before wrenching the door open and shoving you inside.

Azul looked up with a start, eyes gone wide behind his glasses and jaw slack.

“What’s going—”

“The Prefect is on the verge of psychotic break,” Jade chirped helpfully, with a closed-eyed smile. “Please be delicate with them, hmm?”

And then slammed the door shut all over again. Leaving you alone with the guy who might have only very recently started to hate your guts. Or—or maybe he always had! And maybe you’d just been really, really dumb about picking it up! You wanted to scream. Or hide away forever. Azul looked like the latter was an exceptionally tempting idea, and you could see his blue eyes flicker around the room like he was looking for an escape route.

But the idea of him running away from you, that you’d never see him again—that he didn’t want to ever see you again—had something horribly enlightening clicking into place in your brain.

“Are you okay!” you asked, so loud it nearly rattled the furniture. And Azul flinched in surprise. “Did I do something wrong!”

“What?” he blinked, startled. “Of… Of course not.” He cleared his throat and stood carefully, making his way towards you in the manner one may approach a rabid racoon hiding under their porch. “Perhaps you should take a seat—”

“I can’t!” you cried, frantic. “Not if you’re upset!”

Another of those owlish, outright consternated bouts of blinking. “You can’t sit?”

“No!” you wailed. That prickling, hot, tight feeling nearly overflowing out of you. “Not if it’s my fault!”

His expression twisted up into something mulish and embarrassed, and he reached up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a soft huff.

“…it’s hardly your fault,” he said, sounding so stupidly sad that you just wanted to—to—

“How can I fix it?” you tried, panicked. Because he didn’t want to be around you anymore, and you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t!

Azul sighed, gaze shifting away yet again. He offered you a tight, little smile that felt like all sorts of lies. “It’s alright, Prefect. Truly. It’s just something…” he trailed off, that forced smirk twitching off his lips like he couldn’t help it. “Something I’m learning to live with, hmm? Nothing terrible, I promise.”

“You shouldn’t have to live with something that’s bothering you,” you argued, firm. “You’re the king of fixing other people’s problems. You’re more than allowed to use all those connections and stuff to fix your own!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t really work like that,” he tried, awkward, and you steamrolled on.

“Why not?! You’re amazing! And fantastic! And I love you so much, and you should never have to be upset about anything. And if you’re not in my life for the rest of my life, I’d rather die!” you wailed, and gasped—clapping your hands together like the idea that had just blossomed in your skull was just beyond brilliant. “We should get married!” And then, to sweeten the deal, “Think of the tax benefits!”

“I—” Azul choked, going as red as a tomato. “Y-You—”

“—love you very much!” you finished helpfully.

He ducked his face into his hands, like he could scrub the blush right off his cheeks if he tried hard enough.

“Y-You can’t—” he spluttered into his gloves. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” you demanded. “It’s true!”

Azul’s shoulders hunched up like he was trying make himself very, very small. And then after a long moment of near hyperventilating into his palms, he finally looked back over at you from behind the shield of his fingers.

“You…” he swallowed. “You love me?”

You nodded, certain. Becauese what else could that warm, bright, all-consuming thing be in your chest be but that?

“You,” he said again. “Love me?”

“Yes,” you agreed, never more sure of anything than that. “And we should get married.”

Azul choked again and went back to hiding behind his fingers.

“Unless…” you started, trailing off as something horrible and unsure squirmed through your chest. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. It should be your choice too. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean you have to love me, y’know?”

“That’s not what I said!” he squawked, head snapping back up so fast he nearly knocked the glasses off his face. And then he went red all over again, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he was reaching up to pull the rim of his hat down over his eyes with a curse. “I just…” he began, muffled behind the fabric of his overcoat. “Maybe… dinner first?” he choked. “Before the proposal.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. “Of course. That makes sense.”

“That makes sense,” Azul echoed, sounding like you’d come up from behind him and walloped him with a baseball bat rather than just suggested a completely rational and beneficial mutual engagement. “I… I don’t know why I’m surprised at all.”

You quirked a brow. “Were you… expecting me to say that?” you asked confused.

This time he did look back up at you fully. Hands lowered, and the shield of his collar gone and all. The smile he sent you was small but so, heartachingly warm that it had butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“No,” he hummed, sounding impossibly pleased. “I really, really wasn’t.”

