#“can I have her back??” “Sure :)! Only for seven days though ❤️”

[temtamtom]

If I had a nickel for every time Veneziano stole the body of a Saint to bring back to Venice, I'd have two nickels.

Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[k-hotchoisan]

hiiiii <333 I have lovedddd lovvvveeeddd alll of your works I actually spent my day reading each and everyone of them I love it so muchhh!! 😭❤️

I have a request teehee, could you write one where Sannie is like a professor in your college and there’s little teasing here and there and where he ends up having her alas!! DOM - SAN ‼️💋

his favourite

<prof!san x fem!reader>

Prof Choi likes playing favourites.

You’re his favourite.

Genres/Warnings: smut, dom professor Choi San, pwp, face fucking, unprotected sex, oral (m receive) ,mutual pining, age gap, size kink, cream pies, mild jealousy plot, sir kink, light bondage (just tying up reader) teasing, sexual tension, teaching assistantxteacher obv forbidden but we still eat it up anyway!

Word count: 12.3K

a/n: happy birthday to the man of my dreams </3 enjoy this little choi san birthday treat. i put my love into this so please love this as much as i did! and thank you @bro-atz for the tidbits of help as always 🩷

apply for taglist here!

You stare at the laptop screen, scanning through your details on the application form, double, and triple checking that everything was filled in correctly. 

“Which professors are you trying as a teaching assistant for?” Your roommate asks, her neck craning over to see you attaching the file to six different emails, to six different professors within the department, pretty much answering her question the moment she reads off each professor’s email. 

“Why not try for the department chair?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as if it’s the first time you’re hearing that. 

“Who?”

“Professor Choi?”

Your eyes widen, your neck almost getting whiplash from how fast you turned to your roommate at the sound of his name. 

“Why the fuck would I try him?” 

Your roommate shrugs in an attempt to hide her amused reaction from your reaction at his name. 

“Who knows? I’m confident he remembers you even though you spent only one semester with him”, she hums turning away to pour herself another ice drink from the pitcher. “On a serious note, you may as well just get all the help you can get. Besides, what are the chances that Prof Choi sees your email? He’s the department chair. I’m sure his mailbox is just flooded anyway.” 

True, you think to yourself, turning your head back to your laptop, and adding the professor’s email address in. But you still hesitate, staring at the application form, your cursor hovering over the send button. Your roommate looks over at you, and she decides that your wishy-washy behaviour is just being the biggest nuisance on earth, so her hand flies over yours and helps you to press send, and she watches you freak out at her while she giggles and escapes after committing her crime, chasing your roommate around the kitchen island for a good seven minutes.

Settling back down in defeat, you sigh in your hands, giving yourself pep talks. 

Right. 

The chances are close to zero that Prof Choi will see my application anyway. 

The chances of him remembering me are close to zero anyway. 

You shut your laptop, and the applications are completely erased from your mind. 

“Yo, check your emails, babe. The application results are out for me”, your roommate says, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. 

You settle yourself down across her, a chilled drink in your hand, pulling up your email inbox. As you expected, you see the subject headline ‘Teaching Assistant Application Results’, and you expand the email.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you mutter, loud enough for your roommate to hear. Her head pops out from behind her screen. 

“Who did you get?”

“Choi San.”

Professor Choi San. His classes weren’t the bane of your existence—but he, himself was. 

And the fact that it only took one semester to solidify that claim. Almost everyone wanted to get into his class, so fucking many of them just squealing over how he looked almost god-like. You wonder how much of a swoon he would be, how much of the rumours that travelled down the stream were factual, though with thousands of students constantly fighting for a spot in his class, you sure were coloured surprised when you landed a spot in Professor Choi’s class. 

The moment he walked in, the whispers within the confines of the lecture hall erupted into gasps and squeals. Unfortunately, the rumours were right—the moment ProfessorChoi walked in, it was as if your eyes naturally followed his movement—confident strides in his steps dictated by his outfit—a simple dress shirt under a dark gray vest that accentuated his wide shoulders and skinny waist.  

He was so fucking handsome—his hair neatly slicked back, frameless glasses sat on his nose bridge, his sharp and small eyes hiding behind the lens. Undoubtedly, seeds of infatuation began lodging themselves in you. Well, it’s not like you had a chance with him anyway, especially when the gold band reflected from his ring finger being a huge indicator. Maybe keeping him as an eye candy would work out just fine. 

Prof Choi’s classes were interesting, and he as a professor, other than being a distraction during the majority of his classes, held his credentials. However, at times, some sarcastic comments would bubble to the surface, and even though he did tend to commend top-scoring students for tests, he still maintained professionalism for the most part—the content taught wasn’t rocket science anyway. You saw yourself being able to breeze through the syllabus for the most part until you received your grade for one of your essays. You stared at his comments, marked in red lines, circles, and words—tone cold and direct—not that you weren’t used to it, but this time? You felt his comments alongside him marking you down were completely unjustified. 

It was then that you pushed past the group of girls who would stay back after class to shamelessly flirt with him, under the guise of wanting to discuss more about the content taught that day, and you stood before the group, asking to speak to Prof Choi personally. Prof Choi did have people staying back after class to consult with him about grades, although they would stay shortly with him staying stern to his marking rubrics, but when he realised you weren’t backing down on top of the way you approached him so directly, it intrigued him.

His office was spacious, considering that he was the department chair—and without introductions, he had you dive in immediately in consultation. 

You wasted no time, flipping through the spent pages of your essay, pointing out areas where you felt his comments were unjustified. Prof Choi listened, and he refuted your points, some of which you decided to accept but not for one particular part;

“This part had no proper scientific support of your argument for this point-“

“Bullshit”, you cut him off. Prof Choi blinked, shocked at the blunt cut from you. His eyebrows were scrunched in confusion next, wondering if he heard right that a student not only just cut him off, but cussed at him.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s here. A small significance value is still something isn’t it?” You replied, pointing at the paragraph after. He glanced at the paper once more, forcing himself to focus while you fought back that your argument was supported. 

So you made Prof Choi sit before you and listen to your elaborations, and needless to say, he was rather impressed, although he had to hold his expression neutral. 

You came out of the consultation victorious—the day Prof Choi called you over after his class again, handing you your script, and you saw your total marks shooting up to a gorgeous score. Your head was so into the clouds that you returned a smirk along with a shrug—showing off your victory and satisfaction as your thanks—an I told you so, leaving the professor to stare after you in awe while you practically skipped to your seat. 

That sealed your fate. 

From then on, Prof Choi would have his attention on you—recognising which seat you picked to sit in in class, wondering why you hadn’t dared sit nearer. And when it came to picking people to answer questions, his gaze would fly to you immediately—either waiting to call you out once you raised your hand or simply calling you when he felt like it. For some sick reason, he finds the way your face scrunches up in stress when he calls your name in his honey-soaked voice amusing, and even adorable at times, though he would never admit it. But oh, did he love the comments and answers you would give him. 

Despite that assignment being the only one where you decided to consult Prof Choi, following every grade release of an assignment, he would single you out, especially after class, to fucking ask if you had questions regarding said assignment, which honestly started to freak you out—mostly because he never gave you the attention before, and you weren’t used to it. The whispering gossip in the class about you being the teacher’s pet slowly reached your ears too, and even Prof Choi heard it—and he only exacerbated that rumours by constantly giving you his attention. 

Every time you reached your dorm, the words that left your mouth which your roommate could recite verbatim, “I swear to god, Prof Choi has it out for me!”

Not to mention you were fucking relieved when the last day of his class rolled around, but unfortunately, his parting words to you were, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, y/n”. You did everything in your power to avoid getting into his class and even bumping into him, which seemed to work swell. 

Until now that is. 

Now here you are again, standing before the familiar heavy wooden door, staring up at the wooden plate, embossed with gold lettering “Department Chair Choi San” staring right at you. You had to physically drag yourself off your bed to prepare for the first day partnered with Prof Choi. And when your roommate’s words of “oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He’s hot!”, echoed through your ears, it all the more made you want to just ditch your first day by clawing your eyeballs out. 

You had to collect yourself before Prof Choi collected you. 

With a raised knuckle, you rap against the door, taking deep inhales in the process. His voice, which sounded deceivingly like honey, remained the same as you remembered. 

“Come in.”

You pause for a moment, embracing yourself before holding onto to doorknob and pushing his door open. 

There he was, Professor Choi, his eyes focused on the scripts on his desk, which had piled up. His space remained the same as you remembered, for the most part—shelves littered with awards and files, the same desktop taking up one-quarter of his huge ass desk, and the couch with the coffee table left to the side of the room. Prof Choi wore a stern look of concentration on his face, still preoccupied with finishing up marking his scripts. 

When his pen pauses and his gaze shifts towards the door, a small smile spreads across his face. He lifts his head and drops his pen, interlocking his fingers on his desk with growing amusement when his eyes meet yours. 

Fuck, he’s still so handsome.

“Professor Choi”, you greet, holding your expression neutral as you bow, forcing yourself not to fidget with your tote bag. 

“Y/n!” Prof Choi greets almost too enthusiastically. “I would assume you would be more than delighted when I picked you to be my teaching assistant.”

“Honoured, almost”, you reply. It’s taking all of your energy not to break his gaze. He’s staring at you with unreadable eyes, and you’re wondering if the fluttering in your chest is from the anxiety or the way Prof Choi is staring at you.

Prof Choi laughs, and it tickles your ears a little too good. 

“Sit. We have a lot to go through today”, he gestures to the seat before him, and you take it.

He switches on his monitor to his course syllabus and turns the monitor slightly towards you. 

“Oh, before we begin, it’s a pleasure meeting you again, y/n.”

Oh boy, was being Prof Choi’s teaching assistant a fucking handful. You knew it was gonna be rough, but to be assisting Professor Choi San? He was on another level—his schedule would be filled to the brim with meetings with the faculty on top of conducting classes weekly. You struggled in your first month, learning the ropes, especially from a busy and challenging professor like him. He wasn’t mean or cold at all, on the contrary, more direct and meticulous. Well, he had to be, considering his position. Nonetheless, it felt like he was always too busy to attend to your questions sometimes, and that would leave you to your own devices. 

You stand in the aisle, looking down at the assortment of foods lined up in the chiller. Has Prof eaten yet? Does he even eat? What does he even eat? By instinct, you pull out your phone and open his chat. 

[you]: Hi Prof. Have you eaten? I’m at the convenience store near the campus. I could grab something quick for you. 

A couple of minutes go by, but your phone doesn’t receive a ping, and you had to reach the office soon. So you pick up another tuna rice ball for the professor alongside yours before making a beeline for the cashier. 

Prof Choi hears the knock on his door and as usual, he utters his usual “come in”. His gaze lands on you, and he glances at the clock. 

“You’re on time today”, he points out. 

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. “I’m always on time, Professor.”

“You’re usually in a little earlier.”

“Right, because I got you this”, you reply, rustling through the plastic bag in your hands, fishing out the rice ball.

He looks up at you, confusion hinted in his expression. He doesn’t take the food yet. 

“What’s this?” 

“Tuna rice ball. Surely only having coffee in the morning is not filling your stomach.” 

You put the food in front of him. “Besides, I messaged you but you didn’t reply. So I just chose something safe. Unless you’re telling me you’re allergic to tuna or something.”

Prof Choi blinks. His hands reach out to take the snack from the desk, unwrapping the plastic packaging as he watches you leave his office to grab a mug of coffee. He glances over at his phone, and sure enough, your name is there with your message.

Since then, his reply would pop up in mere minutes whenever you asked him if he wanted anything to eat. 

Of course, the more you spent time with him, the more you grew comfortable, and all the thoughts you ever stressed about slowly faded off. Prof Choi grew more relaxed around you, internally grateful that you’re able to tank a significant fraction of his workload for him. Undoubtedly, you also come to realise that Prof Choi is human after all—he obviously would make mistakes, even as someone of his caliber, and deep inside, you found it rather cute, well, until you had to stop yourself from developing deranged thoughts. 

Not to mention, another problem seemed to pop up—his flirty banter. He likely picked up that it made you flustered sometimes, and since then, he wouldn’t let it go, relishing at the way pink creeps up your cheeks when he would say something that wasn’t like his ‘professor-self’, and at worst, feeding into your crooked thoughts. 

You stare at him as he types away, particularly, the metal band around his ring finger. You wonder who was the lucky lady who had the chance to be with him. You blink. 

What the hell were you thinking?

“It’s rude to stare, you know”, Prof Choi’s voice snapping you out of your daydreams. 

“I’m just wondering about your ring, that’s all”, you reply, forcing your attention back to your half-marked assignments.

“I’m not actually married”, he suddenly confesses, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat slightly faster. 

“Huh?” Is all you manage to reply. 

Prof Choi chuckles. He pauses his work on the desktop, turning his attention to you. Even though you have worked so closely with him for a while already, you can never seem to find your composure around him. 

Even though you see his face every week, you can’t seem to wrap your head around how insanely good-looking he is, how sometimes you struggle to maintain eye contact with him, because it doesn’t take long before you feel yourself slowly flushing. 

“I wear it on my ring finger so the students stop asking about my marital status”, Prof Choi clarifies. You watch him pull the ring from his ring finger and fit it over his index. 

“So you’re single”, you echo.

He nods, “I’m single.” 

What is this strange feeling of relief?

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. You’re not looking directly at him, and you don’t realise the way he’s looking at you attentively. And if you do, you just might combust.

“I’m…single too”, you answer, trying to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the red pen in between your fingers. 

“And why’s that? Too busy fighting with your professors for grades?”

You glare at him. 

“I think it was my professor picking fights with me”, you reply quickly, jabbing right back at him. 

You watch Prof Choi lower his gaze, a smile spreading across his cheeks—an actual smile—his dimples showing up. Oh fuck. Just when you thought you could depend on your ribcage to contain your heart properly, you found out Prof Choi could actually smile. 

When he looks up at you again, you break the eye contact, your gaze flying back to the papers before you. 

“You know, I’ve met many students, but you were the first to cuss out at me.”

You did? “I did?”

Your professor nods, cocking his eyebrow at the way you had seemed to have simply forgotten something as eventful as that. 

This time, Professor Choi bursts into a chuckle, completely amused by your reaction. 

“Is that why you kept-“

“Giving you chances to answer in class for credit? You should really thank me for that. Your grade for my class was one of the highest you know.”

You feel your cheeks flush. But before you can retaliate, Prof Choi cuts you off.

“Jokes aside, no. I think the discussion we had that afternoon had an impression on me. The cherry on top was you cussing at me. I liked that. Refreshing and endearing”, Prof Choi continues, his attention seeping back to the pile of scripts before him. 

“I think this side of Professor is pretty refreshing and endearing too”, you let it slip.

His pen pauses in mid-air. You don’t catch his gaze completely softening on you. 

As the semester continues on, you began easing into the class schedules. You watch prof get swarmed by a group of students, a usual ritual that happens right when the class ends. At this point, you had grown used to it. Sometimes the students would come and approach you instead, which honestly surprised you, but your heart would feel warm, knowing that these students trusted you.

It was then you became acquainted with another teaching assistant under Prof Choi, who joined shortly after you did—Choi Jongho. Initially, he came off as a rather shy individual, but the both of you warmed up quickly with each other, sharing the workload and bonding over gossip with each other. Gosh, was he fucking amazing with gossip, especially when it came to Professor Choi. Soon enough, the both of you were texting almost on a regular basis, the conversations weighing more towards academic topics sprinkled with a little gossip. 

“You’re going off with Choi Jongho?”

“Yeah”, you reply, bunching the papers in your hands. “I’ve got some things to discuss with him about.” Partially true. 

For some reason, even though your professor has been completely swamped with papers to grade and meetings to attend, you would always find him loitering around your desk from time to time. He seems to especially enjoy doing that when you’re around. 

“You’ve been spending an awfully lot amount of time with him”, Prof Choi points out, looking over your shoulder as he watches you scribble on another student’s paper. 

“Yeah, we get along well actually. Isn’t that a good thing, Prof? Both your teaching assistants are besties.”

For some reason, that makes Prof Choi frown, but you’re too absorbed in your work to notice it.

A couple of minutes go by, and you still feel his presence, not that you mind, but you’re starting to find it peculiar that he’s been hanging around your desk a lot recently.

“Do you have something to discuss with me, prof?” You ask, eyes still glued to the paper.

“Yes”, he replies, taking another sip from his mug. “What do you think of Choi Jongho?”

Such a random question to ask, you think. Maybe he’s just making sure you and Jongho get along well?

You pause, giving yourself to think, tapping the back of the red pen against your bottom lip, taken aback by Prof Choi’s sudden question, but the conversations you and Jongho had resurfacing into your brain, and a giggle escapes you, which makes Professor Choi subconsciously narrow his eyes and furrow his brows. 

“He’s fun to be around, and despite how he looks, he’s actually got a wicked sense of humor. Oh god, wait. Let me tell you what you he did that day while we were having lunch together-“

You turn your head to continue to run your mouth, only to slowly trail off when realise his face is just inches from yours, and you swear your heart is on a treadmill from the lack of distance between you and Prof Choi. It’s as if time paused, the both of you sinking right into each other’s gazes. You can’t help but notice how intense his gaze is, and you can’t seem to decipher his thoughts, but from the way this situation played out, you swore he’d just lean in and kiss you. 

Your heartbeat accelerates at the thought—why would he do that?

And when his fingers are on your chin, your rational thoughts are getting flushed out. 

“That’s an awful lot of cute things about Choi Jongho. I’ve never heard you talk about another Choi like that.”

You swallow hard, your body still frozen in spot. 

“What do you think about him then?” 

“Jongho? I was just-“

“No. Choi San.”

Oh god. You could only stare back at him. Prof Choi tilts his head, his eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. His cologne floats and almost shuts down your senses—has he always smelled this good? 

The corner of his lips curl slightly at the way you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. 

“I t-think Prof-“

“San. Choi San”, he corrects you. 

Another hard swallow the more you try to focus your gaze on him. 

“I think Choi San’s a great professor. He’s really competent, a lot softer than he presents himself as-“

Fuck you can’t think. Not when he’s staring down your eyes to your lips like that. 

“Mmhm.”

“And he’s really so-“

Then a loud knock echoes across the room, breaking the tension. Prof Choi’s body doesn’t shift, but he looks up at the door, shouting “door’s unlocked”, before he stands back upright, adjusting his glasses and walking back to his desk. 

Jongho’s head peeks in, then he bows at Prof Choi before he walks to your desk. You stare up at him with a forced smile. 

“Ready to go? I was waiting for your message”, Jongho says, his eyes glancing over the professor, then you, a strange feeling that he probably interrupted something. 

You nod, while shoving your belongings into your bag, then slinging it on your shoulder. 

Barely being able to look at Professor Choi, you still force yourself to, bowing goodbye to him. 

“Thank you Prof Choi. See you tomorrow.”

He looks up from his desk, right into your eyes. 

“See you too, y/n.” 

You can’t help but wonder how far things would have gone if Jongho didn’t knock the door.

Jongho isn’t an idiot. Initially, he assumes that you and the professor were on much friendlier terms considering that you came in before he did. Granted, the workload he would give the both of you was the same, he would take the initiative to have lunch with the both of you both individually and together whenever he had pockets of free time, but what roused his awareness was the lingering glances Professor Choi would cast at you from time to time, the way he seemed to relish the reactions you would give him whenever he teased you. 

He notices the way your ears would grow red even when you roll your eyes at the professor and jab him with another playful snarky remark. 

Though he wonders how dangerous things could get, Jongho thinks this could get interesting. 

The semester continues smoothly, the only change being that Jongho being absent from the office more often due to his other commitment to soccer. You remember him telling you he had quite a big match coming up, the sparkle in his eyes bright and twinkling whenever he talks about said sport. 

If he wasn’t in classes, he’d be off for training, hopping into the office from time to time to pass Professor Choi marked scripts and reports. Prof Choi pretty much didn’t mind—he stated as long as Jongho did his job, he could be free to do what he wanted outside of being a teaching assistant.

Needless to say, the office was mostly Prof Choi and you, now even more time spent with him with Jongho mostly being absent. By then, the both of you had grown so accustomed to being in each other’s presence that banters amongst each other became the norm—the both of you competing with each other with unserious remarks, laced with almost flirtatiousness, just to see who would back down first. 

Then came the proximity—since Prof Choi would wander over your desk as if he had all the free time in the world, he would somehow strike up another conversation with you, leaning over to hear you better, his arm bumping into yours to look over at the papers you were grading to check if you were doing them correctly. But what he absolutely adores the most is when you’d roll over to his desk to pester him with your questions—sometimes even testing him on his own content. 

He likes the way he gets to be closer to you. He likes the way your shoulders touch his when you lean in to push the paper towards him so he can see the script better. 

He likes the way you would finally look up and meet his eyes when you’re done formulating your question, waiting to hear his opinion.

Today is no different—Professor Choi being so used to the notion that he would only be seeing you in the office, the corner of his lips pull upwards at the thought of the types of banter you would have with him, the kinds of shenanigans you would bring into the office.

He hears your knock at the time you would always arrive, watching the way the door opens, and your head popping from the door, as you greet, “Hi Prof!” 

“Good morning, y/n”, he would greet back, sipping on his morning coffee. 

You walk over to his desk, dropping his tuna rice ball. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast, Prof!”

“You can stop calling me Prof”, Prof Choi suddenly says, twirling the pen in his hand. For a second, you wonder what triggered the sudden change. You’ve been calling him Prof since day one, pretty much used to it already, the only time you didn’t was when he—never mind. The thought of it is making your face flush again. 

“Is there something else you want me to call you?” You ask, trying to calm your heartbeat down when that memory suddenly resurfaces. 

“You can call me San. I’m fine with that. I know you’re still my teaching assistant but we’ve been working closely. I think it’s fine to drop the Prof honorific.”

You try out. 

“Sure thing San”, you reply. “Though it’s gonna take a while for me to get used to this.”

“If you’re able to cuss in front of me, calling me by my name should be the least of your worries, y/n”, San teases.

You raise your hand, feigning a stance ready to smack him before you lower your arm, listening to the way San laughs before rolling your eyes and sinking into your desk. 

The day marches on as normal—attending a class or two with Jongho before he’s whisked away to his soccer practice, leaving just the two of you for the rest of the day. 

San is leaning at your desk again, looking at you typing out your report. He squints slightly before he leans down to your shoulder, his finger pointed at one of the paragraphs, asking you about the content. You answer him, and when you turn your head once you’re done, you find yourself looking at San’s side profile mere inches away—his sun-kissed skin, his pretty lashes, his thick, well-trimmed eyebrows, and the way his lips protrude out a little—he always looked like he’s pouting in the most adorable way. 

That’s when you realise a problem seemed to be bubbling up to the surface, try as you might to ignore it, repress it—that you’re falling for your professor. Fast. 

You snap back to reality, finally aware of how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage, and your hand flies up in instinct as a divider between you and San. San blinks at the sudden movement, confused. 

“Y/n, what are you doing?” He’s not moving. 

“I think I’ve got something on my face.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “You do? Let me check-“ 

His palm covers yours, bringing it down to the table, and you’re kicking yourself for sprouting such a self-sabotaging lie.

Why? Because now San has his hand on yours on top of his face in full view of yours, his eyes meeting yours before his gaze flutters around your face, checking for whatever hell you said was on your face. 

His gaze meets yours and for a split second, something else glints in his eyes. 

The door swings open, and San straightens himself up, slightly irritated at the interruption, leaving you to spin your chair away from San, your hands cupping your cheeks, the heat warming you up against the cold air conditioner. The heat from his hand on yours lingers for a little longer. 

Jongho walks in, his duffel slinging on his shoulder with his shoe bag clipped. 

“Hey, Prof. Hey cutie.” 

San blinks. What did he just call you?

“Hey jjongie. Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” You ask, forcing yourself to focus on your colleague instead. 

“Supposedly, yeah, but there was a sudden downpour midway so training got cancelled. Might as well get some work done here”, he shrugs, dropping his bag onto the floor. 

San is wrapping his head around the fact that you and Jongho seem to have pet names for each other. 

“Didn’t miss me too much right?” Jongho teases. “‘Cause I did!”

“That’s a first coming from you jjongie”, you reply, surprising a smile. 

“Of course! It’s been a while, how could I not? We should go eat dinner together sometime.”

San only stares on in silence, pretending to sink back into his grading.

Jongho walks over to your desk, taking his turn to look at your report. San watches the way Jongho’s arm is comfortable over your seat, as he asks you about your report, talking to you as if San wasn’t just behind you seconds before. 

The fact you’re entertaining him—hitting his arm playfully and laughing at his remarks—all the more rouses some kind of irritation in San. It’s like a boiling pot. 

He pretends he doesn’t see the way Jongho leans in to whisper something into your ear although it’s bugging him so fucking much. For once, he wishes Jongho’s training didn’t cancel. 

“Oh right before I forget”, Jongho mutters, rushing back to his desk, digging through his bag. He walks back over with a paper in hand and places it before you. You glance down and your face brightens up—it’s a ticket to his game. 

“For real?” You exclaim, your eyes bright, taking the ticket in your hands. “I’ll definitely make time for you.”

“I’ll score goals for you, kay?” Jongho teases, his eyes glancing at San, who is progressively looking more irritated. 

“Ah, Is San not going?” 

“San? Since when were you on first name basis with him?” Jongho wonders aloud, the suspicion only brewing even more. 

“Jongho, don’t you have reports to hand in?” San asks curtly. 

You feel like you are caught in between crossfire for some reason. 

Jongho smiles, then has your head under his arm, which elicits another irritated reaction from your professor. 

You have never had Jongho done this before. In fact, you recall him offhandedly mentioning that he’s never a physical touch person, and that anything with physical touch makes him shudder. 

“Relax, Prof. You’d rather your subordinates get along than not right?”

Just when San is about to reply, Jongho suddenly exclaims. 

“AH, coach is calling me back to the field. Prof, I’ll send you the report by tomorrow okay? See you guys!”, Jongho hums as he runs back to his desktop to turn it off. 

“Has he always been like that?” San wonders aloud, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I guess. It’s actually what makes him cute.”

“Cute? You think Jongho is…cute?” 

“Is he not? Doesn’t he remind you of a bear? Big and cuddly.”

San clears his throat, and you watch him walk over to your desk, his hand resting on the tabletop. He leans in. 

“So… you find it cute when he gives you pet names?”

“Well, I mean-“

“You find it cute when he plays with your hair?” San curls your locks around his fingers. 

You can’t seem to get words to leave your throat. 

“You find it cute when he has his hands all over you like that?” He’s leaning in even closer this time, arms trapping you at either side.

“Prof-“

“No. It’s sir.”

Your mind is in a whirlwind at the way he’s towering over you, his scent the only thing filling your olfactory senses, the way he’s staring right into you, gaze sharp as a blade. 

“You find it cute when his touches run up your body like this?” His fingers are trailing up your arms, every touch he burns into your skin, and when his thumb pauses at your chin, you realise you’re royally fucked.

Once more, his face is mere inches away from yours. You wonder if you’ll be teased like two previous times before. 

“Of course you don’t. You’d rather I do that to you, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, sir.”

His voice is barely a whisper, his eyes downcast, staring at your lips like it’s his reward to claim. 

“Good girl.”

Of course, he claims it.

His kisses are so greedy—his lips prying yours open, and you feel yourself completely give in to him, surrendering whatever resistance, rationale, repression to Choi San. 

You want more—you want seconds. Every swipe his tongue passes your lip, it makes your head float. How does someone taste this fucking good?

He pauses mid-way—barely a couple of seconds, to pull off his glasses and strew them across the desk—then goes back to devouring your lips. 

San would smile in between kisses when he hears your whimpers. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you tremble slightly at his touch. It all goes straight to his cock. 

He thinks you’ll be even more adorable when he ruins you. 

When San pulls back, he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, watching your glazed-out expression with amusement. 

"I'd love to continue messing you up, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll deal with you later, sweetheart. See you next week.”

His touch lingers on your chin for a couple of seconds longer before he pulls away and shifts to walk back to his desk, leaving your heartbeat wild and erratic, and your thighs squeezed tighter.

Since then, that was all you ever thought about—the slight smile before his lips collided with yours, the way his words rang in your ears. You could barely meet his eyes. 

In more instances than one and with any chance given to him, he’d close up any physical distance he had with you. Worried that your emotions would bubble and overflow when he does that, you developed a habit of avoiding his eye contact. 

Even after classes, you swore he was casting you glances even with lines of students waiting to talk to him. 

“Did you piss Prof off or something?” Jongho asks as he shuts his laptop. 

“Why are you asking?”

He shrugs. “It’s just that he’s been eyeing you down like a hawk recently. Did something happen between the both of you?”

You freeze when the flashbacks of the taste of his lips return to your memory when you remember how hungry he looked just wanting to devour you. 

“Y/n?”

You blink, then force yourself to meet Jongho’s eyes. 

“No. Nothing happened. At least I hope I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You’re fine. There’s a reason why the department chair chose his teaching assistants.”

You laugh softly at his words.

But when you hear San’s voice from behind you, you almost jump. 

“Y/n, Jongho, the both of you can wrap up here and head back to the office”, he instructs. You feel his warmth radiating from behind, and it only makes your heart jump at the proximity. 

You watch Jongho slowly pack up, small conversations sparking between the both of you about his soccer practice. 

You glance at the door. San isn’t back yet. 

“I think it’ll take him awhile to be back. The students there seem to really like him.” 

No doubt, the female students for this class seemed a lot more assertive, almost always demanding all of San’s time. Well, not that it should matter. It’s not as if he should mean anything-

“Y/n? Are you okay? You seem pretty off recently. Even Prof’s pretty worried”, Jongho’s voice grounding you back to the cold office. 

You force a smile and shake your head. 

“I’m fine. I guess it’s just so much workload to deal with.” 

Jongho places his hand on your shoulder in comfort, “You’re doing fine. You know you can approach either of us if you’re struggling right?”

You feel comforted, even though your messy thoughts weren’t even about the workload, so you return an assured smile before waving Jongho off for his soccer practice. 

You’re wondering what you’re feeling nervous about, because when the door of San’s room opens, you jolt slightly. 

“You’re still here?” You hear San ask. 

“Yeah. Need to reply to some emails and double-check some of their assignments.” Not a total lie. It’s the swirling feelings he’s been giving you whenever that day surfaces in your mind, the small bouts of attention he pays you and the touches he lets linger a little too long that’s all a dopamine rush in you. You can’t help but want more. But in the same breath, meeting his gaze will allude doom for you. 

San nods as he sits back at his desk, going right back to his computer. The silence continues for awhile and you’re surprised that you’re even able to concentrate. 

“Y/n”, you hear San call you. 

Your gaze doesn’t break from your screen. “Hmm?”

“Come here. Help me look at this.”

You walk over, ignoring the way your heart is just pounding so damn loudly. It’s painfully obvious that San is staring right at your face, and it’s also painfully obvious that you’re avoiding looking at him. 

And it definitely seems to be ticking him off. 

Your eyes stay locked to his screen reading off whatever is on the screen, and nothing is processing in your brain. 

“It looks good”, you curtly reply, trying to ignore the fact that you’re being stared down by a certain professor. You turn away, your eyes still not acknowledging San, only for your professor to stop you in your tracks. 

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

He’s making you face him now. 

You’re still not giving him eye contact. 

“Back to my desk?” You say, looking off into the distance. But San seems to have other plans. 

“You know ‘looks good’ isn’t the feedback I’m looking for, right?”

Shit. You know that clear as day. 

Now San has both his arms trapping you on his desk. 

You somehow still manage to avoid his sharp gaze even when you’re backing up against him, easily letting him corner you.

His belongings are strewn all over the desk when he pins you down. By some miracle, only papers flutter down his desk. 

And you’re finally looking right at him. 

“You’re finally looking at me, y/n”, he states the obvious. “Now tell me, did I do something wrong?” 

“No, you didn’t, sir”, you reply curtly. 

He leans in closer. 

“Then why are you avoiding my eye contact?”

You shut your eyes and squeeze them. There’s no pure way out of this—your dirty thoughts are seeping into the smallest crevices of your brain, and the more San is prodding you, the more it makes you throb.

“It’s because that evening when we…” you feel your cheeks burn with every word leaving your lips. 

San is waiting for you to continue. 

“When we kissed…couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And?”

“It made me want…more.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re honest?” He chuckles. “I’m gonna finish what we started sweetheart, like I promised.”

It makes your heart flutter. 

“Am I getting your consent for this?”, San’s voice rings in your ears. You’re finding it hard to focus, especially when his thumb is pushing past the corner of your lips, and you’re just growing wet as fuck. 

This is not right. This is so dangerous. 

“Yes sir”, you reply back, trying to ignore the way your cunt is just tingling from the feeling of San’s thick erection pressing against you.

“That’s my good girl”, he praises before he dives in for a hungry kiss, his fingers roaming around your body, squeezing your tits before he unbuttons your shirt at an agonising pace. He smiles on your lips when he hears your soft gasp, and he presses his lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking and biting the soft skin against your neck, his erection growing tighter against his trousers when he hears you moan and squirm. 

When he’s satisfied with the light marks he decorated down your neck, his lips are pressed against your ear, and his hands are moving dangerously close to your cunt, and inevitably, your bottoms are off in seconds, leaving you in your pretty panties. 

“I would prefer fucking you on my bed instead for the first time, but taking you on my desk? Maybe not too bad.”

Your cunt squeezes at the sound of San cussing. You never thought he’d sound this fucking hot. 

He groans when his fingers press against the soaked patch of fabric hiding your pussy. All that wetness for him. He bunches up the fabric and rubs it against your clit, the friction drawing frustrated whimpers from you, much to his satisfaction. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s driving you crazy.

San’s fingers finally hook against the waistband of your panties, sliding them off your legs, and pocketing them, much to your shock. 

And he doesn’t give you much time to focus on that because when he pulls his cock out from his unzipped pants, it makes your head spin from how thick Choi San is. 

“Sir, I’m not sure-“

“It’ll fit, sweetheart, like it’s made for me”, is all the warning San gives before he lines up to your hole and pushes his cock in. 

You can’t tell what’s fucking you up more—the way his cock is stretching you open or the San groaning in relief when he finally gets to stuff you full. 

You bat away your tears, his cock so fucking full inside of you, pressing against your walls, being squeezed so perfectly by you. 

God, Choi San thinks he’s in heaven. 

His fingers brush across your cheeks, collecting your teardrops. His eyes lack any ounce of empathy. 

“Aw, are you crying because it feels good? You look so fucking pretty crying when I’m stretching you open.”

You barely find the words to reply to him, all stuck in your throat, your mind only flooded by the way San’s cock is buried in your cunt, your thighs trembling from the pleasure. It’s almost sickening. You know you shouldn’t be doing this—not with your professor, not on his fucking desk, but when he has you wrapped you around his finger and cock fucking the daylights out of you, it’s a temptation you can never resist. 

A soft hiccup escapes past your lips when San pulls out almost all the way, his cock covered in a sheen of slick and precum before he pushes himself in once more, groaning when you clench around him for the nth time. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. God, I could just fuck you all day. You’d like that right?”

You’re barely keeping track, eyes rolled to the back of your head while your thighs twitch from the pleasure, but you manage to hold the eye contact, and through blurry tears, you mutter a weak, “Yes sir”. 

“Of course you do”, San hums before he pulls out once more and starts fucking you dumb on his desk. 

No matter how much you try to cover your mouth, bite your tongue or your lip, your moans only come out louder in defiance, the dopamine shooting up your pussy over and over again whenever San’s cock hits your pretty spots. 

Your mind is addicted to the way San’s shirt is buttoned down his chest, his cleavage almost fully out for you to gawk at, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead because of the sweat, the way his eyes roll back when he feels you squeeze him with every loud fuck, and the way he looks down to you from time to time before he eats up your pathetic moans with hungry kisses. 

He fucked you up so good, you didn’t even realise it until now. 

“S-San”, you manage out a whimper, “please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. 

“Please… you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna cum. It’s so fucking good”, you babble, trying to force your eyes open. 

San can’t help but smirk when his ego is being stroked so nicely like that, especially by you. He’s a good person, of course, he’ll give what his good girl wants. 

His thumb slides south on your body until you feel the ticklish sensation of him on your clit. Cream and precum pooling at the base of his cock makes it even worse for you—with every graze, his finger pressed onto your clit, the knot tightened in your stomach. 

Your nonsensical strings of words only push San to tease you more as he endearingly watches you break slowly when your orgasm builds up. 

Your body twitches, your back arches, your eyes roll back, white splashes beneath your eyelids. Your orgasm burning through you while you cry out San’s name and you twitch pathetically on his cock, letting your cream leak all over his wet cock. 

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”, you hear San curse. He fucks you through your orgasm, the overstimulation building up. The sensitivity feels so fucking good. 

His hand catches your jaw, and he forces you to meet his eyes. 

“Wanna pump you full of my cum, keep you so fuckin’ full for days on end,” he huffs, “but not now, sweetheart.”

Not that you minded, but there’s a strange tinge of disappointment ringing at the back of your head. 

San thrusts into you a couple more times before he pulls out, his thick and wet cock resting on your pelvis, twitching as his hand takes over. 

Nothing can beat Choi San’s fucking face when he cums. He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, and he’s tearing up the sky because of you. His fingers leave light marks on your thighs, you hear him groan at such a low tone that your cunt flutters uselessly against the air. Translucent spurts land on your skin, but it barely registers in you—you’re too busy swooning over the way your Professor just cummed over your body. 

San’s high dies down, and he catches his breath, casting you a glance, red dusting his cheeks, before he reaches out for the tissue box to clean you up. 

A quick kiss on the lips before he goes on to collect all the papers all over the floor.

That night he drives you home, filling the space with light conversations as if he didn’t just railed you on his desk. 

It’s only when you reach home that you realise one important thing—San still has your panties. 

You know you shouldn’t be telling secrets to your colleague, especially when it’s about your fucking boss. But here you are, facing Jongho, who has his arms crossed in front of you. 

“What’s up with you and Prof?” You predict the words that leave his lips. 

You hesitate to tell him, unsure how you should even say it, where to even start. 

The worst part you knew clear as day was that nothing changed since that day. You chalked it off as San being swamped with assignments to deal with, that’s why the topic was never brought up again, but something still irked you. The only comfort you had was that the semester was ending, and so was your term as San’s teaching assistant. 

Maybe it was how it was meant to be. Just nothing more than that.

But when you realise the dreaded feeling prickling at the back of your eyes, you knew you were fucked. 

“I don’t know how to even start jjong”, you sigh. Jongho scrunches his eyebrows. 

You watch his expression switch from one to the other. You expected him to freak out at you, yell at you for unprofessionalism or something, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s so fucked up. But I just can’t help but wonder if he feels anything”, you mutter. The thought of you not being the only one he’s doing this with makes your stomach churn. But somehow, in the most twisted ways, confiding Jongho made you feel slightly better. 

“Well, looks like we’ll have to play that card I guess”, Jongho shrugs. “But you should mentally prepare yourself for the results, that’s all I gotta warn you. I just need your consent to play along.”

It’s a risky bet you’re playing, but drastic times called for drastic measures, right?

As the semester closes to its end, so does the workload. San feels a lot lighter on his shoulders, and while he’s grateful for his teaching assistants for lifting a significant amount of workload off him, the end of a semester meant the end of the working relationship between him and his teaching assistants. He usually doesn’t feel that much, considering he has had many teaching assistants in the past, but for some reason, he feels a sense of discomfort lodged in his stomach when he thinks about having to let them go.

Especially one of them. 

He sighs, removing his glasses from his nose and shutting his eyes while reviewing the exams. San feels like a fucking idiot when his eyes land on your empty desk, his frustration bubbling when you cross his mind again. 

Even though he pretends to keep himself busy by flooding his mind with work, somehow, you would bubble to the surface once more, pushing him into the pits of frustration when he’s reminded of the way you get a kick arguing and refuting him just to get a reaction out of him, the way you taste like sweetest thing on earth he’s ever tried and the way you completely unravel when San fucks every single thought out of you—

He bites his cheek. 

No. He has to keep it professional. At least, until the term is over. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell you. 

He knows he’s entered deep waters when he crossed the line that evening, the sight of you undone right before him snapping all his rationale. More than anything, he’s suffering the withdrawals, maybe that’s the punishment he has to bear. 

He glances at the colourful ticket at the corner of his desk. It’s Jongho’s big game. Even though he usually doesn’t let himself intertwine with his subordinate’s personal interests, it’s hard not to. 

In addition, you’ll be there. Maybe he’d snag you after the game and talk to you properly. 

The meeting ran overtime, San glances down at his silver watch, realising he’d missed almost thirty minutes of Jongho’s game. Despite the exhaustion, he pushes it aside and heads to the stadium. 

He watches the brightly lit scoreboard as he takes a seat on the bench, Jongho’s team is in the lead by one point. 

Somehow he gets wrapped up in the game, cheering when Jongho’s team takes championship as the benches all burst into loud cheers too. 

He gets up to leave, already thinking of drafting a text to congratulate Jongho in his head, maybe get him a small congratulatory gift on the side. 

Then he spots you, just rows below. Now, he’s walking down as if on instinct, to get to where you are.

San pushes past the crowd to approach you. He’ll offer to drive you back—he knows it’s all an excuse but anything to get you into his space once more. 

His arm outstretched, reaching out to tap your shoulder, then suddenly stopping when he sees Jongho appear right in front of you. That’s fine. San could just congratulate him at the same time—

Which all of those thoughts immediately disintegrate when he watches Jongho cup your cheeks with his hand, his eyes widening in complete silent horror as Jongho leans into you for a kiss. 

You seriously doubt that Jongho’s plan would work. Didn’t San decide not to come anyway? You heard it with your own ears too. 

Nonetheless, you pushed it to the back of your mind, focusing on cheering for your friend, watching the leading scorer jump from one team to the next. You couldn’t help but erupt into cheers when Jongho’s team won, screams echoing through the open stadium. 

You watch Jongho walk up to the benches where you are, and his arms wrap around you, his smile big and bright, competing with the stadium lights. 

“Congratulations, baby bear”, you tease, pushing against his shoulders lightly. Jongho inches close to you. 