#4k Event #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #Azul Ashengrotto #My Writing #Writing Prompts

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 5 months

Note

Hi, could i request Alastor x reader where one of them does something nice/gives something to the other not realizing that in their culture it's equivalent of courting/proposing? And since the other is in love with them, they don't mention the connotations and it takes someone else to point it out for them to realize? :)

Going to be honest, I wasn't sure how to write this one, since I'm white and to my knowledge Alastor's a Creole man from 1930s, so I wasn't sure what from either of those cultures could be mistaken for a proposal. After doing some research I'm going to tweak this ask a bit, simply because I am not entirely comfortable representing other cultures that I am not a part of and only have a few hours worth of google research knowledge of. I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted. If you or anyone has more specific traditions to use as examples, I'd be happy to try and expand on the idea.

(Or reinterpret this as like, flower language, gift giving symbolism by pagan standards, or crow language. Which not gonna liez my ADHD ass really wants to write a crow sinner giving them weird random stuff they find that they think the others would like.)

Anyway, I'm going to do things you'd do for each other that make you both wanna get married. Hope that's ok!

Alastor

It's not so much a single thing you do, but more like there is a single moment where he realizes he wants to marry you. And to be clear, his idea of marriage is going to be based off of what he grew up with and his own personal level of comfort with romance and intimacy (remember folks, aromantics have a spectrum as well and can get married and have perfectly happy, functional, healthy relationships and marriages).

It's probably not even a big grand gesture or anything. It's more likely something domestic and really sweet. Like it's post the finale fight with Adam, and he already knows he's getting attached because he let you help him get patched up. He lets you in his room, his space, and being touched by you is as easy and comfortable as it is with Rosie and Niffty, who have pretty much a free pass whenever.

Yet you're still always so respectful of his boundaries, of giving him subtle ways to avoid or redirect your touch if he's not feeling up to it. You never push, chosing to take what levels of affection he's willing to express but always letting him know you love him, and this last small thing is the thing that makes it click in his brain.

You bring him his coat, newly patched, cleaned of any trace of blood. The stitching is a little sloppy, crooked, and the fabric isn't lined up as well as it used to be, but you tried. He can see the effort and knows you spent hours holed up in your room after patching him up.

"I know it's not perfect, but it'll hold until you feel well enough to visit your tailor again." You say timidly, as if you expected rejection or critique. And while criticism wouldn't be unwarranted, he's just too emotional to say anything. His smile is gentle, a little wobbly, and he reaches out and brushes the coat aside to grab hold of you and pull you into a hug.

You're just so sweet and considerate, you understand him. He's not going to change, he doesn't want redemption, he thrives off the bloodshed and chaos of hell, but at the same time he's still just a man. And he wants you to be by his side for eternity, if he you want that too. He's never thought of marriage before but now...now he can't stop. He wants to have that with you. Domestic life, something to come home to.

He won't say anything right away, he wants his proposal to be perfect. He's going to have Rosie help him plan this every step of the way, but regardless, one day, you will be his partner.

As for what your moment with Alastor is, I think it entirely depends on what you value most in a partner. However, a general consensus I've seen in most of the fanfics and tumblr posts is the idea of Alastor showing us a softer side.

Not just showing us that he's more than a serial killer and cannibal with his own sense of morality. More than just feeling comfortable enough to let us initiate touch, hut genuinely letting us see past the Radio Demon persona.

Maybe it's by cooking for us and talking about how he learned the recipe from his Mama, which leads into him slowly opening up about her, how much he adored her. What she meant to him.

Maybe it's him and you at the bar in the hotel or in his room, sipping drinks, his jacket off, sleeves rolles up. Letting himself be casual and in a compromised state around you. Maybe he'll even take your hand and spin you across the dance floor like he used to with Mimzy. He doesn't even care if you're not that good, he can teach you, practice makes perfect, he just has fun with you.

Maybe it's a moment where he let's you touch him. Or seeks you out for help because he knows you won't say anything. Or if he humors you and flirts back when you tease him. Or let's say he has a tail and he doesn't snap your head off for accidentally touching it as you go by. Or he agrees to watch a movie with you or listen to a podcast despite how he feels about technology.

Maybe it's just a quiet night, sitting next to each other, each reading a book, his radio playing softly for background noise, and you look up to him to ask a question or say something and he's already watching you, a small, adoring smile on his face.

Take your pick of which one is the moment where your heart stops, your breath catches, and you realize that you wanna marry this man.

And then your delulu ass wakes up, lol.

Decide for yourself if you'd go through with a proposal or if you just accept how things are.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #sorry this isn't what you asked for #it's the best I could do

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killerkillerkillher · 1 month

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Sorcerer

Summary: You're a stable hand that helps care for the town horses. You're also romantically involved with most wanted man in the country.