“He’s behind you by the way”, Jongho mutters, loud enough for you to hear, but not long enough for you to process, because his hands are cupping your jaw, his thumb pressed against your lips. 

He hears you muffle some kind of question but your lips stay sealed. 

“You owe me one for this,” is the last thing you hear before he leans in. Your eyes widen in shock, and you freeze in your spot, even though his lips don’t meet yours, evidently separated by Jongho’s thumb, his action had caught you off guard.

You barely have the capacity to process what had just happened, and you feel someone’s warmth tightening against your wrist. 

Jongho lets go of you immediately, but you’re staring right at your professor, who is staring right at Jongho with an unreadable expression, with his fingers curled tightly against your wrist. It feels like an eternity since you saw him. He’s not wearing glasses today and his hair is down instead of his usual slicked-back look, donned with a simple dress shirt and tie which framed his wide shoulders so perfectly.

“Congratulations on your win, Choi Jongho. I believe you should be with your team to celebrate right?”

Jongho only smirks back. “Right. See you babe. Thank you, Prof. See you next week.”

Jongho casts you a glance, the mischief twinkling in his eyes before he turns his heel down the stairs and back to the field. 

What the fuck just happened?

And you find yourself staring up at the male before you, his gaze piercing into yours. 

“Prof—San?” You blink. “I thought you weren’t-“

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart. Why would I not want to see the cute relationship my teaching assistants have right?” His voice is laced with venom. 

San doesn’t really elaborate further, leading you to his car, sealing your fate once more when the passenger doors close shut. 

He’s all over you. His body is burning up, maybe just as fast as yours is, and it’s making you feel dizzy. His moves are aggressive, impatient and you swear you feel something else too—desperation. 

“S-San—“ you gasp, in an attempt to take control of something.

“It’s sir to you, sweetheart”, his voice low and gentle, but commanding. Goosebumps scatter across your skin, making you shiver in response when his palms slide up your waist. 

You never saw it coming—from the second his hand grabbed yours, pulling you away from Jongho, his eyes locked into yours for a moment before he turns to Jongho, then to the car ride back, where you noticed the way his knuckles turned pale from gripping the steering wheel. On the walk to his car, you asked him where you were going, and all he did was turn to you and reply, “We’ve got things to talk about, don’t we, sweetheart?”

Now you’re becoming undone once more under San’s touches, trapped beneath him like the first time, now at his place, on his fucking couch instead. 

“It was just foolish of me to just let it be, wasn’t it?” He asks. “Fucking you dumb on my desk wasn’t a good enough indicator, was it?”

“S-sir…!”

“And you think it’s cute getting all cuddly with Jongho? Letting him kiss you all over, touch you all over?” San mutters, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip tightening slightly and you’re sure he’s about to leave light imprints. 

But oh, was it so fucking exhilarating—the thought of Choi San riled up like that, a sight you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure if fear or excitement running through your veins right now, but what you do know, is that if he finds out that your panties are completely soaked through, you’re fucking done for. 

His lips collide with yours again, branding himself as some kind of oxygen thief when he’s turning your mind into complete mush. 

“I’m not sure if it’s a little game to you sweetheart, but if it is, I think you need a reminder.”

You breathlessly look up at him, and he looks ethereal even when he’s panting and looking pissed as hell. 

“What reminder, sir?” You dare ask back. 

The side of San’s lips tugs upwards. His hand leaves your throat and trails down your blouse, effortlessly unbuttoning the apparel until he tugs it off you, panting at the sight of your tits hugged by your lace bra. Your bottoms are off again on the floor of his bedroom, alongside any ounce of rationale. Your soaked panties are agonisingly pulled off your legs, and before you know it, his hands spread them open too. It takes all of San’s self-control to not stuff you full. At least, not yet.

“It’s my cock you’re gonna cum all over. Even when you have another guy’s lips on yours, it’s my name you’re gonna fucking scream.”

Oh. Oh god. 

The pieces of what Jongho was trying to do suddenly come together, unfortunately, the realisation doesn’t last long because San has his lips greedily on yours again on top of the way his full-blown erection is pressing onto your pussy. 

“Sir”, you manage out a weak mutter when he finally pulls away, trying to press and grind against his clothed dick for some friction or anything to rid the burn that’s going through your body. But San remains still. 

“Use your words since you love using your mouth so much.” Like kissing Choi Jongho. 

Your mind is a complete puddle. 

“I really…fuck. I really need you to fuck me right now, sir”, you beg, red flushing your cheeks, but it’s not from the shame. There’s a feral glint in San’s eyes that you don’t miss. 

“No”, is all he answers, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. 

“Not until I’ve fucked your mouth full, sweetheart.” 

All you can do is watch him speechlessly as he hooks his index finger on the knot of his tie and loosens it, unraveling it back to its original form. 

“Hands together”, he commands you, and you do so immediately, basking in the scent of his cologne while he leans into you, his hands tying knots around your wrists with his tie. “Don’t let it loosen, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now on your knees.” 

You’ve never dropped to your knees so fast.

San forces you to watch him unbutton and lower the fly of his trousers, and you’re just doing your best not to get drool on his expensive carpet. 

When his cock springs out, you’re also forced to watch him fuck his palm at a slow pace, drinking in his groans, slick staining your inner thighs, and the fucking floor next if you don’t do anything. 

His cock is heavy against your cheek when he taps it there, and your tongue slips out of your mouth by instinct, given experimental kitten licks on his slit, before his fingers catch your chin, and he forces you to look up at him. 

“Look at me”, he instructs. 

You do. You do your best not to break the eye contact, trying not to be sidetracked by his big fucking cock, but your eyes can’t help but dart to his appendage. 

“No, keep your eyes on me”, he redirects once more, his fingers fixing your head in place. 

Then he slides his cock into your mouth and pulls out a choked moan from you. 

“That’s it. Good girl”, he grunts when you start bobbing your head, fucking his cock with your mouth. 

His fingers trail to the back of your head, but he’s using all of his strength not to force your head down. 

But as you pick up the momentum, it’s an automatic reaction to push your head down so his cock hits the back of your throat. Your eyes are watering but fuck you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Your head spins whenever his wet cock is forced down your tight throat, and you break eye contact a few times, which San has to tap your jaw to make you keep eye contact while he fucks your face. 

“I’m cumming, sweetheart. Fuck. Keep that pretty little mouth open for me yeah?” He groans, bucking his hips, letting streaks of warm white paint your throat and mouth, watching the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes, taking his cum in your mouth like a good girl. His good girl. 

He smudges his thumb against the corner of your lips before his arms carry you up, only to dump you on the couch.

Your back is on the couch again, hands still tied behind your back and legs up with San pressing his body weight on you.

He props your leg on his shoulder, and he stretches you open inch by inch. You gasp when he fills you up, your walls immediately clenching around him. 

“So fuckin tight for me, sweetheart. You take me so well.”

His thrusts are growing more aggressive mixed in with the possession that’s bleeding in and it’s setting your whole body on fire. Your words are caught in your throat when he’s buried into you to the hilt. He groans at the way your pussy is fluttering pathetically against him. 

It feels so fucking good that nothing but stars engulf your vision when his cock stuffs you full to the hilt again. His name leaves your lips like a mantra on top of broken moans and whimpers, and it only makes San fill up the space in your pussy all the more better. 

His shoulders are so wide that he’s towering over you, his fingers forcing you to face him whenever you’re drifting because of the pleasure, his eyes feral when you look so fucked out for him. And when he combines his heavy thrusts with a squeeze around your throat, it makes your mind shut off and your cunt cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, looking all so fucked out for me.”

 His cock is hitting all the perfect spots, and it’s driving you insane with the knot tightening in your stomach at such a fast pace. You think you’re sliding off the couch but San isn’t letting you—especially not when his thrusts are keeping you on the couch. His name continues to leave your lips in broken moans every time he fucks you. 

San snakes his fingers to your scalp and he tugs sharply, enough to force you to look up at him. You’re tearing up again, and it feels so fucking good with the way he’s keeping your hair tugged while he fucks the ever-loving shit out of you.

“My name does sound much better when you’re crying it doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You choke back a moan when he hits your g-spot once more.

“Y-yes sir.” 

“How are you feeling?”

“Full. So full sir. Want more. Please. Need you to ruin me”, you beg once more, your mind floating in an endless euphoria.

“Oh, I definitely will”, San hums, watching in sheer pleasure as your eyes roll back when his cockhead presses perfectly against your g-spot over and over.

Before you realise it, your orgasm hits you like fucking train, spreading through your body like a fucking wildfire, engulfing every crevice of your body. 

He’s gonna break you, and you’re fucking loving it. 

“San-“, you cry out, not registering the way he’s wiping the tears off your eyes. “So good. You feel so good. Cumming so much-“ 

“I know, sweetheart. It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?” He asks with a smile, satisfied when you nod frantically while he rubs your thighs.

Your thighs are shaking from how good this all feels, cream staining your inner thighs and his cock when he pulls out. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”, San reminds you. 

He turns you over, keeping one hand on your tied hands, while the other pressing your head against the back of the couch. He lines his cock back to your cunt, pushing into your hole once more. You choke on your moans again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes until he’s fully seated in you once more. 

The sounds are even wetter now, especially when you’re overstimulated, pussy just being so perfectly abused by Choi San. You fucking love the way his hands are around your neck, forcing you against the cushions when he fucks you dumb from the back. 

Your stomach is in knots once more, the feeling building up faster than the previous time, and all you can mutter is that it feels so good. San thinks you’re so fucking adorable when you’re not having banters with him and being this cock drunk for him. 

Then he pulls you off the couch, letting you catch a breath before he sits you on his lap, his cock still buried in your cunt, and starts bouncing you off his cock from below.

He alternates between melting your brain with his pornographic moans right at your ear and planting more love bites down your jaw. 

“Gonna cum again. You feel so fucking good in me. Oh god”, you hiccup through your tears, the sensitivity pushing your limit. 

“Cum as hard as you want, sweetheart. I’ll let you milk me dry, fill you up so fucking good that you’ll be leaking with my cum for the next two days.” 

That was enough to set you off. Your pussy convulses when your second orgasm hits, fireworks bursting in your eyelids, long drawn-out cries while San fills your tight cunt with his warm and thick cum, while his groans fill up in your ears. You feel his fingers massaging your thighs, coaxing you from your high. 

You’re dizzy, and light-headed as your head slumps against his shoulders, too spent to acknowledge the male behind you leaving more marks down your neck. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” San breaks the momentary silence, well aware that his softening cock is still in you. 

Your hand flies up to his chest to stop him, even though you’re still recovering from seeing stars. 

“We need to talk-“

“After we clean up”, he cuts you off, lifting you off his cock and carrying you bridal style to his bathroom. 

But you’re stubborn. 

“N-no. It wasn’t what you thought it was”, you say, feeling your tears well up in your eyes on top of the weight. 

The prickles are starting to form at the bottom of San’s heart, but he’s more focused on trying to hose you down with warm water. But he’s listening you run your mouth, not that he minded. 

“We didn’t kiss”, you reiterate. 

Now he’s just confused. He stares at you. 

“We just had sex, y/n”, San reminds you, trying not to let the red reach his cheeks. 

“No—I mean Jongho and I. We didn’t kiss”, you clarify.

San doesn’t really know if he should believe your words or his eyes, but now he’s focused on lathering your hair and body. 

“That wasn’t what I saw”, he replies, avoiding eye contact. 

“That’s cause we did this-“ you huff, turning his head to face you, imitating the way Jongho had slid his thumb between your lips and his, demonstrating San the fake kiss. 

San only stares at you wordlessly when you pull back, only more questions than answers. 

“But why would he do that for?”

“He was trying to rile you up.”

“For what?”

“To see if you felt anything for me?”

“By kissing you?”

Oh god. It felt like the more you explained, the more San was getting the wrong ideas. You let your head sit in your hands, unsure if it’s from the embarrassment or the fact that you don’t even know where to start. 

“It wasn’t a kiss, Choi San”, you groaned, your hands leaving your face, suddenly self-conscious that San is staring intently at you. “After we, um, fucked the first time, you acted like nothing happened, and I felt like shit about it, and I told Jongho and then…” you trail off, feeling your cheeks heat up again. It’s probably the hot water, at least that’s what you try to convince yourself with.

“I don’t kiss people I’m not in love with, San”, you sigh in defeat. Your eyes are downcast, but you feel his fingers cup your cheeks, and his lips press onto yours. You swear you could go another round again. 

The silence hangs in the air for a while, only the sounds of the shower filling the emptiness when he pulls back. 

“I didn’t do anything since after that evening because I wanted to properly tell you after the term ended.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m in love with you, too.”

You blink. Somehow that shocked you more than the both times he fucked your brains out. 

You don’t answer him because your head is just swarming with so many thoughts, and San lets you do so, satisfied that he’s finally have you quieten down so he can finish washing you up. 

Even when he’s dressed you in his oversized hoodie, San peppers you with kisses, basking in the way you sometimes cover his face with your hands to stop him, which only rouses him to continue to attack you with his lips.

San’s arms are tight around you when the both of you are finally on his bed. You smell like his favourite body soap and he can’t seem to get enough of it—nuzzling against the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings. You think this is probably your favourite version of Professor Choi. 

Your fingers twirl around his splayed-out locks, and you speak. 

“Prof Choi”, you tease, and San looks up, and it’s the first time you actually see him pout—it almost makes you combust. 

“I told you to stop calling me that”, he frowns, burying his face, feigning trying to cut off physical contact from you, which only makes you laugh in response. 

“I just wanted to disturb you”, you respond, trying to yank him back into your arms. “I do have a question though.”

His head pops up from his pillows and he stares at you, waiting for you to speak. 

“When did you realise you had feelings for me?”

He pauses, giving himself a couple of minutes to think. 

“The moment I received your teaching assistant application.”

📚 Bonus Epilogue 📚

“Prof Choi!” One of his teaching assistants calls out to him. 

He turns his head and attention to her, pushing up his glasses. 

“Yes?” 

“I need help with this part of the assignment. Could you help me check that I’ve marked it correctly?”

San nods, taking the papers from her. 

As he scans through her work, the teaching assistant’s eyes glance down at the band hugging his ring finger. 

“Prof, you’re married?”

San pauses his writing to glance at the glistening gold on his finger, and a small smile spreads across his cheeks. 

“You know, I used to wear a ring on my ring finger so students would stop asking me if I was married or not.”

She raises her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “So you’re not?”

“I am.”

Her eyes brighten, invested in her handsome professor’s love story. 

“Tell me more then”, she asks. 

San scoffs playfully, turning his gaze to her. 

“All I can tell you is that she’s always been my favourite.”

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[middlingmay]

more TODCL qs 🤔

1. i love Nonna Demarco! any backstory you can share?

2. what’s Bucky’s fave gelato?

3. did any of the 100th go to college?

4. when did curt start crushing on marge?

5. when did marge and gale meet?

🩷🤍❤️

Revelling in these asks! Thank you anon. Smooches

1. Nonna DeMarco

I love her too! I've actually had a great time building Benny's family in particular. I haven't developed too much of a backstory for Nonna though. She emigrated to America with her children sometime around 1900-1910. I'm not sure where the real Benny DeMarco's family emigrated from (if they even did), but I headcanon northern Italy maybe? But totally open to what anyone else thinks here? Or if they know?

She's a sweet lady if a bit brusque and no nonsense. She likes to adopt any of Benny's friends that hang around long enough, and has such a soft spot for her grandson. She likes Bucky a lot. He eats anything she puts in front of him and always compliments her and offers to do the dishes. However, when she meets Gale, John's position as her favourite of Benny's friends is majorly under threat.

2. What’s Bucky’s fave gelato?

So even though he shared a chocolate fudge gelato with Gale (which Nonna DeMarco did not want to put on the menu but her Americanised children convinced her it would be good for business and she was furious when they were right), John doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. I think he'd like lemon, pistachio or coffee flavours.

3. Did any of the 100th go to college?

They didn't! A lot of skills back in the '40s were taught informally, usually between friends and families, but sometimes by labouring for trades people like mechanics as a young person (like an informal apprenticeship).

Tuition in colleges in the '40s could range from $100 up to several hundred dollars per year: so around $2000 in today's money, to $11000 ($500 in 1940). None of the 100th, asides from Benny, is particularly well off, and he avoids using his family's money as much as he can.

Kenny's mum wants him to go the college though, but he's not so keen.

4. When did Curt start crushing on Marge?

So there are three years between Curt and Marge (24 and 21 respectively). He had a little baby crush on her as a kid, but it was mostly forgotten as they grew up and never spent any time together or anything, as they didn't have the same friend group. However, he drove down the street one day, and sees Marge walking in the afternoon sun, and promptly rolls into the car that stopped in front of him and he didn't notice. He's too embarrassed to look at her again, but from that moment on, he was crushing. I'd say Marge was 18 and he was 21.

5. When did Marge and Gale meet?

So I actually mention this buried deep in one of the chapters :) they meet as kids when Gale is playing with some boys he doesn't really like and they're mean to Marge when she asks to play. She proceeds to pelt them with rocks and her and Gale become fast friends. I realise I never mentioned their ages though! There's only a year between them, so I think Marge is seven and Gale is eight.

[heliads]

Hi, same anon who asked before! Can I please request Goody with a female reader who’s secretly a witch and a member of the seven and he finds out when she uses magic during a fight and takes out like ten guys at once? Thanks so much ❤️❤️

this is incredible. magnificent seven fans we must find each other

masterlist

Witches are not real. We love stories, all of us, tall tales and fables and legends too, but they’re not real. No matter how many times your older cousins whisper things to you under the cover of nightfall, terrible, twisted imaginings about elderly crones with raven familiars or eternally youthful enchantresses compelled to grind the bones of wrongdoers, we know they are not real. The glow of the firelight makes you think they could be real, but they are, at the end of the day, just stories. Stories, and nothing more.

Witches are real, because you are. There is no telling how it happened, what combination of full moons and thirteenth Fridays, black cats and broken mirrors, all manifested to make you what you are. We are a product of what we need. Perhaps your family needed the protection that a normal daughter could not bring. Perhaps they just deserved the curse of you. No one can tell for sure.

You grew up in a small town, same as everyone else’s but wonderfully original, too. The lanterns that swayed when a cold wind blew in were a particular shade of muted gold known only to you, the floors creak in a tune that no one else would hear quite like you did. Backcountry village dwellers know the clopping of new hoofs, the signal of a newcomer, and they know how the sun beats down on your back after a long day of work, but they’ll never know your particular shade of it.

It was a quiet upbringing, for the most part. Your mother raised you right, and turned a blind eye when you took to foraging in the woods for plants and stones she did not recognize. She wasn’t too pleased about the whole affair at first, but then one of the younger boys across the street broke her favorite ceramic jug, the one her mother had made. You fixed it with a few muttered words and a twist of your wrist, and after that your specific brand of devilry was allowed in the house so long as no one else saw it.

No child likes to hide away forever, though, not when they feel there’s nothing about them unduly wrong. Perhaps the devil himself had chosen to make you a little more than human, or perhaps the angels lingered too long over your cradle when you were a baby, but regardless of the source, you were still you, still good, and you didn’t see why that warranted the need to forever live in shame and fear of discovery.

You came close one night. You were old enough to outgrow your mother but too young to match her wisdom. In an attempt to help your family, you were almost discovered while trying to turn the smallish squirrel one of your brothers caught into something better, something that could feed all of you. One of the neighbors had decided to do a little poking around at the time you were spellcasting, and that little glimpse could have cost you everything. 

They never saw anything outright suspicious, but it was too close, and the prospect of a witch hunt wouldn’t do you any good out here when no one would speak up for you. People don’t like girls with mouths to run. No one would defend such a witch from the flame.

If the town will not protect the girl, then the girl will protect herself. You ran far away, far enough away that no one had heard your name and certainly didn’t care to listen to it. You find work here and there, never quite enough pay to make you settle in one place but enough to keep you alive. You pass from village to village, city to city, and somehow along the way, you find a little place called Rose Creek.

It’s not a marvel by any means. This is a town. You have seen many of its kind before, countless iterations of the same style of brick and mortar and abandoned hopes for better things. The faces are new, the people down on different kinds of luck, but it’s largely the same as always. You were planning on repeating your usual schedule of sticking around for a few months before hitting the road again lest someone discover you, but then you hear about the situation they’ve got going on and you decide otherwise.

A man named Sam Chisholm is putting together a plan to release Rose Creek from some kind of mining tycoon. He’s asking for every able hand to pitch in, something you hear about when you ride in later that night. Over time, you’ve had to learn how to defend yourself from a great many sharp-eyed bullies who’ve found you out, so your marksmanship is as good as any hired gun. 

You find Sam’s main group sitting around a table at a nearby saloon and decide to offer up your services. Doing good makes you feel better, eases the heavy burden that always seems to press against your ribs after too many long nights. When you have gifts like yours and you don’t use them to help, it’s as good as aiding the enemy.

The men take your offer about as expected. One of them, a cocky hotshot you later learn is called Faraday, actually starts laughing. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he chokes out between guffaws, “I don’t think you’re made for the front lines. Maybe you can help get the rest of the women and children to safety, though?”

You arch a brow. The rest of the group has the decency to shake their heads and look away, avoiding eye contact. “Alright,” you tell him coolly, “Just to ease my temper, though, would y’want to engage in a bit of a shooting contest? Since we’re so far from the front lines now, I’m sure I’ll survive somehow.”

Faraday grins and agrees to your challenge in a heartbeat, smirking over at his friends like he isn’t stressed about losing in the slightest. One of the men looks like he might have to disagree with Faraday’s bravado, though. He’s a little older than the man rolling his eyes as he heads out to the targets outside the saloon, and looks at you with a smile you’re pretty sure is with you instead of just at your expense.

This second man chuckles a little to himself, takes a swallow of the drink in front of him, and tells you to make Faraday wager on the contest, just so your opponent can embarrass himself a little more. You laugh at that, raising your hand in mock salute before joining Faraday outside the saloon. The rules of the shooting contest are agreed upon; three targets from increasingly far distances, closest to the center wins.

Five rounds later, Faraday’s swears increase in volume as he loses progressively more money, and you’re sitting at Sam Chisholm’s table, discussing the group’s plan to rid Rose Creek of its rather oppressive hosts. You learn the names and attitudes of all those at the table, including the one who’d known you’d win from the start.

Goodnight Robicheaux is not what you’d expected of him. You’ve heard stories of an ex-soldier with a gift for bloodthirst, as the so-called Angel of Death is a tale that’s spread far and wide even without Goodnight’s input, but you hadn’t expected the actual man behind the myth to be quite like him. Goody’s nice, a decent man and a better shot, but you wouldn’t connect the name with the body unless someone told you. Goodnight doesn’t like showing off with a gun.

In fact, he doesn’t like touching a weapon at all. You can tell that it’s starting to rankle Faraday and the rest of the men from Rose Creek who’ve agreed to help out– here you have a legend of the war, and he won’t even look at a gun– but Goodnight steadfastly refuses to give in to their not so silent pressure. He offers advice and has promised to help liberate the town, but he will not become the man of such fear and admiration.

You have to respect it. Although you haven’t asked Goody why he won’t shoot a round with the rest, you can guess as to why. Death doesn��t come easy to everyone. This man is a soldier. Was a soldier. He knows what it is to hate what you are. You can understand that better than anyone.

Maybe that’s why the two of you have gotten along so well. You talk when you want to, swap stories when you wish it, but when the nights get long and neither of you can sleep for memories both of you want to hide, you can find him pacing the streets of the town, and you know that you are not alone. Sometimes you walk for miles in the silence, and you have never felt more secure.

The day of the attack sneaks up on you. Bogue’s men show up on the horizon, too many, too strong, but Rose Creek won’t waver and neither will you. You all have your places to be so this mad plan can be orchestrated, so when the sun starts to flood across the sky, you hurry to your station, ready your gun, and prepare your mind to die.

You swore to yourself that you would not use magic during this fight. You don’t need your spells, not really; you’ve long since learned that it’s safer to use a gun to fight off attackers, so you trust your aim in cases like this. The benefit of magic, though, is its strength. Picking off enemy fighters one by one with a gun is nothing compared to how simple it would be to pull up energy from the ground and condemn a dozen men to their graves in the span of half a second.

You can feel it gnawing at you throughout the fight, the knowledge of how easy it would be to end it all. Is it not a sort of betrayal to your friends, to have the capacity to save them all the faster but refuse to use it? You are helping them with your guns right now, but could it ever be enough?

You will not use your spells. You cannot. You should not. Bogue’s men seem to pour out of every cavity in every wall, a thousand rats in a plague upon your friends. If this is your last stand, so be it. It is a good thing to die for a good cause. Better when you’ve spent your whole life running in the hopes of finding something like it.

There is one thing you cannot accept, however, and that is the death of someone you care about. It is one thing to rationalize your own self-sacrifice, but when you look across the battlefield and realize that the bullets of a Gatling gun are about to speed across town and wreck the very church steeple in which Goodnight and Billy are stationed in, the shock and fear of it cuts you like a blade to the heart. 

There is no time, none at all. The trigger has already been pulled. There is nothing any man could do to save them, not up there. You will have the perfect view as they fall from all the way up there. And you look up at him, up on the steeple, and you know that he is not coming down. Not unless you do something. Not unless you do it now.

Nothing no man could do. You are no regular man. It is the easiest thing in the world to think of what you wish. The magic responds instantly, tugging away from your fingers and into the earth. It’s like it’s been waiting this whole time, begging to be used. Clouds of dust rise up from the streets, forming a perfect circle around the church. Then, in a flash, they move out, blocking everything in their path. The bullets ricochet off, finding new targets in the sides of buildings and even enemy soldiers. You count a dozen downed fighters, maybe more than that, all having previously aimed to kill your friends. All dead now.

The Gatling gun goes silent. All is quiet for a moment. You see silhouettes shifting up in the church steeple, and even from this distance, you recognize Goody when he stands and stares at you. Your hands are raised. No one else had been focused on the steeple except for you. There is no proof that you could do something like that, but he does not need proof to explain what he feels, what he knows right now.

We do not ask questions when impossible things happen. Not when they are good. When a bullet that should have struck you right between your eyes somehow curves and misses you mid flight, you praise the Lord instead of asking why. When you swear you caught two fish but there are four flopping there on the bank the next time you blink, you only admire the fine meal you have before you. They could have known you were a witch, all of them. Odds are they did. You don’t ask, though. None of us do. 

Goodnight asks. He waits until the battle is over, until it is won, until the only danger comes from him knowing and you not being able to tell how he will react. He times it so you almost think you’ll get away without him putting two and two together, and then he turns to you, muffled by the din of victorious conversation, and asks, “It was you that saved us, wasn’t it?”

You shrug, looking away with a pointed determination. “I’d say that’s a pretty strong compliment. We all helped as much as we could, you know. Saying that I specifically saved you ignores the rest.”

Goody shakes his head. “You know what I’m talking about. Bullets can’t bounce off of thin air. Unless, of course, someone makes them.”

Your fingers are perfectly still on the table in front of you. “I don’t know how that would happen.”

“Neither do I,” Goody says quietly, “And I’ve decided that it’s not important to me that I do know. What’s important to me is that whoever saved us risked their life to do so. Secrets like that can be deadly. If you ever find out who diverted those bullets, I’d like you to thank them for me.”

You risk a glance his way. Goodnight’s looking fondly at his friends gathered on the other side of the table– a round of cards has started up already, even though the only deck they have has been riddled severely by bullet holes– but that smile, that smile is for you. You know it. He does too.

“It might have been me,” you whisper.

He looks over at you at last. “I’m glad it was,” he tells you. “I’m glad it was you.”

magnificent seven tag list: empty for now, feel free to ask to be added!

bonus tag for @starlit-epiphany bc its your man!! and there are other people than us still in this fandom!!

[polkadotsocks1993]

Try To Breathe

Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Lily knew it would happen any day now, but now that it's here, she didn't realize the emotions it would bring for everyone involved.

Warnings: childbirth, implied age gap, violence, canon divergence, PTSD, implied sexual situations

Notes: Hi everyone! This kind of got away from me, but I also wanted a more realistic childbirth scene (because I've had two kids with no meds, I promise it isn't as scary as the TV tells you) but I wanted to give Joel and Ellie something a bit happier. Thank you for all your support! ❤️

She'd thought she had no family left by the time she'd met Joel Miller.

She'd come from Nashville, choosing to escape the Atlanta QZ with her family. Her parents, her seven siblings, and a few people they'd picked up along the way. Lily had been eleven when the world effectively ended; gradually, she'd lost everyone she loved.

Her mother was the first to go; dying from an aggressive brain tumor that they'd only discovered a week after arriving at Boston. Lily had been thirteen then, and it was the first splinter in the slow shattering of her world.

Next came Lily's oldest sister, Emma, who died from hemhorraging in childbirth. Her baby was taken by Emma's husband, and they went north to Maine.

Then, it was Lily's brothers, Timothy and Aidan, who were killed trying to smuggle items out of the QZ. Lily's twin sisters Hannah and Hallie were infected on a supply run. Her remaining brother, Emmett, was killed in a mugging gone wrong inside the QZ. All of them died by the time Lily was twenty.

By the time Lily was twenty-two, she'd watched as her father, the only relative she had left with her, took his last breath. He'd been infected saving her, and the person to put him down had been the man who saved her life: Joel Miller.

Joel and Tess had become whatever semblance of a family Lily had. Her last remaining sibling, her sister Aileen, had left with her husband and a group to go to Cody, Wyoming by that time. After long enough without contact, Lily had just assumed they'd never made it.

---------

Lily had never intended on falling in love with Joel Miller, it happened so slowly that she didn't understand it until Frank, whom she considered one of her closest friends, had pointed it out.

"You look at him like he's your universe, Lily. And he looks at you that way, too."

She didn't think her heart could hold any love after the weight of the grief she carried. Her mother, her father, her brothers and sisters, her baby nephew--all of it hung heavy around her heart like a millstone, threatening to pull her under like a current.

Joel had been her first everything: her first kiss, her first time, the first man she'd allowed herself to be close to. Though he never said it, she knew the grief he carried kept him from being too hopeful. They couldn't afford something as expensive as hope in the nightmare their world had become.

It had all happened one night after Lily had saved Joel's life, shooting at a raider who had nearly shot him when they were smuggling medicine back into the QZ. Joel yelled at her, told her she was foolish for nearly taking a bullet for him, that she should never take risks like that. Lily had shoved him with all her might, her red hair wild in a fiery halo as all the years of pain and rage bubbled to the surface.

"I can't lose you, Joel!" She screamed, "I love you, I can't lose you, I won't lose you! I've lost everything else, you're the one good thing I have left!"

Joel had frozen at her admission, but then the floodgates opened. His lips found hers, and they fell into bed that night. His rough hands found her soft, pale skin, drinking her in like she was a fresh spring and he was a man dying of thirst.

"Are you sure you want this? I can stop. We can stop." Joel had asked, hovering above her. She'd nodded, green eyes locked on Joel.

"Never been so sure about anything, Joel." Lily promised. It was worth the temporary pain of her first time, so many things between them that didn't need to be said.

She'd given him her heart that night, and she'd never looked back, knowing that he might ever reciprocate the depth of love she felt. She'd take whatever she could get with him, even if that just meant sharing a bed.

That was five years ago.

Joel still had a lot of baggage; they all did, really. The grief was a heavy burden to bear, and Joel and Lily both carried their own, forgetting about it as they found each other underneath their threadbare sheets in the tiny apartment they shared.

Joel had started calling Lily his wife, and she never corrected him. She went where he went, despite his protests. They'd worked with Tess, the three of them becoming a unit, a weird semblance of a family. For Lily, it was all she needed, all she dared to hope for in this new world. Joel wasn't a soft man; he was jagged edges and hardness and fury. Lily never minded, knowing that gruff warnings, his rough hands holding her face, his stern commands, they were the way he showed how he cared. Lily never tried to fight for more. She loved Joel for the man he'd become in this new world, long gone were any girlish dreams of a soft man and a happily ever after.

Getting pregnant was not part of the plan. Not something she'd expected.

She and Joel had never discussed children--she had always figured that he didn't want that kind of attachment, and she was too scared to bring it up. It had been a night he'd nearly lost her, a random attack by some thugs who had tried to rough her up but didn't account for Joel being so close behind and recognizing her screams as she fought. He'd had a rage that night like Lily had never seen, until he turned and saw her face, pulling her to him with a crushing force that left her startled.

"We're going home. You're safe now." Joel whispered.

That night, he lost every inhibition he'd had. He'd gripped her hips so hard he left bruises and didn't stop. She'd let him take her, digging her nails into his shoulders and sighing his name with nearly every thrust. It was rough and primal, and Lily had never felt anything like it. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, pulling just hard enough to control her head while he kissed up her neck.

"You. Are. Mine." He growled as he left marks on her neck. Lily sighed his name as she lost all of her thoughts. By the time they were done, neither said anything. That night, he'd whispered that he loved her while he thought she was asleep.

She'd only pretended to be asleep.

------------

She'd suspected something for weeks. Not that she'd had any experience with pregnancy before, aside from Emma's, but every smell made her gag. She'd cried over small things, things that would never normally bother her before. She honestly hadn't cried in years. Then, of course, was the period that never came.

She'd confided in Tess, and Tess had followed her to the doctor and hugged her as the doctor confirmed she was about eight weeks along. She'd made Tess swear not to say anything to Joel. Tess assured her.

Unfortunately for Lily, Tess didn't need to say a word.

Joel was too smart not to suspect anything.

"You gonna tell me, or you gonna keep hiding it?" He asked, his fourth glass of whiskey in hand.

Lily had panicked, wringing her hands and bursting into tears. "Joel, I didn't plan it, I didn't do this on purpose."

"I know." Joel said, taking another sip, "how far along, you think?"

"Doctor said about eight weeks, and that was two weeks ago." Lily replied.

"Something was off, I knew that much. But Lily, two weeks? You didn't tell me for two weeks?" Joel asked, his voice irate.

"I didn't know... I didn't know how to tell you." Lily was sobbing now, all of her unsaid wishes and heartbreak and the sliver of hope cracking through the splintered cracks of her heart and overflowing.

"Joel, I don't expect you to stay. I know we've never talked about any of this, I know you don't want this. I don't--I don't expect you to stick around. I can do this. I'm so scared, but I want this. This is a good thing, and I want to be selfish. I've lost people before, Joel, so if you want to leave, I won't be mad, but I love this baby, and I can't go back." Lily confessed through tears.

Joel surprised her, closing the distance and wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm not leaving you alone. I wouldn't have done that before, I sure as hell won't now." He whispered.

"You never said--you never mentioned--"

"I know, Lily." Joel replied, "But we're here now. Time to make it work."

--------------

Lily was seventeen weeks along when the group agreed to take Ellie out West.

Joel had protested and swore up and down that she wasn't going, Tess did, too. But Lily, with her red hair and temper to match, dug her heels in.

"You said you wouldn't leave me. You're leaving. I'm going with you, whether you like it or not. I never heard from my sister, I'm not letting you two go knowing you might not come back. Worst case scenario, we find Tommy, maybe we find Aileen too. Anything is better than a Fedra QZ." She'd said to Joel, who was so mad he wanted to lock her up and throw away the key.

"It isn't safe out there!" Joel said, "You gonna have that baby on the road?"

"If I have to, yes! But say we take that kid out there, and we find Tommy, and Aileen. Say we find a better place. Do you really want this baby growing up here?"

Joel's jaw tensed. "You're not going go slow us down."

"I know." Lily replied.

"You will listen to me about everything. No questions." Joel snapped.

"I promise." Lily said. She moved toward Joel, taking his hand and placing it on her abdomen.

"Joel, the last twenty years of our lives have been nothing but disaster. What if we can fix this for our baby?" Lily asked.

"You sure you want to do this?" Joel asked.

Lily nodded. With that, Joel turned to Tess.

"Guess we're takin' the kid."

-----------------

Of course, that trip began with tragedy, with Tess getting infected. Lily had screamed, pleaded, fell to her knees. Not Tess. Not the only sister she had left.

"I can't have this baby without you!" Screamed Lily between sobs, "I need you!"

"You can, and you will. Look at me, Lily. Get Ellie out West. Take care of Joel." Tess had told her.

Tess had told Joel to save who he could save, and he promptly drug Ellie and Lily out by the arms as the state building went up in flames.

It was only a few hours later that Ellie looked at Lily, eyes wide.

"You're having a baby?" She asked. Lily nodded.

"Huh. I guess I didn't think he had it in him." Ellie shrugged.

For the first time, Lily laughed. Joel took notice.

-----------------------

After Joel's injury, the three sheltered in a cabin in the woods to nurse him back to health. Lily had acquired some medical knowledge, scouring over books after her family died, and she was able to patch Joel up as best she could. She'd managed to keep him healthy despite the risk of infection, and he had slowly but surely come back. By the time that Joel had gotten well enough to walk around, Lily was due any time. She figured she had about two weeks left until her due date.

"We don't have to stay here, Joel." Lily said, stoking the fire to cook what she'd foraged along with the deer Ellie had hunted the day before.

"Yes, we actually do. That baby is coming any day now, and we're not going on the road." Joel replied.

"I think I have to agree." Ellie said, "You're huge now. You can barely walk."

"You're supposed to be on my side." Lily huffed, "We need to be making time."

"After the baby is born." Joel promised, "It's too dangerous now. Stop asking questions."

Lily grumbled; she knew this was how Joel kept her safe, but she also felt helpless. The last few days had left her utterly exhausted, and she felt off in a way she just couldn't explain. Joel had insisted she eat more, had made her stop and rest. Even Ellie, who normally teased Joel, was in agreement: they wouldn't leave until Lily had the baby.

As it turned out, Joel was right.

------------

Lily woke the next day to a pain in her abdomen.

It wasn't sharp. She could still talk through it, but it was large enough to notice. She tried to go back to sleep, but was awoken ten minutes later by the same annoying pain. She pushed through it while making breakfast, leaning over the wood stove in the cabin. Ellie had noticed, stopping mid-chew to tap Joel on the forearm.

"Everything okay?" Joel asked.

Lily nodded, pretending she wasn't in pain.

"I'm fine, just those Braxton-Hicks contractions." Lily assured him.

"They might be real now, Lily." Said Ellie.

Joel walked over to her, rubbing her back just slightly.

"Keep your strength up. I think it's time. I'm going to get some stuff ready." Joel said.

Lily rolled her eyes, but was secretly thankful that Joel knew more than she did. Her mother had died before she could explain much about childbirth, and Emma's childbirth had ended so badly that Lily had all but blocked it out.

Joel had set to work, boiling water, getting blankets ready, and preparing a space for Lily. He'd been there when his daughter was born, he knew what took place. Lily had some idea from the books she read and from talking to Tess, but she was otherwise clueless.

By lunch time, the contractions were every seven minutes. They were uncomfortable, but she could still move through them. As she walked around the outside of the cabin, Ellie walked with her.

"Do you hope it's a boy, or a girl?" Ellie asked, trying to distract Lily.

"I know it's dumb to say I don't care, but I don't. I never thought I'd have this chance." Lily said, bracing herself against the side of the cabin. She could see Joel's watchful eye, and Ellie rubbed her back.

"I think it would be cool if you had a boy." Ellie said, "I wonder if he'd be as gloomy as Joel?"

Lily laughed, putting her hands on her hips and standing up straight.

"I hope not." Lily said, "But secretly, I'm hoping for a boy, too."

The contractions were starting to come closer now, slowly making Lily wretch from the severity of them. Ellie had timed them, they were starting to come every four minutes instead of every seven. Joel had walked around the cabin with Lily again, stopping as she felt the need to squat as a contraction overtook her.

"I'm sorry you're going through this." Joel said, "I should have been more careful."

"Joel, it was bound to happen." Lily replied, grunting through the contractions that were starting to get stronger, "We were sleeping together pretty often."

"I just forgot what having a baby looks like." Joel said, "Sarah's mom, she got pain medicine pretty quick, but her labor was pretty quick."

"My mom said her labor with Emma was nearly three days." Lily replied, rubbing her back as a contraction took over again, "It's one of the few things I remember. She had all of us at home."

"It's going to get worse before it gets better." Joel told her, "Just remember that."

---------------

By the time evening arrived, contractions were coming every two minutes. Lily was having a hard time keeping focus, so much so that she was starting to groan and growl as the contractions came over her in waves.

Then, the real challenge came as her water finally broke.

For all of the books she'd read, nothing prepared her for how strong the contractions became. No matter how Joel or Ellie tried to help, the contractions had her starting to scream, swaying from side to side and squatting as her instincts took over.

"You're getting close, honey. It won't be much longer." Joel assured her, running fingers through her hair.

The contractions came harder and harder, the pressure of the baby causing Lily to squat to get some relief.

"I can't do this, Joel." Lily cried, "I can't have a baby. I can't do this."

Joel took her by the shoulders, trying to center Lily as she panicked.

"Look at me, Lily. Yes, you can." Joel said, "You're going to have this baby, and you'll be fine."

"I don't want to do this anymore!" Lily screamed as another contraction came.

"You kind of don't have a choice." Ellie said.

Lily had managed to lean over the bed, Joel and Ellie on their side as she swayed.

"I want my mom!" Lily growled, panting as she took off her shirt, the heat becoming oppressive.

Joel and Ellie looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between each other as Lily continued to scream.

Joel placed a cool rag on the back of her neck, speaking to her as softly as he could.

"You're almost there, sweetheart. Let me check and see how close you are." Joel said, helping Lily into the bed. He helped her remove her pants, tossing them aside to take a look. Another contraction hit Lily, this time so strong that she moved nearly all the way up the bed.

"I can't do it anymore." Lily cried.

"Lily, look at me. You're almost done. I can see the baby, it's head is right there. You're gonna need to push." Joel said.

Ellie gripped Lily's hand, breathing with her as she cried.

One more contraction, and Lily began to push.

"You can do it, Lily, come on, keep going. Baby's coming." Joel said. Lily took a breath as Ellie placed a wet rag, cooled with snow, on her forehead and around her neck.

Another contraction, and Lily pushed with all her might.

"Head's out, sweet girl." Joel said.

"Get it out of me. Now." Lily cried.

"Almost there, you're doing good." Joel assured her.

"I can't do it!" Lily screamed as another contraction overtook her.