Inclusivity tags: Reader uses he/him pronouns, refers to themself as a man, and has a penis. Some religious references, but Reader beliefs remain undefined.

Cw: Nothing crazy. No sex (this time) but is referenced. Takes place between 1850-1870 USA. You get lots of kisses. First person but NOT an oc, I promise with all my heart <3 mdni!!!

"I won' dat boy strung up and hung, ya' hear me? I say—I said, did you hear me?"

I sit on the inn proach, watching the sheriff wind up a posé of young and blood hungry men. In the deputy's hand is a wanted sign, a well created sketch of this state's most wanted criminal on the forefront of it. The name Satoru Gojo : Wanted Die or Alive is written below it with a heavy reward posted underneath.

Ten grand. A fellow like me could do a hellava lot of things with money like that. Man must have wronged Rockefeller himself to have a fortune that size on his head.

"Folk said he's was due west around midnight. We leave now and we can catch 'em in the town over come sun down." The sheriff's horse shakes its head out, eyes finding me before his human's do. "I trust you'll care for my horses, boy?"

I pull my cigarette from my lip, smoke making the corners of my eyes sting as the white rolls along my face. I toss a half assed salute his way, and he takes it for me being intoxicated and bitter, which is a fine enough response in his book. He takes his party of young and impressionables—they're all broke, jobless, looking to make a name for themselves just as we all are—and rides out of town due west.

When they're a good distance away, I finally stand and slug my way to the stables. The summer heat is killer, a sweat breaking out on my hairline when all I'm doing is walking, and I only get some reprieve when I slide into the stables. The place smells like hot animal, dry grass, piss. I do my best to shovel the horse shit, to turn the dirt and keep the hay fresh, but the stable hand before me was a poor worker and that smell had already clung to the walls long before I had any say. I make my way past the donkeys and the sweet mama mare that came in with a pretty girl on her back a week previous. No, I head for the stall in the far back that's padded up with hay and extra leather supplies.

Tugging open the door, I kick around the hay until my foot hits something softer that an old saddle. Instead of reaching in for it, I pull my leg back and kick it harder. It jumps, groaning in pain as a head of fluffy white hair pokes from the feed. The dastardly criminal, the arrogant bastard, the wickedly handsome, the Satoru Gojo wakes up from a drunken stuper, raising his torso up as he rubs it in pain.

The man has caused me more trouble than he's worth at this point. Hiding him like I do could get me strung up by my toes right beside him if we were caught because the sheriff and every other authority out there wouldn't want to hear from me that I couldn't help myself. Satoru has charm that no one man has any right to have, and he's a walking sin, one that no human has could do justice based on his wanted poster sketches.

They say the devil wanders the earth trying to lure men into sin with promises too sweet, and it's sad to say that if he were anything like Satoru, I would have followed him tripping and stumbling.

"Get up, outlaw." I lean against the stall door, watching him blink away last night's alcoholic haze. For a man as feared as he is, he sure is a light weight. It took one and a half beers to get him flushed in the face, and four to get him tripping over himself. Said something about western drinks hitting harder than the shit from his country, but I wasn't really in the mind to listen to him past that.

"What time is it?" He grunts in a heavy accent, wincing at the light that filters into the stall. He pats around the hay blindly until he finds a set of tinted spectacles to slide onto his nose. "My head... fuck." He massages the dip of his nose.

I look at my pocket watch. "Just bout 2, but I forgot to wind my watch this morning, so give or take a' hour." I wind it as we speak. "Came ta wake you 'cause the sheriff deputy justin' left to head to Bucksteel. You leave now and you could hit the river near Hacienda Nueva by tonight."

"And you?" Satoru hums, an easy smile falling on his flushed lips as he picked straw from his hair—it's funny how easy he shakes off the hangover. He blinks those eyes up at me—pretty blue things that I swear God made by taking pieces of the sky and sticking them right into his irises—like he wants something. Something I certainly can't give.

"Wh'about me? I'm not the one with a fortune on my head. I ain' got a need to run like you do, outlaw." I pull a long drag from my cigarette before pointing at him. "Just get yer ass up and move along before I get in trouble too."

He pushes himself up to his feet, gracefully masking a stumble as he closes the distance between us. I follow his movements, not budging as he slide his arms around my shoulders. I've got to anchor my head back a tad, lips brushing his as he scratches at the base of my scalp. If it were anyone else, I'd tell them to get the hell off me, the summer heat being the biggest cockblock nature could hand us. But it's not. I'd sweat until I melted into a puddle for the taste of Satoru's skin, the feel of his lips, brush of his fingers on my back.