"You're doing it, Lily, keep pushing." Joel's voice was firm.

One more agonizing push, Lily screaming with all of her might, holding on to Ellie for dear life, and Joel pulled the tiny baby free, laughing incredulously.

"A son, Lily, we have a son!" He all but exclaimed, handing the wriggly, tiny baby to Lily.

"A boy?" Lily looked down and stared at the boy--her son--for the first time.

"Joel, look at him!" Lily cried, "look at our son!"

Joel leaned forward, kissing Lily's forehead.

"You did it, honey. You did it. Look at him." Joel whispered, "He's a tiny thing."

"I've never seen a baby before." Ellie whispered, her eyes locked on the tiny baby in Lily's arms.

Lily was in disbelief. The boy in her arms had the most beautiful dark hair and wide eyes. He looked so much like Joel that it took her back. She cried as her baby boy--their baby boy--cried. She brought him up to nurse, Joel giving her gentle instruction (as he'd said Sarah's mother had nursed too).

Her little boy. Her dark haired little baby. He was there. He was healthy.

As Joel and Ellie helped clean her up, they cut the cord and took the afterbirth out. Lily bled, but from what Lily could tell, it was a normal amount and nothing outrageous. As she laid in bed, nursing her new son, Ellie sat vigilantly at the end, staring constantly.

"Would you like to hold him, Ellie?" Lily asked.

"I've never held a baby." Ellie replied.

Lily leaned forward, handing Ellie the bundle in her arms. She helped Ellie adjust his head, and Ellie looked down, transfixed.

"I always wanted a little brother, never got one." Ellie whispered.

Without thinking twice, Lily said, "Now you have one."

Ellie blinked, Lily smiling slightly as she'd realized what she said.

"Joel said I was cargo." Ellie replied.

"Joel has had a hard life, Ellie." Lily reminded her, "He thinks that if he doesn't get attached it doesn't hurt as much."

Lily sighed, looking at the bundle in Ellie's arms, sleeping peacefully.

"Although now, I know. I know how much I'd hurt if I lost him, and he doesn't have a name yet." Lily whispered.

----------------

Lily left the baby with Ellie and walked outside to the porch. Joel had been sitting out there for over an hour. He was staring straight ahead. He'd washed the blood off of his hands and cleaned up as much as he could.

"What are you doing out here? Get back inside." Joel said.

Lily sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"I wanted to come check on you." Lily said.

"I'm not the one who had a baby." Joel replied.

"You helped. You kept me safe." Lily said, "You brought me my son."

"He's somethin' else, isn't he?" Joel mused, looking down at his hands.

"He looks just like you." Lily laughed.

"Don't say mean things about the baby." Joel said. Lily cracked a smile, swatting his arm.

"Joel Miller, don't joke like that. Your looks got you a hot younger wife."

"Stop that." Joel huffed, trying to pretend to be irritated.

"I couldn't have done this without you. Or without Ellie." Lily said, "I wish my parents could have met him."

"I wish Sarah could have met him." Joel said, so low Lily almost didn't hear.

"I know, baby. I like to think wherever my parents are, wherever my brothers and sisters and Sarah are, they all sent him." Lily said. Joel looked at her, an unfamiliar warmth in his eyes that Lily had never before seen.

"He needs a name." Joel offered.

"I think you should name him." Lily replied

"Why me?" Joel asked.

"Because you're his daddy. And he's going to love you." Lily said.

"There was a book, Sarah loved it, read the cover off. The boy, the main character, his name was Jesse. Sarah said if she ever got a brother, she wanted to name him Jesse."

"Bridge to Terabithia." Lily said, "I read that book, too. It was one of my favorites."

Joel looked at her, his eyes glassy. He took a deep, ragged breath, standing up and helping Lily to her feet.

"Jesse. Jesse Thomas. That's his name." Joel said, matter-of-factly, opening the door to let Lily inside first. The two saw Ellie sitting in the chair, still staring at baby Jesse, sitting next to the fire in a rocking chair.

"He has a name now." Lilly said, sitting next to Ellie to take the sleeping baby.

"What are you going to call him?" Ellie asked.

"Jesse." Said Joel, standing to take a look at the sleeping baby. Lily stood up, motioning for Joel to sit down.

"It's time you sit with your son." Lily said. She handed Jesse to Joel, the baby suddenly looking much smaller in Joel's big frame.

"I never thought I'd do this again." Joel whispered.

Lily leaned down, placing a kiss to Joel's temple. He leaned in slightly, holding Jessie's tiny hand in his own.

"You get some rest, Lily girl, I'll bring him back if he needs you." Joel promised.

Lily went back to the bed, Ellie going with her. Both fell asleep quickly, Lily feeling the events of the last day in every part of her body. Lily slept hard, not even moving, until she heard Jesse start to stir a few hours later. She sat up, looking at a snoring Ellie next to her, and walked into the living room. She leaned against the door frame, watching Joel cradle Jesse in his arms and rock him.

"Guess we should go get your mama now." Joel whispered, "She is something else, you'll see. She loves you so much."

"I love you too, you know." Lily said. Joel startled, momentarily tightening his hold on Jesse.

"I didn't see you there." Joel whispered, "He's starting to get hungry."

"Come sit. Get some rest, Joel." Lily said.

"I want to look at him some more." Joel said. Lily sat on the couch, putting Jesse to her chest to nurse. Joel sat at the end, propping his feet up and watching them.

"Being a daddy looks good on you." Lily whispered, taking Joel's hand in hers.

"I never thought I'd get to do this again." Joel confessed, "Maybe, if we get to Wyoming, and it's safe enough, maybe we could do it again."

Lily smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. "We just had him last night, and you already want another?" She teased.

"I'm gettin' old, Lily-girl. If we're gonna have more, better do it before you're changing my diapers, too."

Lily laughed so deeply that tears streamed out of her eyes. "I'd still do it, I told you, I'd follow you anywhere. But I think it'd be nice, Joel. If it's safe, I want more. This is what I always wanted."

"A baby?" Joel asked.

"No. A family." Lily replied.

"I realize I haven't...I'm probably not what you imagined..." Joel stammered.

"You're my husband, Joel. As far as I'm concerned, I've been Lily Miller since the first time you took me to bed. And I'll be Lily Miller for as long as I live. You guys are my family. This is all I've wanted. I knew what I was getting into with you, but you're a good man, Joel. And you gave me the most beautiful little boy. I hate how scary this world is now, but I have you. And I have him. And we have Ellie, too. This is all I need." Lily said.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, leaning forward to place a kiss on Jesse's head.

"I'm gonna sleep. You get me if you need me, okay?" Joel asked.

"I promise. Get some sleep, you had a big day too." Lily replied.

Joel fell asleep quickly, making a pallet of blankets on the floor next to the bed.

Lily stayed awake for a while, staring at Jesse and watching Joel and Ellie. It had been a long road to get here, and it had been fraught with trouble.

But as Lily sat cradling her son, she allowed herself to be grateful. From the ashes of grief came something new, and for a moment, she would allow herself to feel happiness. She knew it might not last, she knew that bad things could happen.

But for now, her family slept in this cabin along with her, and in that moment, it was enough.

[myfavouritelunatic]

The Blacksmith

Before my week gets too crazy again, here’s an update! Hope you enjoy! ❤️😘 

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Light/brief smut!

Links to Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, and Twenty-Three!

Chapter Twenty-Four

Despite your sullenness, the next few days were actually pleasant ones, days that made you forget who you really were. For you and Halbrand had remained true to your desire to be false with your new companions. At least for the moment. It was inevitable that they would discover the truth about the two of you once you reached Pelargir, as the Southlanders, perhaps Bronwyn and Arondir, would hopefully rejoice at the return of their king. You were deceiving them more for the normality it provided, the lack of tension, and perhaps sparing yourselves of the less favourable treatment that being completely honest would bring.

Garion was a very talkative fellow though, asking questions about where you hailed from, and what your background was. 'Hal' answered for the both of you, stating you were Númenóreans, heading back to Pelargir to make the journey home. When Garion pressed about the reasons for your trip to Middle-earth, you simply said, "Our business is our own." to which Halbrand deftly added, "What my love means to say, is that we were here visiting some of her family that left Númenor when she was a child. It was more emotional than she had anticipated. Some were lost."

Garion's face turned sorrowful and he offered his condolences. This put a stop to any further questions about your purpose in Middle-earth, a fact you were grateful to Halbrand for, as you did not wish to lie to these people any further. One afternoon, seated in the wagon, you looked on back as Halbrand was attempting to teach one of the children, a girl named Arianwen, how to ride your horse. You couldn't take your eyes off them as they slowly walked then trotted along on your steed. Olwenna caught you staring. "I used to looked at Garion like that, when I first met him." "Like what?" The lady laughed at you. "You know very well what like. Unless...” You smiled at her, blushing. "I have never felt this way about anyone I've ever met." "How long has it been now?"

Your brow furrowed a moment whilst you considered her question. All the days and nights had bled together, the passing of time was something you had not been keeping track of. Not since Halbrand had come into your life. "Maybe a month, close to two... I'm honestly not sure." "That's when you know it's been good. Days only need marking when something bad befalls us. So we don't forget our past, and we can learn from it." Olwenna spoke sagely. There had been some dark days of late, scattered amongst the bliss. Yet despite standing out in your memory more than the joyful occasions, they still fused together with them, your time loving Halbrand had been all encompassing, the good and the bad. The image of Halbrand before you, encouraging this young girl, smiling, looking proud as ever, it was a complete contrast to the image of him from only days before, covered in blood, cackling with devilish glee, destroying all life around him. They seemed to be two different people, yet they were one and the same. He was both king and dark lord. And you could not deny you loved it all, regardless of whether or not you should.

As luck would have it, your party came upon an inn on the side of the road, just as the sun was preparing to fall beneath the horizon. It was modest in appearance, the wood that formed it perhaps not constructed by experts, yet it didn't look like it would collapse either. The double storey building came across as both daring and impressive. It seemed a place welcoming of all kinds of people, no matter your standing or what deeds you might have committed before you crossed it's threshold. A bath... a bed... Your eyes gleamed at the thought of these comforts you had not had for quite some time. You prayed they had space enough for you all. Coming to a stop, Garion and Padrig made sure to secure the wagon and horses, before leading the way through the doors of the inn. Halbrand and yourself hung back, happy to let Garion do all the talking, preferring to hopefully go unnoticed amongst your companions, lest anyone recognise you.

"Evening, squire!" his affable voice boomed at the fellow stood behind the bar. "Would you happen to have room enough for us? Just for the night." You watched over Garion's shoulder as the barman counted your group, nervously clinging to your love. Making his assessment, he then made his offer. "I've got two rooms that should fit you alright, though it might be a little crowded." "Perfect, we'll take 'em. Thank you." Garion placed his payment at the hands of the barman, who proceeded to guide you up the stairs to your accommodation. "Once you're settled, you’re welcome to come downstairs for food, my cook is about to serve supper. Oh and there is a washroom down the hall should you need to take a bath." The barman smiled before wandering back down to his post, leaving you all to figure out the sleeping arrangements. The rooms were small, comprising of two beds in each, and a small wardrobe to store your property. This inn was modest inside and out.

  "It seems the only way to do this is down the middle, five in each room. The kids have one bed, then Gisal and Owin in the other. Which leaves Padrig, our new friends, and Olwenna and myself. I'll take the floor, Padrig you can have the bed." "Uncle, I can sleep on the floor, I don't mind." "You're young, boy! I don't want your body achin' before it has to. Now, does that suit everyone?" There were smiles and nods all around, especially from the kids. It seems you were all grateful to have some respite from the wagon, only if for a night. Halbrand took your bag, placing it beside his in the wardrobe. The others headed down the stairs to feast, yet as you turned to follow, you felt Halbrand's touch hold you in place. Pulling you flush against him, he wrapped himself around you, kissing your cheek, your neck, before resting his head on your shoulder. You sighed, happy for the embrace.

"At last... a moment of isolation." he spoke, his voice low. "Oh how I've missed this feeling... just you and me... alone... your body against mine..." Halbrand's hands were wandering to places you ached for him to touch, his lips on your neck again. "My love..." "Yes?" he replied, barely interested in what you had to say. His mind was focusing on... more important matters at hand. "The door... it's open... oh..." you told him, gasping as his hand found where your womanhood lay beneath the layer of your dress. "And...?" he questioned, biting your ear lobe. You shuddered with delight and turned around to have his mouth collide with your own. It had been days since you had been able to lose yourself to him like this, and you missed it as much as he did.

  The clearing of a throat entered the room, forcing the two of you apart, making you jump. "The children want to know if you'll be joining us for supper?" asked Olwenna, the biggest smirk on her face, trying not to laugh. "Sorry." Feeling your cheeks redden, your eyes averted her gaze as you answered her. "Of course. We'll be down in a moment." "Wonderful." She practically clicked her heels as she exited the room. "Oh goodness..." you exclaimed, Halbrand laughing at your embarrassment. You gave him a playful tap with the back of your hand, and he kissed you again, not wanting the moment to end. "Come on," you spoke between touches of lips, "Let's not keep your admirers waiting." Locking your fingers with his, the two of you made your way down to join the others.

  This supper was the best food you had eaten since your feast with Elrond and Galadriel back in Eregion. Juicy meats filled with flavour, freshly baked soft bread, and boiled vegetables drenched in butter which included, of course, potatoes. It seemed one of the advantages of an inn situated on a road such as this meant that there was a constant flow of food and supplies passing through, and the people carrying these were more than happy to trade some of what they had for a warm bed to rest in.

  The atmosphere was a cheerful and lively one, the tavern area filled to bursting with the occupants of the other rooms. A boisterous group of men were consistently clinking their cups of ale, laughing at the stories they were telling each other. You didn't catch every word of it, but it seemed they had been on some uproarious adventures. Across from them were a pair of women seated with two young boys, whose interactions you watched with fascination. The boys, clearly siblings, carried on with playful fuss that ceased the moment one of them started throwing peas at the other. Chastised by the woman that could only be his mother, you looked on as the other woman put her arm around her, which was acknowledged with a loving kiss to the top of her hand. They were a family. You couldn't help but smile at them.

  Halbrand followed your eyes to what was holding their gaze. "Is there something else about you I do not know, my love?" he spoke cheekily, sipping his ale. "Have you known the love of a woman?" Blushing, you moved your smile to him, unsure of what words might pass your lips. "No... I haven't. But-" "But?" "I cannot deny I have desired it. There's just something..." you glanced back over at the women as you spoke, "There's a different beauty within them... a warmth, a tenderness, an elegance..." Your voice trailed off, your mind lost in thought. Catching yourself, you turned the discussion back on your love. "And what about you? You can't tell me you've existed as long as you have without laying with another man?" Halbrand chuckled, taking another swig of his ale. He admitted nothing, but he didn't need to, for the look on his face spoke volumes. You smirked at him, sipping your own ale, very satisfied with the exchange that had just taken place.

There were rumblings amongst the children for some kind of dessert, to which Garion adamantly replied, "We cannot take advantage of their hospitality. We should be grateful enough for this feast and not let greed become us." "Pleeeeeeeeease! Please please pleeeeeeease! Please!" Their voices in unison, a shrill cry to their leader that was clearly unwavering. Olwenna leaned over to her love, interjecting, "Perhaps you could at least inquire with the barman? It couldn't hurt, let them have a little treat, Garion, they've been through too much."

"Well I can't say no to you, can I?" Garion sighed. "Alright, alright, I'll ask." The kids cheered and you and Halbrand laughed at their joyfulness. It had been quite sobering to be around these innocent little creatures for the past few days. Almost as if they were a shield of light keeping the darkness at bay. A shield that grew stronger the further down the road you travelled, the further away from the shadow you were. Garion waltzed back over to your table, looking deflated. "I'm sorry children..." The collective 'awww's' from the young ones were not pleasant, but it seemed Garion was not done speaking. "They've only got blackberry pie!" The children cheered as the barman brought out three plates that held the sweet treat, and all of you were laughing at Garion's heartwarming deception.

  "Anyone else?" offered the barman. A few of you rose your hands, and he counted again like before, taking his leave to quickly return with more servings. "None for you, Hal?" quizzed Garion. "No, I am quite full after that feast." spoke 'Hal', rising from his seat. "In fact I might take a bath before retiring for the evening." he announced, glancing at you, hinting. There was some unfinished business after all. Halbrand gulped the last of his ale, politely bowing his head to your companions before wandering over to the stairs. Olwenna caught your gaze then, as she was trying to make subtle facial gestures to encourage you to follow him. You stood rather abruptly, declaring to your companions, "Yes, I think I might do the same as well. Goodnight." you nodded, Olwenna unable to stifle a snicker at just how unsubtle you were. Hastily making your exit, you swore you could hear Garion mumble, "She could've just said she was going upstairs to-" "Shhh Uncle!" Padrig cut him off, groaning. "You don't need to say it!"

You couldn't help but giggle as you caught up with Halbrand on the stairs, and taking your hand, he lead you straight to the washroom, locking the door behind you.

Tagging: @starlady66 @denzit @restless-tides @coraleethroughthelookingglass @hikarielizabethbloom @heronamedhawks @michon-ne @vaguelyvibin @anemarie 

[mairablue]

Hi!^^ I was wondering if you could write a fic where Scorpio walks in on the MC playing the violin💙❤️ (only if you want to, of course!)

SCM - Department of Punishment

Scorpio ♏- Sounds of Passion

A/N: Thank you for requesting anon. I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope enjoy reading this.

You came back from school , completed your homework and finally had some time to relax. Or you thought you did.

There was a knock on the door, connecting your room to the mansion. That was your sign to go to the mansion.

You opened the door and saw Dui standing there, waiting for you. He accompanied you to Zyglavis 's room.

" Zyglavis can i leave before 8 pm? I have school tomorrow. " you asked. " Yes you can leave after helping Scorpio with his work." he said.

" Dui, take her to Scorpio. After he is done administering the punishments, take her back to her apartment. " Zyglavis said.

Dui accompanied you to the reflecting pool where Scorpio was waiting. Scorpio and Dui started administering the punishments. You were exhausted by the time they finished administering all the punishments.

" As quickly as possible, I must adjust to this." you thought. This was your second day working with the zodiac gods.

Dui accompanied you to the door; he smiled and said, " Thank you for your help, ( name ). You smiled back at him, and entered in your apartment.

You walked over to your study table, put your books in order for class, and put them in your bag.

The next day at school.

" These assignments are important, so be sure to complete them on time. " physics teacher said.

The bell rang and the biology teacher came in. " Students, i have noticed some of you are not paying attention in my class. If this continues, i will call your guardians." she said in a stern voice.

" Do you understand? " she asked. " Yes ma'am. " all the students in unison. By the time classes were over, you had two physics assignments, two biology assignments, three chapters of maths homework and an essay. All of these had to be completed in 4 days.

You saw birds returning to their nests as you walked back to your house. The gentle breeze was reassuring those returning home as the sun slowly set over the river. For a brief moment, it seemed as though nothing could go wrong in the world.

You followed you usual routine, cooked dinner, started writing those assignments. You decided to take a break around seven o'clock.

You started checking the messages on your phone, when you noticed the violin case kept beside the table.

Your grandmother gifted you, this violin on your 5th birthday. You went to the violin case, picked it up gently, and then you set it on the table.

You opened your manuscript notebook and started playing some notes. " I haven't, practiced in a long time." you sighed.

There was a time, when you used to stay up late at night and practice, to the point where your fingers were sore. You violin teacher was proud of you. You smiled ruefully to yourself, thinking about your childhood.

You have stopped playing the violin from the past 6 months, because your father wanted you to focus on your studies.

You still had one hour to play , so you decided to make the most of it.

Lost in your own world, you played on; a world in which you were just a young girl with your violin, no school, no job, and no worries. In your own little world, you were content.

You thought, "When was the last time I felt so content with my life?"

You closed your eyes and continued to play, until you heard a soft sound. You turned around and saw Scorpio leaning against the door frame. His eyes were closed, he had a calm expression on his face.

Your eyes met, when he opened his eyes. His eyes were filled with admiration. " It was beautiful." he said with a soft smile. " Can you play once more? "

You nodded your head and smiled. Scorpio sat on the chair next to you, while you carried on playing the violin. Little did you know that this was only the beginning of your friendship with each other.

A/N: Thank you for reading. The ask box is always open, so feel free to drop some ideas there. Because my brain doesn't work when it comes to fic ideas (lol) . I hope you have a wonderful day or night. 🙂

[pilcrowtudinous]

I don't know how asks work because I only used Tumblr in a very basic way like 11 years ago and came back to it three months ago but hey. I also only started writing fanfic three months ago. NOW. Questions. ❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic? Can never pick single favourites of anything but I'm fond of: ‘We could all get I survived the Delta Quadrant and Kathryn Janeway and all I got was a Starfleet commission and this lousy shirt t-shirts.’

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change? I mean, it feels like a given, but more actual Saffi interaction in S3

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites? on one hand, any really long and in-depth ones are always a gift and I wish that I were better at giving them in return. But anything along the lines of a 'Never let anyone tell you that you don't know who your audience is.', as one recently received one said, is always nice. Or praise on capturing character voice! Like 'I've said it before, your Raffi voice is just so perfect, from the phrasing to the way she just gets it, and gets right to the heart of every issue. So, so good.' 🥺

👻 What is your wildest headcanon? OOOH. If we're going for wildest HC that could actually be real canon canonised? I'm super here for Raffi is related to the Burnhams.

✍️ What’s your ideal writing setup? ideal would be having a desk with my own laptop and an ergonomically sound chair. but that is not the case. so instead it's usually lying down in bed or on couch with work laptop or phone.

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go? I want to start outlining, but I've never been that person, in fic or original writing.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share? sure. this is from the bookshop AU that I've dropped one short intro chapter of: 'She’d considered and disregarded multiple fancy new models that Soji had suggested – and instead, found a hefty oak dining table in a local thrift shop.The surface was scuffed, scratched in places – but it felt right under her hands, faintly warm to the touch as if it still held the memory of the sun it likely hadn’t seen for decades. The plastic and metal contraptions from the wholesalers didn’t have that going for them.'

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read? I literally mostly just pull up my ships' tags and see what's new tbh

⏰️ Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random? I would LIKE to be a schedule person. I never will be.

👓 What helps you focus when you write? avoiding anything with words around me (no videos, only music without words)

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written? honestly a day-to-day shift but i think that my ongoing epistolary-ish post-PIC-s3 one that I'm working through at the moment is one of my better ones?

🐇 Do you write for yourself, for others, or both? myself in that I desperately need to rebuild writing habits if I'm ever going to write anything of substance, others too now that I know the joys of the community and its support.

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic? because I spent enough time reading it that I ended up in a relevant discord and then couldn't help myself what with all the bouncing around of ideas.

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write? I honestly couldn't pick between Raffi and Seven, though I think I find Raffi a little more straightforward.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write? My favourite admiral, Katy Janeway. Kate made her iconic, but by god her writing was inconsistent.

🍬 Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom? so far, no! In fact I've only written one Trek fic that isn't in the PIC era. but I'm expanding those horizons so never say never.

🌻 How often do you read your own fics? from time to time? usually if it's been a minute since I've worked on something and I need to refresh my memory of where it's at.

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about? yes and there are WIPs in that space too, but they're kind of on hold because I'm finding myself much better at habit building with fic right now. so I need to get to the point where that can rub off on original specfic or YA sapphic romance.

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast? going to be That Guy and say 'fall into an ocean of you' because #legacy

💭 What inspires you and your writing? little noticings and the desire to have written something

🧪 Do you research for your fics? bro you need to see how many memory alpha tabs I have open at any one time.

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original? I like canon compliance where possible, and definitely prefer character compliance – super OOC stuff throws me. like what's the point?

💎 Do you often write about a relationship or focus on an individual? most of my stuff is relationship focused – but in order to do that the focus on the individuals is critical

🔥 Have you included any sexy scenes in your fics? If yes, do you find them easy or difficult to write? despite the fact that when I started out I thought 'lol I could never' YES I do write smut and yes, kind of tricky? but no more tricky than so much else?

💘 Is it easier to write angst or fluff? bothisgood.gif

🚦What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.? on a scale from bad to happy with ambiguous in the middle, I think that the worst I could handle would be halfway between ambiguous and happy

💡How many WIPs do you currently have? ummm. I think I have like six on AO3 currently awaiting chapters but like another 15 or so in progress (anywhere from a throwaway line deserving of a fic at some point to more developed partial drafts)

🔎 Does anyone beta read or edit your fics? no, and that's fine with me. half the joy of fic writing/publication is that it's on the fly. my editorial and book industry life is quite separate from this.

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend? to be perfectly honest you can rarely go wrong with Saffi writers? everyone I know from the server who publishes does some really cool stuff? (and I don't want to leave anyone out!)

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom? I could (and will) write a whole goddamn essay on my particular journey into Trek – I feel like many of us could) but basically DISCO > PICARD > VOY > all Trek and falling into Saffi and J7 holes

🤖 Are non-fandom friends aware that you write fanfic? absolutely not

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing? that's a wild question! I mean, I guess, just getting it done? and also I regularly tell my students that it's okay and normal to kind of hate what you've written after you've written it. I have to tell myself that too.

👑 Do you like writing short fics or long fics? I've tended pretty short so far but I'd like to push myself further to build longer pieces. so far my longest is a mere 16000 though

🎯 Do you have a writing milestone you’re working towards? aside from finishing IRL wips and having them published? not really

🔮 Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block? this too shall pass is trite but true.

🤔 Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity? I'd bloody love to

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write? I don't think so! But my knowledge of fic tropes is still developing tbh.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see? OOH. anything involving Raffi, Seven and Raffi's granddaughter.

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

These are always fun so I wanted to make one! Reblog this and let others send you an ask based on any of these emojis/questions:

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

✍️ What’s your ideal writing setup?

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

⏰️ Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

🐇 Do you write for yourself, for others, or both?

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

🍬 Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom?

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

💎 Do you often write about a relationship or focus on an individual?

🔥 Have you included any sexy scenes in your fics? If yes, do you find them easy or difficult to write?

💘 Is it easier to write angst or fluff?

🚦What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

💡How many WIPs do you currently have?

🔎 Does anyone beta read or edit your fics?

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom?

🤖 Are non-fandom friends aware that you write fanfic?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

👑 Do you like writing short fics or long fics?

🎯 Do you have a writing milestone you’re working towards?

🔮 Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block?

🤔 Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity?

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

[sarahrogersevans]

Hey bubs! I had an idea,

So I’ve said I haven’t been feeling the best because I ran out of my meds and only just got them back today, it made me feel really emotional and anxious so I was wondering if you could write something with Chris x reader where she’s ran out of her meds and she is just really embarrassed to tell Chris but he knows because when it happens, usually not too many times but when it does he knows you get really emotional at night and really bad insomnia because of the anxiety and your a little bit more irritated and just icky than usual so he’s just there to help reader though it and be there for her because she feels like no one is actually there for her so it’s overthinking, with all of this she doesn’t really want to eat so he makes her comfort food and make sure she drinks etc mad he just takes care of her ❤️❤️

Never A Bother- Chris Evans xreader fan fic request

Summary: reader is feeling out of whack and anxious because they ran out of their medication & is feeling icky and overthinks they bother Chris but Chris reassures them they are never a bother and comforts them

Warnings: mentions of feeling icky, mentions of anxiety, mentions of overthinking, angst, fluff, soft Chris, mentions of medication, comfort fluff, let me know if I miss anything

(Y/N’s POV)

My alarm on my phone started beeping for seven am and I pressed stop and got up but felt icky but it was probably just because I needed to eat. I heard Chris groan and say “ugh no come on baby stay with me a bit more.” I laughed as I felt Chris put his arms around me and I smiled at him and said “Chris you and I both have a long day ahead we can’t be late.” He nodded and kissed my cheek and said “yea you’re right ok c’mon Dodger let’s go get you some breakfast hmm?”

I went with Chris and Dodger to the kitchen after getting dressed and went to go take my medication but I saw that I was out and I freaked out because I forgot to order more but I could always just call and get more so hopefully I’ll be ok for a day or so. I started feeling more anxious and nauseous since I hadn’t had my medication but I didn’t wanna worry Chris. He noticed I didn’t eat anything and that I was just drinking coffee and said “hey doll you ok?” I started overthinking that Chris would get mad or be annoyed if I told him how I felt so I looked over at him and said “yea.. I’m fine Chris I gotta get going I’ll meet you work ok? I gotta do some extra prep.”

(Chris’s POV)

I worried about Y/N and I could tell she wasn’t feeling good I just wish she’d open up a bit more but maybe if I sit down with her one on one after work maybe she’ll feel better. I got to the set of Infinity War and I went over by Y/N and saw she was at makeup and I leaned over by her and said “hey sunshine just wanna check on you how’s it going?” She gave me a shy smile and softly said “I’m ok just tired I guess.” I nodded rubbing her back and said “wanna talk at home baby?” I could tell she wanted comforting and said “yea we’ll talk after Chris I promise.” I smiled at her and kissed her cheek and said “alright Y/N hang in there.”

After we got done filming everything and the interviews I met Y/N at home and I saw her curled up on the couch by Dodger and I looked at her seeing she was struggling and I felt really worried. I sat down by Y/N carefully and whispered “hey lovebug I’m worried about you I can tell something is wrong please tell me honey.” Y/N looked at me and wiped her eyes and said “I’m.. I’m sorry Chris, I’m feeling icky and really anxious I ran out of my medicine and just don’t feel right.” I nodded and said “oh honey I wish you had told me I could have helped you get more. I love you and hate seeing you not doing well.”

(Y/N’s POV)

I love how gentle and understanding Chris was about how I was feeling everyone else who knew always made me feel like I was bother but Chris is amazing. I scooted closer to Chris and hugged him saying “I’m sorry Chris I just worried I’d .. annoy you with this but I’ll tell you next time I promise, I ordered some on the phone before you got home I’ll have it tomorrow.” Chris held me close and said “no hey sweetheart you are never a bother ok? I want you to open up to me I love you so much I hate seeing you having a hard time.” I smiled at him blushing and said “I love you too Chris you’re so good to me.” Chris kissed me and said “you deserve it baby you’re a wonderful woman and the love of my life I wanna take care of my baby.”

@jessybarnes

@lokiandbuckysdoll

@fluffycutecevans

@nana1000night

@delicatecoffeepeanut

@writersblog20

@vrittivsanghavi

@marvelstarker-mha98

Hey bubba here is your request 🤍🤍 hope you enjoy 😊xx

[neufer]

My thoughts after rereading TWS

Currently on a reread and just finished The Whispering Skull! Once again, here are my many, many thoughts + just stuff that stuck out to me (another long post, of course). PS - I love this book a lot more than I thought I did.

1. Right away, this book is chuck full of humor, sass, snide remarks, and sarcasm -even more so than TSS and I absolutely love it.

- “Fittes agents,” I said. “Oh great,” George growled. “I think I preferred the Wraiths.”

- Lockwood shook his head. “No, I’d always be tripping over him, or losing him down the back of the sofa.” (In regards to Bobby Vernon).

- “I had to speak out,” George said. “Sorry. It was either that or punch him, and I’ve got sensitive hands.”

- ‘George groaned audibly. “We’ve had near-death experiences,” he muttered, “we’ve had domestic fights, we’ve had a pitiful amount of sleep. But this is going to drive me over the edge. If I leap on the table and start shrieking, don’t try to stop me. Just let me howl.”’

- “Sorry, can you repeat that? It’s those shorts. I couldn’t concentrate on what you were saying.” (Might I add, this was George’s response to Lockwood being mad at him).

- “If there’s one thing more stressful than being attacked by ravenous ghost-rats, it’s finding that you’re going to a fancy party and you haven’t got a thing to wear.” Lucy only speaks the truth.

- “Sure you’ve got your shirt tucked in, George?” “Quit worrying. I even brushed my teeth as well.” “My God, you have made an effort.”

2. Speaking of humor, sarcasm, etc., we get the Skull and Flo in this book!! They’re both such great additions, and I had a lovely time picking out some of their best moments/mentions.

- First, I love how after not saying anything for seven months, the Skull leads with, “Feeling rough?. . . Because you sure as hell look it.”

- He is SO dramatic too. “Bickerstaff? No. That wasn’t the way it happened at all.” “How can you know?” “Very simple. I was there.” 

- “I saw [Flo] chuck an agent into the river once. Just lifted her up by the leg and tossed her in. Flo was in a good mood that day too, as it happens. But she’ll like you, I’m almost sure. Just don’t say too much, and stay out of stabbing distance.” Flo❤️.

3. Lucy’s clear (even though not to her) attraction to Lockwood is definitely more noticeable, to us and to other characters as well.

- ‘I stole a quick sidelong glance at him now. He was standing with his sword held ready: tall, slim, as nonchalant as ever, watching the slow approach of the second Visitor. The lantern light played on his thin, pale face, catching the elegant outline of his nose, and his flop of ruffled hair. He wore that slight half-smile he reserved for dangerous situations: the kind of smile that suggests complete command. His coat flapped slightly in the night breeze. As usual, just looking at him gave me confidence.’ Lucy, honey, come on. This is like, 3 pages in btw.

- ‘His face was serene, his hair glistened; his eyes shone with dark intent. I watched him from the door. “Yes, I’ll have a slice, thanks,” George said. “If you can tear yourself away.”’

- ‘I had a fluttery feeling in my tummy and my legs felt weak. It was probably the late night catching up with me.’ Haha. Hahaha.

- ‘George gave a skeptical snort. “Oh, come on. You love all that mystery about him. Just like you love that pensive, far-off look he does sometimes, as if he’s brooding about important matters, or contemplating a tricky bowel movement. Don’t try to deny it. I know.”’

- The whole necklace for the Fittes party is so them just being cute little teenagers and I love it. Lockwood being so casual about it (“Just something I had” my ass) and Lucy not even comprehending what’s happening? And then not wanting to take it off later when they crash the auction? Beautiful.

- And of course, them holding hands as they jump into the Thames🥰.

4. Once again, the side characters fall victim to Lucy’s brutal/outrageous descriptions.

- ‘Being diplomatic, I’d say Kipps was a slightly built young man in his early twenties, with close-cut reddish hair and a narrow, freckled face. Being undiplomatic (but more precise), I’d say he’s a pint-sized, pug-nosed, carrot-topped inadequate with a chip the size of Big Ben on his weedy shoulder. A sneer on legs. A malevolent buffoon.’

- [Kat Godwin] was good-looking, though her jaw was a bit too sharp. If she’d repeatedly fallen over while crossing soft ground, you could have sown a crop of beans in the chin holes she left behind.’

- ‘[Barnes’s] face was as lived-in as ever, his pouchy eyes still sharply appraising. As usual, though, it was his impressive mustache that attracted my attention. To me, Barnes’s mustache closely resembled some kind of hairy exotic caterpillar, probably from the forests of Sumatra, and certainly previously unknown to science. It had a life of its own, rippling and ruffling in accordance with its owner’s mood.’

5. Jack Carver dying on their entryway floor is truly the kind of thing that could only happen to Lockwood & Co. We get so many good lines from that one scene, but the best has to be ‘George sat back with a cry. “Juice! He wants juice! Can we give him that? Are we allowed to give him juice?” He hesitated, frowning. “Have we actually got any?”’ (And of course the one about the dodgy tattoos).

6. I can’t think of a good word to describe Lockwood as a preface for these quotes, but I think you’ll get the idea.

-  ‘“Who knows? Maybe it’s my natural style he envies, maybe my boyish charm. Perhaps it’s my setup here -having my own agency, no one to answer to, with fine companions at my side.” He caught my eye and smiled.’

- “Well, it’s that time of the afternoon. I’m going to stick a sword into a straw woman.”

- “Hardly. It was only because I could already see that you saw who I was that I stopped myself driving the pommel of your own sword sharply back into your abdomen using the Baedecker-Flynn reverse-strike maneuver. Lucky for you that I did, and so didn’t.” 🤦‍♀️

- “Just a quick look, and then we’re done. Burglary’s more fun than socializing, I always say.”

- “Well, if you judge success by the number of enemies you make, that was a highly successful evening.” One of my all time favorite lines.

7. On the other hand, Lockwood is also just such a good leader/hero character. It’s called balance, okay? I love him.

- The first time I noted this was when he sticks up for the annoying night-watch kid. This moment also proves what a badass he is (and Lucy). “Then [Shaw] turned and punched Lockwood hard in the side of the face -or tried to, because Lockwood swayed back and dodged the blow. Shaw’s momentum carried him forward; Lockwood took hold of his flailing arm and twisted it sharply to the side and back. At the same time he stuck his boot behind one of Shaw’s ankles. Shaw cried out, lost his balance, tripped over his own feet and fell. . . Shaw’s face flushed purple; he instantly sought to rise, but he found the point of my rapier gently resting against his chest.”

- And of course we have to talk about the whole, ‘“The entrance stairs are locked, and I’ve shut off the catafalque mechanism from below. No one can get down, unless they want to jump twenty feet into a pitch-black hole. And who would be prepared to do that?” There was one person I knew who might.’ Because yeah. Lockwood IS that person. This isn’t him being reckless and throwing himself into danger for unhealthy reasons, this is him being prepared to do whatever it takes to help his friends.

- Furthermore: “[Joplin] pointed the gun at me. A polite cough sounded beside us. I looked up; Joplin turned. Anthony Lockwood stood there. He was covered in grave dust, and there were cobwebs on his collar and in his hair. His trousers were torn at the knees, his fingers bleeding. He’d looked neater in his time, but I can’t say he’d ever looked better to me.”

8. On a similar note, it’s time to examine just a couple of the Lucy Carlyle Badass Moments in this book.

- First up is throwing her rapier like a javelin to save George and Joplin from Bickerstaff’s ghost. Iconic, certified Badass moment.

- And then there’s of course fighting off Bickerstaff’s ghost AGAIN, this time by swinging an iron chain. Listen, when the chips are down and I’ve got my back against the wall, I want Lucy on my team because she’ll for sure get me out of it. “I ran toward Kipps, toward the ghost. As I did so, I bent down and grabbed one of the lengths of iron chain that had been scattered by Joplins fall. I picked it up, went on without breaking stride. Even as I reached the chair, I was already swinging it in front of me. I met the ghost of Dr. Bickerstaff head on.” Um? Hell yeah. If you look up the word ‘badass’ in the dictionary you’ll see a picture of Lucy fucking Carlyle.

9. Don’t think I’m leaving George out of this conversation. George really is That Bitch there at the end, pretending to die and then ‘coming back’ with the element of surprise. Truly one of his more iconic moments. And I LOVE “At that distance, I’m totally blind. I couldn’t see a thing.”

10. This book has more hurt/angst than I remembered. A lot of it stems from George fighting the influence of the bone-glass, and then the subsequent tension between him and Lockwood whenever Lockwood blames him for not prioritizing the right things. The tension between Lucy and Lockwood in terms of Lockwood being too secretive is also very real. I wanted to highlight a few excerpts that I think show the angst very well.

- “George had been very subdued for the past few minutes. He had barely spoken, and there was an odd expression on his face. His eyes showed numb distress, but they also held a yearning, far-off look; he kept gazing back toward the pit as if he thought he had left something there. It worried me.”

- ‘“All I’m saying,” I said, “is that it’s not right the way he keeps everything to himself. I mean, we’re his friends, aren’t we? He should open up to us. It makes me think that-” “Think what, Lucy?” I spun around. Lockwood was at the door.’ I swear my heart drops every time I read this.

- “Sometimes, George, we have to act on the spur of the moment. Life’s not all fiddling around with ghost-jars and paperwork.” “Listen, I’m in the front line too,” George growled. “Who was it that got a face full of that haunted mirror the other night? I can still feel the effects now. It’s like something’s tugging on my mind, calling to me. I reckon I wasn’t far from meeting the same end as that relic-man we found, and that’s not a nice sensation.” 💔

- “Funny how an actual death always hits you so hard. Visitors are scarier, sure, but they don’t have quite that power to shock. Lockwood seemed as cool and in control as ever, though. Maybe deaths didn’t have the same effect on him.” Gee, Stroud. I wonder if you could be alluding to something there. Ouch.

11. This is angst too, but I wanted to talk about it by itself: “Always, when you’re alone and vulnerable, emotions seek to undermine you. Mine went haywire now. I thought of Lockwood, fighting for his life upstairs. I thought of George -and the haunted, yearning expression on his face after glancing at the mirror five nights before. I thought about how easily everything I cared about could be destroyed.” Talk about heartbreaking. This one sentence speaks volumes when you think of what happens in THB and just hits so much harder when rereading the series. 

12. And to remedy the hurt/angst, here is the trio being their own little found family and some moments that may be a little sad but at the same time sweet😭.

- The moment when Lucy talks about her and Lockwood protecting George in the Bickerstaff house always gets me. “George had become subdued. He moved slowly and spoke little, passing up several cast-iron opportunities for sarcastic or insulting remarks, which, frankly, was unlike him. . . Subtly, without drawing attention to ourselves, Lockwood and I moved so that George was between us. We protected him on both sides.” I know they’re also just being good agents here but, ugh❤️.

- Something else that always gets me is Lucy and George at the end. They really went from not being able to stand each other to being loyal friends. And when George comes to after being knocked out? And then it’s “I’m so angry with you I could burst.” “I know. I’m really sorry.” and “If you do this George Cubbins, I’m going to be so mad.”?? Yeah, that did me in. 

13. A few other things that I noticed that didn’t really relate to anything else:

- “[The Winkmans] had owned the place for twenty years, since their predecessor had been accidentally crushed beneath a piece of Indian erotic statuary.” I truly had never noticed this tidbit of backstory before. I’ve been enlightened. 

- Whoever designed the Black Library did a great job because it sounds like that room absolutely fucks. “The Black Library of Fittes House proved to be a vast octagonal room, rising the height of two full floors toward a glass dome in the roof. . . The walls were bookshelves, tier upon tier, with a metal balcony running around them at first-floor height. In two places, spiral staircases descended from this to the ground level, where we stood. The floor was made of wooden tiles, mostly of dark mahogany; but in the center, a design in paler woods depicted a rearing silver unicorn.”

- I know he probably only had it because it was the only drink being served at the Fittes party, but I will forever think of Barnes as a cocktail man from now on.