"The road would be better if you were on it with me, you know." He mummers, slipping small chastise kisses between his words. I take the cigarette from my lips and blow the smoke down. He hates the smell of it. I drop it and stomp it out.

"'m sure." With a hand on his nape, I pull him into a proper kiss, lips meshing like they're meant to fit together. Satoru may hate the smell, but he sure loves the taste that burnt tobacco leaves on my tongue. He sucks it into his mouth before mashing our taste buds together. It's sloppy, it's heated, and a string of spit keeps us tied between every breath.

His hands wander, grabbing at my shoulders, the hard earned muscles of my arms, the softer bits of me along my sides. All of it, he's hungry for, and I can't say I'm much better. My hands gravitate to his chest, groping his pecs as the flat of my palm pushes at his nipples.

Like a fire work, it's all hot burning action, sparks glowing and making shivers run through me. But then it's gone, just the same. I make myself pull away—it hurts to ignore Satoru's confused "Ah?" as his tongue still hangs out his mouth, dripping with our mixed saliva with those half lidded eyes—hands sliding down to his waist with plans to stay there.

"Ya gotta go, 'Toru." I urge. If he doesn't, I might just forego my restraint and bend him over against the wall right this moment. Now that would really get us in trouble.

"And here I was hoping for another taste of last night." He pouts.

He'd somehow gotten me into the bar when he rode into town last evening sporting a pack full of cash and an empty stomach. He'd bought half the town drinks, to which would get any man to ignore his bounty if you drowned them in enough liquor. He'd been sweet, throwing me glances and mouthing less than appropriate things across the room as sky had turned dark. His luck would have it that the woman serving my table thought she'd been the one on the receiving end of his flirts. That'd sparked the two of them flirting, which not only stepped on my nerves but her father's too. Daddy sheriff didn't like his daughter blushing pink and pretty for the fiendish foreigner outlaw, leading me having to cover for his ass again. He ended his night sleeping in a horse stable while the sheriff and his men searched for him, maybe or maybe not after receiving a jealous dick down from myself.

I never considered myself the jealous type before, but a man has his limits. Though, it's probably a futile effort. Like pirate has a woman at every port, I'm sure I'm just sending him away to another bed warmer over in Hacienda Nueva.

"Come on now," he tugs as the sleeves of my shirt. "Do I have go and talk to what's-her-face to get you all worked up again?"

"Ya mean Lottie?" I laugh, pressing my forehead to his. "You talked to her half the night and can' even remember her name?"

"Someone fucked me so hard I forgot it." He grins back. I grip his sides harder, and he takes that as a sign to lean back in for a kiss. I peck his lips, then lift him by the waist and move him out the stall.

"A'right, lover boy. Yer losin' daylight."

"I'm losing you." He sounds upset, tone edged with a genuine ring that it rarely carries. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. I've heard him use that tone in the past just before shooting someone in the back when they decided to give him grace. There's no telling when he might turn on me after sounding so soft.

"'m not going anywhere." I huff, pulling his gelding from its stall. It's nostrils flair before it bumps its head to mine in greeting. I pat it's cheek, feeling it's newly sleek coat. The poor thing needed a sponge bath after he came with cakes of mud in his fur and his hooves in a dangerous state. Gojo is lucky I know how to handle a horse, or his would be far worse off. "And if I do, it won' be far. You'd find me."

Satoru stays quiet as I secure a saddle into the gelding's back and brush its hair from its face. I can feel his eyes on my back, then his hands around my waist before he's slotting himself against me. Huffing a sigh, I gently loosen his grip so I can turn in his hold.

"Yer thoughts 're loud, outlaw. I can hear 'em from out h're." I cup his cheek. He's got skin softer than its got any right to be, so soft I'm sure sweet Lottie would be jealous. Thumb running along his jutted out lips, I kiss it to make it slip back into place. "None of that. Quicker you go, quicker you'll be back." I assure him.

He frowns, but nods anyway, and starts to fish something from one of his saddle bags. An envelope is suddenly between us and pressed to my chest.

"For you." That frown softens. I take it and flip it open. If I didn't stop myself, half the town would have heard me hollering from the sight of a thin stack of money shoved inside. The bills are crisp and straight like they came right from the mint, or like they'd been ironed into uniform neatness. This is the most money I've ever seen in one place.

"What the hell is this, Gojo?" I hiss, shoving the envelope back to his chest. The outlaw rolls his eyes before laughing.