14. Lastly, Stroud really loves a cliffhanger, doesn’t he? I will give credit where credit is due. Revealing the Skull can talk to Lucy was pretty good, but he really stepped it up with the dead sister reveal.

Onto THB❤️.

[brummiereader]

@zablife thank you so much for another amazing reblog, full of wonderful comments, Lee ❤️!

He's a slut. I agree 😂. I'm stealing this for a future chapter..."sweet summer child"! I can see Grannie saying this to her during a heart to heart ❤️. He definitely knew she could hear 😂. I think his sole purpose was to make her jealous or give her a taste of what she could be enjoying 😉. Because if there is one thing Tommy is particularly skilled in, it's what he does under the sheets!

"Poor little rich girl" I'm a thief, Lee. I stole this one too 🤭. You did mention it in the first chapter, and I wanted to use it in this one so I noted it down. Eh, voila 😂!

Exactly! She doesn't really mop around, feeling sorry for herself. She battles through, so it's hard to remember just how dire her circumstances actually are. 😂, yeh Charlie wasn't getting involved in that! Although, I think Tommy could do with some back up when dealing with her sometimes 🤭.

Ahhh 🥰! I'm so happy you loved their interaction in the bedroom. Their back and forth banter/bickering is my favourite thing to write in this series. I think I just love pissing Tommy off with her antics 😂.

Yep, Grannie is not so innocent! I will delve a little bit more into her past. And the big secret she wants to keep hidden 🤭. Frances is Grannies watchful eye, she knows what's up with them too 😉.

I wasn't sure if it was too soon. I only plan on around seven chapters for this series, so they need to get moving 😂. I'm so relieved you enjoyed this part though, and Tommy's thoughtful gesture, even if they couldn't help but argue here and there!

Yay!! I'm so happy you thought that at first! It was definitely my intention to have the reader think Tommy was going to do something else. Or even that it was Cal who showed up at the funeral. But no, our beautiful blue eyed darling turned up in support instead 😍.

What indeed 🤔😈. It's the day of the ball in the next chapter, so you'll soon find out! Thank you again for your exciting review of this chapter! You always make my day hun 😘.

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Three)

Summary: After an eventful morning of bickering between you and Tommy over a misunderstanding on his part. He attempts to make amends in his own way by inviting you out for the evening. But as growing feelings start to arise between the two of you, so does Tommy's frustration for your continued defensive stance about your fiance's violent tendencies towards you.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, mentions of domestic violence

Word Count: 5286

Authors Note: The song played during the performance is called "Pas De Deux" by Tchaikovsky. A famous song you may have heard from the renowned ballet "The Nutcracker".

He can't come. No. Absolutely not! Why did he even agree to it? What was he up to? your nagging brain bugged you with a deluge of questions about Tommy's unexpected acceptance of invitation to your engagement ball as you tossed in your bed, kicking the white linen covers tangled around your legs with a huff. Had he caught on to your plan? Was he going to...sabotage it? your eyes flew open as you bolted up, your head quickly snapping to the wall behind you and the squatter that dwelled in the room next to yours.

That bastard, your burning eyes narrowed in on the empty ivory wall, accusing him of a multitude of misgivings your tired weary brain had concocted up. Now it was you, who was lacking in sleep.

For just as you had refused the blue-eyed trespasser little rest with your impromptu morning wake-up calls. Tommy had been quick to return the favor, when during the late hours of last night, he had invited a guest to his room. Keeping you up with her incessant moaning, begging and whatever other ungodly noises he had coaxed from her.

He did it on purpose, you convinced your frazzled brain as you glared at the wall and the scuff marks from your furious banging that seemed to only have spurred on his loud antics. But as Arrow Houses' bustling life entered your ears, dulling out your frantic thoughts, your body slumped down to sit at the end of the bed in a heap. The anger you had felt for the entirety of the night as you plotted your next retaliation, rapidly seeping from you as a sudden wave of exhaustion settled above your shoulders, weighing them down with further despair as you watched the fluttering shadows of the large oak tree outside your bedroom window dance across your paneled flooring.

How many more years would you keep this act up for? That you could battle through anything, with only witty comebacks to hide behind? You could feel your facade slipping day by day. And in the quieter moments of your life where you found yourself alone with your thoughts, you would remove your mask and find the vulnerable girl scared of not only the future, but the next hour staring intently back at you.

The lack luster you felt for the life you had been born into, had started to feel as foreign as the many Latin books your governess would have you learn in your dreary years of schooling. Mr Shelby's presence only making your feelings ever the more poignant

For as much as his appearance into your life had conjured up a fury enough to match that of Grannie's short temper, he had also brought excitement. And after the previous nights' relentless noise, jealously. Jealousy for the sounds of pleasure you yourself had never experienced. For the love you assumed they shared.

Is this what you were destined for, a life of service to your awaiting husband? Seen not heard, like an unwanted child? Forever chained to his wealth, but penniless? Violently rutted into like an animal at his will? you thought to yourself as your absent stare, welled with tears blinked through your soft sobs. Suddenly it seemed easier to wear the mask after all. Rather that than face your potential future and the tormenting hope you still held out for that the deeds to Arrow House would return in your favor.

Poor little rich girl, they would surely call you when everything came to light, when the scandal broke and the gossiping began. And with your lack of funds to give yourself a life of meaning. Those words couldn't be truer.

"On the left. No, to the left, Curly. Bleeding Christ man!" you heard the raspy voice from outside your room as you rubbed the tears from your eyes, when a loud thud to your door had you racing for its glossy brass handle.

" What...what on earth have you done to my wall?" you frowned upon seeing two men outside your bedroom with a stack of boxes between them and a large dent in your once immaculately painted hallway.

" Moving this junk to the attic" the tallest with a peak cap and a burning cigarette between his lips spoke as he picked up the hefty box in his arms.

So you were the posh girl that Tommy had been burning his ears with every bloody day after work. Same girl he wouldn't stop ranting and raving about until last orders at the Garrison, he thought to himself as he squinted at you through the fumes of tobacco drifting between you both. Infatuation for a pretty face, and a stubborn enough will to match his own, more like.

" Not junk, Charlie. Get a pretty price down market for this" the other eagerly replied as he pulled out a pair of ladies' hair rollers and a bundle of weathered ballet programs.

"Shut up, Curly" his friend replied, notioning with his head to the end of the hallway, when you stopped him and began rummaging through the contents in his hands.

" Junk! JUNK!" You shouted, grabbing the dusty box of your mother's belongings from his arms as his brow furrowed at your erratic reaction, now frantically pulling all the remaining boxes into your safeguard.

" Who told you to..." you stopped yourself, as your hand came to your sweaty forehead and an agape smile of both disbelief and annoyance appeared on your reddening face as the only culprit capable came to mind. "Him right?! The squatter?!" You pointed to Tommy's door as your hardened stare flew to the two men staring back at the unlikely image of a woman that had spent most of her life learning her P's and Q's, waving her finger around maniacally like a mad woman with wild frazzled hair.

" That's it. That, is, it!" you shouted as you stormed the few feet to his bedroom door, your marching arms making a strong enough point to your two bystanders just how furious you were.

" Better warn Tom, Charlie" Curly leaned quietly into him as he watched you begin to pound on the door with angry fist's

" Nout we can do for him now. Best leave 'em to it" he replied, pinching his cigarette between his fingers from his lips as he turned down to the stairs. "Curly!" he called after his giddy friend as your once perfectly primed patience lost its ability to wait any longer, and you threw open his door.

" Fucking hell, here she comes" Tommy mumbled, turning his head to see you charging towards him with a face like thunder.

" Get up. Get up!" you screeched at him and the stranger sleeping beside him as he reached to light a cigarette before you pulled the covers from his body without any caution as to exactly how much clothing he was wearing.

With a gasp of shock from you, and a horrified scream from the woman beside him, you quickly span around with blushing cheeks from the image of Birmingham's most notorious gangster as naked as the day he was born. Oh dear. You may have taken it a little too far this time.

"What the fuck! Crazy bitch!" the stranger who had spent the night with him bellowed aloud as she leaped from the bed, scrambling for her clothes.

" I'm ever so..." you began to apologise to the woman who shut you up in one quick scornful glare, waiting by Tommy with her hand out as your curious eyes darted subtly to the side to see the exchange of money for her services. So you had been wrong. They were not lovers. At least, not in the sense you thought, your mind quizzed you as to who exactly had been servicing who last night with the sounds of her moans of ecstasy still ringing in your ears.

" Learn to knock" the woman spat, pushing past your shoulder with a thud as she sauntered from the room.

" Mr Shelby..." you said at the sound of the door closing when Tommy stopped you from not only giving him his daily telling off, but from your flushed face from turning around.

" Unless you want another look, sweetheart. I'd stay put until I put some clothes on" Tommy said with a smirk, practically seeing your rolling eyes of irritation from the back of your head.

" I do not" your heated cheeks huffed impatiently as you let the weight of your annoyance sit on your hip cocked to one side. Something Tommy had no shame in enjoying the view of as he pulled up his trousers, purposely taking his time to button them up to get a better look at your nightie draped over the curves of your waist.

"Are you decent?" "Yes" he mumbled through the cigarette now clasped between his lips as he ignited the orange glow, pulling his eyes away from the plump bum in front of him.

Spinning around, ready to give him a piece of your mind, and if he wasn't careful, a blow to his perfectly chiseled jaw. You came face to face with not a fully clothed man, but one only partially dressed.

Decent, you huffed to yourself in annoyance at his inability to dress correctly in front of company, as your lingering eyes that seemed to have garnered a brain of their own lately, glanced over his strong form and the various inked tattoos across his torso.

"Y/N?" Tommy broke the brief silence with a grin, blowing out a cloud of smoke as his own eyes raked over your less than modest clothing. Sheer enough to see the beckoning shadow of your...

" Do you possess anything other than a pair of trousers, Mr Shelby? A shirt perhaps?" You frowned, scrambling away from your heated thoughts about the half naked man in front of you.

" It's summer, Y/N. And hot " Tommy replied nonchalantly as he stubbed his cigarette out on the metal knob of the bed frame, earning him another scornful glare.

" Hm, really? I thought you looked rather cold" you smirked, looking down at his suited trousers as Tommy cocked a brow, and audibly loud scoff at your snarky remark that he was not as endowed as his enormously large ego simultaneously left his lips.

" I think you're the one that's cold, love" Tommy nodded down at the thin fabric loosely shielding your modesty. The open window and summer morning breeze drifting through, resulting in an embarrassing pointy display. Or that's what you told yourself, and not the result of your eyes falling upon the sizable manhood you had just insulted.

" Go on then. Tell me what I've done now, ey?" Tommy asked, perching himself up against the bedroom dresser as he watched you stomp towards him with a knitted blanket now guarding your revealing sleep wear, and a ferocious frown to match it. A frown he had begun to find a small, endearing charm for. His very own personalised greeting you welcomed him each morning with as you barged into either his office or bedroom.

" You may have commandeered my office, Mr Shelby. Crammed it full of your ghastly sense of decor. Taken over half of my house. But nothing, nothing gives you the right to move those boxes" your lip quivered with fury at the thought of your mother's memory being banished to the attic in the house she had died in, when ill health prematurely took her from you.

" Boxes, love. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist over. If you were wearing any that was, his intrusive thoughts about what lay beyond your night gown entered his brain as he cleared his throat. "They were collecting dust. Damp with water "

" Boxes to you, Mr Shelby" you replied, hiding the pang of guilt now sitting in your stomach for the care he had shown for them and not that of your own, having been so caught up in your life's recent events to notice your mother's possessions slowly spoiling.

" Y/N" he grabbed hold of your arm, realising they held more meaning than what you was willing to let on as you tried to escape him from seeing your rapidly mounting embarrassment, and misplaced emotions." They were sitting in water, love" he marched after you as you shrugged off his hand. " Had them moved to the attic until the leak was fixed" he called out, following behind your plodding steps down the stairs as your Grannie watched in the foyer, waiting for the morning tea you had arranged with her to finalise the last details of you father's funeral set to take place the following day.

" Not talking to me now, eh?"

" No I'm not" you turned around, abruptly coming to a sudden stop. " I wouldn't even have to entertain the thought of talking to you if you would just leave my house and stop being so stubborn!" You bellowed, using the occasion to push him to vacate your home.

" I'm stubborn?" Tommy scoffed pointing at himself as your Grannie watched the half clothed conflict with widening eyes, steadying her racing imagination with her cane firmly adhered to the marble flooring.

Oh dear lord, he had corrupted your innocent nobility. A backstreet criminal! Grannie's brain whirled dramatically in horror at history repeating itself. Her own history, that was. Filled with unsavory secrets she had done her upmost to not see the light of day until she herself was firmly six feet under to avoid the scandal it would create among high society.

" Darling, you're the one having the tantrum" he said following after your stomping feet as you continued your decent down the stairs, ignoring his remarks before you launched something at his head, and the last of your taught lady like manners along with it.

" Annie" you said coming to a stop in front of one of the youngest maids under your employment as Tommy loomed beside you, the unfinished argument and continued half-assed silent treatment only grating on him further. " Please tell the cook to prepare chicken for lunch" you smiled to her as you turned to leave, only to walk into the blue-eyed barrier right behind you.

" Mutton, Annie" Tommy corrected your dinner orders as you stood mere inches from his muscular, sweaty frame. So close, you could see the follicles of the graying tuft of hair on his firm chest and that of him armpits as he waved his arm about.

" Excuse me, but no. No we won't be having "mutton" "you did your upmost to mirror his deep brummie lilt, replicating the heavy grovel of his accent with as much flare as you could as Tommy's arching brow looked down at you.

" Chicken, Annie. Please" you span back around, only for Tommy to interrupt your dinner suggestion a second time as the young worker and your Gran watched your bickering recommence with darting eyes.

" Shut up! Shut up!" Annie blurted out with scrunched eyes when her hand flew to her mouth as her outburst caught up with her frazzled thinking

" Annie" you gasped in surprise, when both a giggle from you and a low chuckle for the trespasser behind you followed. Mutually finding amusement in the usually composed maids' sudden scolding of you both as your Grannies hand flew to her chest in horror for the disorder of things you two had created in such a small amount of time.

" Oh god. Please don't fire me, or...or shoot my knee caps off" the young maid panicked as Frances rushed to bring things back to a status quo, ushering the jittery member of staff away before an ambulance was called for your Gran, who was now frantically fanning the dizzying distress on her face.

" I'll ask the cook to prepare both chicken and mutton. Can you both agree on that? " Frances looked between you both with raised brows as a mother would her unruly offspring, trying to keep the peace in her chaotic home free from the constant bickering of two strong-headed children.

" Fine" you both said in unison before going your separate ways, having been reprimanded by your housekeeper. Both of your abilities to rile the other up in an exceptional amount of time, simmering for a brief moment for the rest of the household to take a well-earned breather from your back and forth demands.

" Frances, dear" your Grannie beckoned your loyal housekeeper quietly to her."Tell me" she said, holding onto her arm with her frail hands as she leaned in. " How long has it been since war was declared?" she queried, pressed to puzzle through what she feared was truly behind both of your dramatic disdain for the other. For nothing could get past Grannie's keen eye, and knack for discovering the truth.

" Ever since Mr Shelby shot Miss Y/N's piano, Mam. I'm starting to believe they're enjoying it" Frances sighed as your Gran nodded her head in agreement, fearing you had inherited the same taste in men she herself found her younger years in a pickle with after a dally with a man from Digbeth she'd sneak out to see every night.

" It seems so, Frances. It seems so..."

" Get changed" Tommy ordered you as he swung your bedroom door open later that day, rummaging through your wardrobe, then throwing one of your many evening dresses into your lap as you read quietly in the corner by a small lamp.

" I will not" You scoffed as your eyes darted up to see him motioning with his hand to do as you were told as if it was the norm between you both to just barge through someone's bedroom

" Come on. Chop, chop" he said, cupping the domes of his palms around the flame at the end of his cigarette.

What did he want to do, watch? Not that you would do anything he says, you huffed with your brows raised as you returned to your book, neither questioning nor entertaining what exactly it was you had to change for.

Well, you hadn't told him to leave. That was a start. Did you want him to stay and watch? Tommy's mischievous eyes perked up as a playful smirk etched on the corner of his plump lips.

" Y/N" he said, snapping the book close between your fingers with a grin. Gaining your attention and a knitted frown firmly sat on your brow.

" What do you want?" You pouted, placing your book to the side as he loomed next to you. Awfully close next to you. A red cheek inducing closeness that your eye level met with not his insufferable cocky face but, halfway down his body to his buckled belt.

" Think of it as my way of saying I was...wrong" he said, removing two neatly pressed pieces of paper from within his jacket." This time" he pointed to you before your triumphant smile grew any bigger as he handed them to you.

Since your blazing row earlier that morning, Tommy had made a point to understand what exactly had you so riled up over a few boxes. So, after making a beeline for the attic, and to the items in question that had you barge into his room. He quickly came to the sudden realisation of what caused your unexpected emotional outburst when he pulled out a bundle of aged ballet tickets crayoned with hearts and flowers in your younger self's name and that of the former lady of Arrow House. The keepsakes of precious memories spent together buried within many trinkets and cherished belongings. Your mother's belongings. Shit.

" Ballet?" You looked up at him with a quizzical brow. " Didn't think you the type"

"No. But you are. How longs it been since you last went to Royal Theater, eh?"

"Many... many years" you said absently turning them in your hand as a yearning to relive your childhood years panged in your tightening chest and the olive branch of peace he had offered you

" And if I decline what will you do? Shoot me?" You quirked a brow as Tommy's lips tightened together with a smirk.

" I've shot people for a lot less, love" he said shoving his spare hand in his pocket as he took a drag from his cigarette with a smile.

"Be ready in an hour" he turned to leave, not giving you any further opportunities to decline his offer. " And if you behave yourself, I might even treat you to a packet of sweets " he called out before shutting the door as you looked down at the tickets in your hand, the inner child in you excitedly biting your bottom lip as a wave of gratefulness for his thoughtful gesture warmed your heart. Not that you would tell him of course, you smiled to yourself as you mischievously planned to delay your readiness by thirty minutes. Just so things were clear, that you were still furiously irritated by his presence. Wasn't you?

After a short drive into town and a bickering match over the quickest route to the theater. You managed to take your seats in the renowned function room without killing each other, with a brown paper bag of lemon drops in your hand promised to you by Tommy on route if you would just give his ears a rest for five minutes.

" 'ere" he beckoned his hand out for one of the boiled treats he had already helped himself to half of as you shoved them into his awaiting hand, succumbing to the fact that he had infact, brought them for himself.

As the lights dimmed, you shot your unwelcome houseguest a stern look of disapproval at his rummaging hands noisily wading through the small packet of sweets. His rolling eyes taking one last lemon treat before folding them into his suit jacket. Since when did he start listening to your bossy demands?

As Tommy quietly sat back in the comfort of his crimson chair, you couldn't have been further off the edge of yours as your hands rested on the balcony edge, watching each pirouette in front of your eyes as the lulling tune of Pas De Deux's strumming harp prickled your skin with each delightful note.

Mesmerised by the graceful dance, a sudden wave of your childhood memories came hurtling towards you, taking you aback with the emotional rippling tides of times spent that came with them.

As you stayed silently captured by the elegant twirling in front of you, Tommy's eyes flicked back and forth towards your glistening stare as you gasped at the male leader throwing the ballerina into the air, then capturing her in his arms before spinning her in his hand.

And there it came, rushing towards him. His own sudden gentle wave in the sea of peaceful music of violins vibrating through his chest and quickening heart, captivating him as it did during your very first encounter. Holding his full and undivided attention as he sat silently in the shadow of the candelabras casting their orange glow around the beauty before him.

The most annoying, most irritating, strong-willed stubborn woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. The same woman he had tried his upmost to ignore the yearning her beauty had coaxed from him every waking hour. You. Insufferable you.

" I want to thank you, Mr Shelby" you said after returning from the evening of graceful dancing, unaware of Tommy's heavy breath following your every move. The two hours he had spent watching you as your gaze stayed distracted by the nimble-footed dancers whilst he took advantage of the peaceful moment of silence between you both to take in the delicate details of your beauty. The soft feather-like batting of your fluttering lashes, the way your skin puckered with a dusting of goosebumps as the drums boomed throughout the theater, your wetted lips glistening in the light of the soft glow of the candles surrounding you.

Fuck. What was happening to him? You were the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever encountered. Wars with rivaling gangsters were a breeze compared to the daily headache you gave him, he thought to himself as he slowly trekked up the stairs behind you, lingering out his goodbyes for the evening.

" For what?" He questioned you as he came to a stop with you outside your adjoining rooms, yearning to see the peacefulness you had let him glimpse at earlier in the evening that took his breath away.

" For tonight. For letting me forget everything" you replied as you darted your eyes to and from his piercing stare boring into you.

"It was my pleasure" his gravely voice tapered off as you waited on him with a small frown at his sudden lack of snarky remarks. "Y/N, I..." Tommy softly added as your doe eyes and plush lips beckoned his rising hand closer before you turned your head away, unaware of his approaching touch that had already swiftly found its way back home to his side with a sigh.