"Only you would get mad at a gift like that." He hums fondly, pressing a kiss to my nose. I wrinkle it, cheeks heating up at the unusual sweet treatment. "Won't you let me take care a ya'?"

"People don' "take care" of men like me. You'd do better giving this to that bar girl's daddy and begging for his forgiveness."

"Let me be the first then." He kisses my nose again, my cheek, under my ear. I doubt it's pleasant. I'm caked in sweat and dirt and tobacco stink, but he kisses me like I'm something sweeter than life and he'd do anything not to stop. It's not treatment I get often. Most look at me and see grit, all rough desert rock and room temperature whisky coated afternoons. Few ride through here wanting me, and fewer still want anything more than a warm man in their bed. Satoru continues to prove himself an ugly duck by not looking at me the same.

"If I can't pamper you on the road, I'll do it here." He hums against me neck. "When I find you next, you better be in a better town than this one, stud." He finally pulls away with a wistful smile. "Where should I find ya'?"

"I said 'm not—"

"Humor me. If I come back in a month and see you ain' here, where would you be?"

I roll my jaw, thinking over whether it's really worth telling him. Of course it is. Who wouldn't want someone out there pining for them, for the next time they'll meet.

"The west. Rumors have it there's a few gold mines popping up and word hasn't reached the east coast yet. You look for me and you'll find me in a mining town. Webber's Creek'll be yer bes' bet."

"I got it." He pecks my lips one more time before slipping his foot into a stirrup and pulling himself up by the saddle horn. I pat his thigh, and guide him to the back of the stables and out the back door. "Next time I find you, I'll have enough money to buy you that cabin and farm you wanted."

"And the three piece suit too?" I muse. He talks like the envelope in my pocket couldn't do just that.

"That too. We can stay the winter there and hide from the world." He's smiling big at that thought, and I'm ashamed to say I am too. "Maybe get a dog."

"You've got big dreams, Satoru." I still as the sun beats down on us, squinting out at the desert plains. Gojo gazes at me from atop his horse with those sparkling sky blues, and bends at the hip to lift my chin. I push up on my toes and meet him mid way in an quick, heart wretchening kiss.

"Your dreams are my dreams, stud." He whispers against my lips. My heart skips and falls, slipping down into my gut where is kicks and wriggles happily. This is a story that'll end in heartbreak, I know it. I shouldn't get so worked over a man that could be shot dead by tomorrow, and the only way I'd find out would be from the absence of his wanted posters on the saloon news board. He's bad for me, will make me sick in the end. But those honeyed words of his are just enough to keep me stuck.

"Sweet talker." I laugh, though my humor really isn't in it. Shoving him back, I take a step away. We keep near each other like that and we'll get attached at the mouth again, never to say goodbye. "Get on now, I'm getting tired of saying it."

"Sure thing." He slips off his spectacles and tugs his bandana up from his neck to cover his eyes. He tugs a wide rim black hat from his saddle pack next and secures it on his head.

"I'll be seeing you," He grins. I lean back against the stable and fish my pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I wave at him with the box in hand and unlit tobacco in my mouth.

"Either in Webber's Creek or hell, outlaw."

I stand there, watching him grab his reins and stir his gelding up and out of town. He doesn't turn back—never does—and I don't look away until he's a tiny speck getting washed away in the blurring waves of heat.

Finally, I take that envelope inside with me, and with an old brittle donkey looking over my shoulder, count out exactly how much he gave me.

Five hundred dollars, lined up in a thin, glossy row of one hundred dollar bills. It's more than I've made in the 9 years I've spent traveling, and I'm sure if I showed this to my ruddy cheeked sixteen year old self, he'd faint. Satoru meant it when he said he wanted me out of this dead-end town, because if anyone here found I was carrying cash like this, they'd beat and rob me on the spot. Now I really have to leave, maybe find a bank that can break all of this down into smaller bills for me.

I sigh and look over my shoulder at Daisy the donkey. "How far you reckon you could take me on those legs of yours?" The old girl blinks slowly, clueless.

I'll have to go and steal a horse then since there's no ranch within a few miles of here. My palm rubs into my eye until I'm seeing colours. Give it to Satoru for turning a series of flings into an entire new journey for me. He's got me whipped past saving, and I can't help but think again that Satoru Gojo is far more trouble than what he's worth.

An: chapter 2 is written and will star Nanami, Yuuji, and a secret third person. Will publish... eventually...

#jjk x reader #jjk gojo #western au #yee haw #male reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x male reader #save a horse ride a cowboy #or something like that

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