" I should get some rest. My father's funeral is tomorrow at nine" you said, brushing an escaping lock of hair from your neatly pinned tresses as you watched the knot of frustration bob up and down in his neck.

" Right" he cleared his throat as he stepped back, suddenly feeling like a shy schoolboy with a one-sided crush. Was it one-sided?

" Thankfully, it will only be a small ceremony. Just close family. Me, my gran and brother. My father seemed to have burned all bridges with everyone else he knew. Not that I blame them" you exhaled with a small laugh, babbling through your nervousness and the shift away from the constant arguing you had both become accustomed to, absent from your date. Date. Was it a date?

" Your fiance won't be accompanying you? Tommy questioned with a furrowed brow as he watched your hand clasp around the polished door handle as you shook your head.

" He has business to attend to" you replied, as his confusion about your defense of Cal's priorities began to grate on him until he could no longer withhold his opinion on exactly what he thought of Earl Astor and his heavy hand.

" Doesn't sound like the actions of a man about to marry the love of his life" Tommy scoffed as you swallowed back the reality of your loveless circumstances and how true his words were.

" It's complicated. He's complicated" you did it again, without thought. Was you trying to keep up the act, or were you trying to find reasoning for why you gave him so much say in your life?

" He's certainly something" Tommy said as he looked to your bruised wrist, your weighted bracelet having unveiled the blotchy marks as you rested your hand on the knob of the door.

" It's not what you think. You wouldn't understand" you said, quickly covering the blackening marks of violence stained on your soft skin.

" I think I understand perfectly, love" Tommy's brow raised, as he watched your irritation for the truth he was laying bare simmer under your tightening jaw." There's no difference in class when it comes to a man that lays his hand on a woman. The only question I have is why, Y/N? Why does a woman so bloody strong headed, so..." Tommy stopped himself with a sigh at your furrowing brow and scrunched nose in response to his less than flattering remark as his patience grew thin for your acceptance of fate. "so...smart" he said, as his eyes drifted to your blushing cheeks and batting eyes looking up at him. " Let a man like that bastard ruin her beauty and spirit?" he finished, holding your gaze as a silence settled above you both. Tommy's compliments and truthful words of reality embedding themselves into your spinning thoughts.

" Because I have no choice, Mr Shelby " you said, stiffening your bottom lip, stifling both your mounting emotions and threatening tears from escaping.

How could he possibly understand the plights of a woman's life? The pressure engraved into you from early childhood to find a husband and bare his children before you turned into a barren spinster. To be locked away in embarrassment in the darkest room of your family's home, for the future you didn't provide to further their finances and noble name.

Withstand, endure. And if you were lucky, flee from the life you were born in to until that darkened dusty room took it for you.

" Goodnight Mr Shelby" you flatly bid your goodbyes as you opened your bedroom door. Holding onto your sobs until the click of the handle safely shut you away from his watchful eye and you was able to release the sorrow you felt for your almost inescapable future.

" Goodnight"

When the following morning came around, Tommy sat quietly in his Watery Lane office, mulling over the previous night's events and your parting words as he stared absently out the weathered glassed window, listening to the bustling life of Small Heath awake. As the hand of his gold pocket watch struck nine, Tommy rose from his leather seat, striding over to his hat and jacket.

" Tommy, Johnny wants to know where to dump the latest shipment" Arthur sniffed as he pushed the door open with a folder of papers under his arm. "Tom?" He said as he watched his brother adjust his peaked cap on his head, checking the hour of his watch for a second time.

"Sort it out. I've somewhere to be" Tommy replied, as he tucked his gold trinket back Into to the safety of his waistcoat.

" Where?" Arthur called out with a huff, dropping the files of papers onto the mounting stack on Tommy's desk that had yet to be signed.

"Somewhere important"

Stood by the open grave of your father, with your grandmother and brother opposite you and the freshly dug hole. The priest waited with sighing breath at the sorrowful lack of attendees at the service he was set to give.

" Shall we begin?" he looked up to the only three remaining family members before opening his book of prayers.

" Dearly beloved, we gather here today to..." His voice trailed off into silence as your blinking eyes filled with tears looked down at the coffin of your father feet from you when the distinct smell of burnt tobacco and sharp notes of whisky filled your senses, the warmth of his arm pressing into yours as he settled his position next to you.

" We lay our servants' body to rest. That he can..." The priest continued as you turned to look up at the smartly dressed man beside you.

" You came, why?" You quietly sobbed as tears trickled down the curves of your cheeks, a fleeting frown of surprise creasing the soft flesh between your brow at his unexpected appearance.

" To pay my respects" Tommy replied as he looked down at you, and the small smile of gratitude whispering back to him silent thank yous.

" Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." The priest prayed as your father's coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and your grandmother's weeping for her only child broke through the silence of the graveyard as your brother held her frail body steady against his own.

As the thud of the coffin hit the bottom of its final resting place, a sudden sob of pain escaped your throat as you stood afar from the comforting arms of your grandmother and brother. That was until your own subtle gesture of comfort was felt when the calloused pads of someone's hand brushed soothingly along your knuckles. The same hand of the man that had shown you more sympathy, more care and attentiveness than you had ever received from your supposed future partner in life.

Mr Shelby. Tommy.

NEXT PART coming soon!

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted (unable to tag) @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette @mostly-marvel-musings

[queeenpersephone]

When Mulder says "I'm fine ... free" GOD !!!!! PLEASE SCULLY JUST GO KISS HIM AT LEAST ON THE FORHEAD !!! I love this man so much 😫❤️ also the music is so deep and poignant I feel like that's the rhythm of mulder's sorrow and freedom at finding out about Samantha's death. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this closing scene

BRO I KNOW RIGHT!! okay i'm gonna be real with you and say i literally had to go back and rewatch (i usually do with the mytharc post s5, tbh) but it is a really beautiful moment. i'm one of those people that liked that samantha was "found" (for mulder's healing) but hated the context - the plot for this ep just breezed right over my head. so i don't really feel too qualified to give you any sort of meta other than david duchovny did a great job with what he was given - he played that lightness/gravity combination perfectly. HOWEVER. a kiss on the forehead we deserved. or..

-

Scully stands behind Mulder as they watch Piller stalk off into the distance. She doesn't know what happened to Mulder. She prides herself in her ability to keep up with him, but the past few days have felt like a rollercoaster.

What she does know: he sees this man and sees himself, fighting for justice and begging to be believed. And she knows Mulder wants to help him, the way he wants to help every pained, silenced soul, though he knows there is no remedy for losing an innocent soul to something beyond belief.

But what he now thinks happened to Samantha? Scully knows with a deep, hesitant relief that this is something that Mulder can believe. And she wants that for him, more than anything else.

But, for all her knowledge of him, seven years and countless hospital beds and tender moments between them, she cannot imagine what knowledge of Samantha's fate will do to him. He might crumble, laugh, lash out in pain at the finality of closure. But if she knows anything, it's that no matter his response, she has to at least try to comfort him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Her voice is shaky, uncertain, a direct contrast to the surprisingly steady set of his shoulders as his knowing eyes watch Piller. She curses her vulnerability. She needs to be strong, to hold them both up, to not get lost in the endless what-ifs regarding where they go from here. For better or worse, Samantha has been a ghost, walking a step behind them for nearly a decade. The unspoken member of the X-Files. Mulder's raison d'être.

He hums for a moment, looking for words. She can tell that without looking at his face. "I'm fine," he says, again, steady, and she feels a frustrated pang of empathy for him, for all the times she hid from him with the same words.

She's about to reach out and touch him, push him to open up - she's unapologetically greedy for his emotional intimacy - when he suddenly cranes his neck to the sky. "I'm free," he croaks out, finally breaking a little, and she takes a step forward-

Only for him to spin on his heel and bend at the knees, clamping his arms around her waist and lifting her clean off her feet against him. She squeaks a little at the change in altitude, wrapping one arm around his neck, guiding his head into the space between her neck and shoulder with the other.

"Mulder," she gasps, but she stops. She's still not sure what he wants from her. Their bodies settle against each other, the familiar firmness of his chest against her curves, both of them radiating warmth.

"Scully," he rasps against the sensitive skin below her ear. "She's dead."

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," she whispers, tears forming in her eyes. "This isn't the outcome either of you deserve." And she means that, with her whole soul, more than she means her FBI oath or her prayers in church. She's saved up so much devotion for him, and it all comes spilling out.

"I miss Sam," he says, "I miss my mom, Scully."

"I'm sorry," she repeats.

He holds her so tightly it's almost hard to breathe, but she doesn't dare complain. "I'm the last of the Mulders," he admits. "But I still feel free." She hears the self-recrimination, hates that terrible feeling: she will always want to hurt what's hurting him, but too often, he hurts only himself.

She cards her fingers through his soft hair, smiling sadly when he nudges into her at the sensation. "That's okay, Mulder."

He lets out a long sigh, further molding them together. "Scully - can you. Just once -" He stops, swallowing hard, like he's suddenly shy.

"Anything," she encourages, readjusting her grip on him. She's starting to slip.

He pauses for a long moment. "Scully, I want to be Mulder to you. For the rest of my life. But just - right now - can you -" He stops again, but she understands now.

"It's okay, Fox," she whispers, and his breath hitches. She knows why he asked, knows that his mother was the last person to use it, knows that the pain of that moment needs to be replaced the best way he can manage. Tears dampen her jacket, soaking through to her skin. When she begins to hush him softly, he sniffles before hitching her legs around his waist. It's a familiar move, somehow more intimate despite the fact that they are both still clothed. He seats them both in the tall grasses, wrapped around each other in a way that they usually restrict to either their bedrooms or a well-checked motel room. It feels freeing.

"Scully, you're all I have," he says to her. He treats it as a simple, obvious truth, but the depth of his loneliness makes her hold him all the tighter. "You're all I have anymore-"

She unwinds from him just enough to press their foreheads together, his eyes hidden beneath wet lashes. On impulse, she kisses each tear that streams down his cheeks. It's a heady, overwhelming feeling. To know that she is everything to the man weeping against her. Later, she might worry about it. Now, she resolves to fulfill whatever expectations he might have of her. "I'm here," she murmurs. "I love you, and I'm here."

"Don't leave," he murmurs, as if he's not hearing her, gathering her tighter into his lap. "Please, Scully."

She refuses to let him escape into his head, tilting his chin up and waiting until his eyes flutter open.

"I will not leave you."

The slightly hysterical laughter, the relieved shine to his eyes, the lightness in his shoulders and the heartwrenching pain in the way he repeats her name. All contrary things that make up the man she adores.

He breaks in her arms, and she receives him as she always does: with endless love.

tagging: @today-in-fic

[theesteemedladydebourgh]

foreigner’s god is magic

so I’ve decided that reviewing fics that fucked me up is like discount therapy! I had so much peace after doing IWNMA...so now it’s time to tackle the one that literally broke my heart and made me want to slump into a puddle of tears. (edit: i wrote this intro paragraph sometime in early January and upon doing this at the end of Jan/Feb...there were tears in real time. in case anyone was wondering). Happy seven months, Foreigner’s God! 🥳❤️

first of all, if anyone hasn’t read this you are wrong and your life choices are bad. i’m sorry, just saying. your life is empty without it. 

@clare-with-no-i​ u incite violence daily and you terrify me even if I love you 😘

so.

Oh my god. This fucking fic. It’s the kind I can only read once because it only needs to be read once to irrevocably change you. Lots to address in that sentence: a. yes. Change you. That is not an exaggeration. Clare’s jily in general will physically change you, because she writes love like some people eat potato chips—is that a shit metaphor, probably, but do not expect me to be as coherent as I was with IWNMA because I just cried for half an hour reading this. so. b. somehow I decided it was a sound mental decision at 9 o’clock at night when I have multiple life stressors going on to read this fic. Don’t know what that was about, I’m a mess. c. reading it once is totally effective because uh. there is literal magic in this because it is never going to leave my brain. it’s stuck in ther.

There’s a lot of good-natured ribbing in the jily fandom, and tbh I don’t even remember what I said seven months ago when this came out but I’m pretty sure there was screaming. And while screaming and crying adequately cover my emotions, I’m going to attempt to be coherent because this fic deserves it.

*all emotions and thoughts represented in this are real and not dramatized in any way. i am just a dramatic bitch with a lot of feelings and Clare is clearly a woodland witch who sold her soul to the fairies for stingingly beautiful wordsmithing

Lily startles awake at the sound of her seven a.m. alarm with an absolute certainty that she’s supposed to be dead.

Not that she wants to be, or that she has some sort of petulant wish to die instead of going about her business for the day, but rather a hollow ache that spreads through her ribs, something ancient and searing and corrosive. Her first waking instinct—or maybe it’s not even that, maybe it’s some vestige of her sleeping mind, murky and overcast with dwindling dreams—is to bring her hand to her chest and press it to her pounding heart.

I’m dead, she thinks, even as she feels the steady thump-thump against her ribs, I’m dead. I’m dead. He found us. We’re dead.

The first line alone makes me cry, because we already know what’s coming. It’s the agonizing pain of a life that was reached for, and didn’t last. The reason I can’t read Jily death fics is because I’m so attached to them as characters that it physically pains me, but it’s almost worse to consider how they felt after. When they know they’re missing their son’s life, when the world goes on without them.

idk man I’m not okay.

It’s not even that Clare’s prose is gorgeous, that she can weave words into a blindingly beautiful tapestry that you just become lost in, it’s the characters behind them. Behind the beautiful words, the tender adjectives, is a love story that just absolutely ruins you because of how genuine it is.

She raises her arms high above her head and pulls, stretching out the cricks in her back, letting sunlight wash over her face and pajama-clad body. Her eyes slip closed as her back bows.

But instead of the comforting darkness of the inside of her eyelids, what accosts her vision is a yellow-painted bedroom, books scattered and toys littered across the floor as though it’s just been through an earthquake. She hears footsteps plod outside the battered wooden door, but they’re wrong, somehow, she knows this—the footsteps are wrong, and they’re coming closer, and she knows that they shouldn’t be, and she has to get someone out, out, out, even if it means that this is it, it’s all over.

There’s a baby’s cry—get him out, get him out, get him out—behind her, but the door blasts open before she can turn, and she’s screaming and crying and the footsteps are too close and too wrong.

“Not Harry! Please, have mercy! Not Harry!”

Lily’s eyes fly open and she staggers backward, nearly losing her footing over nothing but hard wood floor. “What the—”

As she stumbles, the door to her room creaks open, and on some base, animal instinct, she nearly rushes forward to slam it shut—get him out, get him out, get him out—when Eloise’s head pops through the door. Lily’s steps melt into an awkward lurch.

Eloise peers at her curiously. “Er…you alright, babe?”

I don’t know. “Yeah,” Lily waves a dismissive hand. “Fine. Just a bad night’s sleep.”

The absolute disorientation of the back and forth, the past mixing with the present is just…I feel whiplash reading it.

I know this is a long chunk, but it needs to be read word for word. The red to green traffic light. The ache of losing your child. The not knowing any of it, but we know and so it’s a thousand times more painful. Red to green, a whole set of lives lost. Red to green, and we’re here.

That is, until the taxi comes to a red light, and on a passing glance out of her window, Lily sees a young mother putting her toddler into a pram.

Her breath catches. The window of the taxi has suddenly, inexplicably transformed into a wall closing in around her, stifling and suffocating. She plants a lone, futile hand against it and presses hard on the glass.

“—And so I told him,” Ava’s parroting into her phone from the seat next to Lily—a story she’s already heard, minimum of four times. “I want that on record, do you hear me? I want that on record—and I don’t care how many copies you’re selling to them.”

Lily can’t look away from the mother and her child.

Unbothered and oblivious to her gaze, the baby wriggles happily, little arms and legs heaving to and fro as the mother coos and smiles. It’s a little boy—his eyes match his mother’s.

Get him out of here, Lily thinks desperately, which is absurd, because the child is both fine and already in his pram, and the mother is beginning to push him across the street. The thought bears no relevance to the scene in front of her. And yet, like a pulsing up her spine, she thinks again: get him out of here.

“—This idiot has the audacity to ask me where I went to school! I know. I know—”

A jagged piece of Lily’s dream comes flying back to her. It’s a blunt force to her brain.

A name.

Harry.

“Harry…” Lily murmurs the name to herself, and it rattles around her ribcage, something broken and yearning casting a stammer to her heartbeat. She doesn’t know anyone named Harry; no friends, no family, no passing acquaintances. Not even a particular fixation on the now-abdicated Duke of Sussex. There’s no reason the name should haunt her, neither in her dreams nor—as it’s happening now—in the clear light of morning.

Not Harry! the voice had been screaming—her voice. Have mercy! Please! Not Harry!

The stoplight switches from red to green, and without knowing why, Lily flinches.

And HAHAHA I’m resuscitated because Clare’s. fucking. James. I have things to say about Clare’s James, okay. Namely, he is the most attractive thing to ever be written. This is not an opinion, it’s fact. He’s…no words. No words, except when a fictional character makes me swoon and blush and feel overwhelmed just from three paragraphs, you know you’ve got peak man-written-by-very-smart-woman.

The opposing counsel is a prick. A gorgeous, intolerable prick.

He sits languid and damn near lounging in a large conference room chair, smug like he owns the whole building they’re sitting in. To be completely honest, he just might—Lily has enough posh friends with questionable spending habits to recognize a Jaeger-LeCoultre watch when she sees one. That thing could pay her rent for the next three months.

She spots him as soon as she gets of the elevator, her client shuffling along in tow, and is immediately struck by multiple things: hopelessly messy black hair; strong, handsome features; and a smirk that, for some reason, looks uncannily familiar.

So, although her first thought is fucking hell, you’re sex on legs, all of that is categorically blasted to pieces the second he opens his mouth.

“Hello,” he says smoothly—can one word even be smooth?—as he stands and buttons his suit jacket back up, “James Potter. Representing the defendant. Pritchard and Glick.”

I feel like I can’t even get this across in snippets and pieces so everyone who hasn’t just needs to read it now, but the overwhelming feeling of this fic is how brilliantly it’s done. Every little inference of something familiar, something lost, something found again. Every bit of pain and longing that Lily feels, and the way it all comes together in the end, the way you want to cry because it didn’t end perfectly, but it ended with them together. (And now I’ve begun to cry again, thank u Clare I have an essay to write about Russian serfdom after this what am I going to do ffs)

Their fingers brush as his hand retracts, and before her eyes, the world flickers.

All of a sudden, the conference room has blinked out of existence, and in its place is a hallway of timeworn grey stone, walls littered with antique portraits and broad, detailed tapestries. As her vision focuses, Lily realizes that Potter’s—he’s here as well?—hand is still outstretched to her, and hers to him, but this time he’s not wearing a pristine Armani suit and instead some sort of private school uniform covered by a large, billowing cloak. His gaze is unmistakably fond as he looks at her; his eyes are crinkled like he’s either about to start or has just recently finished laughing. She takes him in briefly and notes that he’s much younger than he just was, build a bit thinner and features still clinging to post-adolescence.

“Well?” He prompts her, and she’s startled—for some reason—by his voice, by the way his effusive happiness seems to have tinged it unrecognizably from the man he was in the conference room. When she doesn’t respond, he continues: “Are you going to take my hand, or what?”

Lily hears her own voice as though someone else has commandeered it: “What?”

“Evans,” James chuckles warmly, “it’s my first official day as your boyfriend—I plan to spend as much time holding hands as is physically possible. I’m afraid you’re about to be subject to a great deal of public scrutiny.”

She watches, a spectator and an actor all at once, as her own hand closes the final centimeters of distance between them, and she feels the phantom heat of his palm caressing her own, but her eyes can’t stop wandering back to his expression, the way his smile cuts his face into impossibly beautiful sections—

The world flickers again.

There is no palm in her hand; only thick-printed paper.

Crying, screaming, the only thing I can say is that Clare’s jily is so fated and matched together, that they’ll always end up in love. They’re just not built to be any other way.

I don’t know if the intent behind James’s email was to make him ridiculously hot, but that is what it’s achieving.

like.

We will be asking for punitive damages or a sum reached by settlement. Attached are evidence files A-F to be submitted, along with the formal complaint and summons.

Regards,

James Potter, Esquire

Pritchard and Glick Law Office

🥵😵

“I have a feeling you’re going to be a massive pain in my arse.”

“Says he who filed a countersuit on a tiny piece of commercial litigation that’s bound to have a minuscule payout.”

“…Fair play, Evans.”

Is he having some sort of trouble with the Miss Evans thing? Does he have short-term memory loss? For fuck’s sake.

He hangs up before she can ask.

Enemies to lovers makes me go feral. This has added a new element to it and made me discover my true obsession, which is enemies to lovers but they’re actually already lovers just kiss.

Make no mistake: it’s definitely a sex dream. That part is clear from the first, very unclothed moment—but what takes her aback is the cresting wave of tenderness that she rides into the scene, a steady swell of affection and care that threatens to choke dream-Lily up with emotion, to spill out of her on little noises and soft-spoken words.

Dream-Lily’s hands are entangled in dream-James’s hair, brushing errant strands back from his face as he moves above her, watching as his expressions contort and relax as his pleasure ebbs and flows. It’s nearly overwhelming, to confront how beautiful he is; to see it up close instead of safely from a distance; to reconcile the concept of his beauty with the feel of it beneath her hands. Her fingers skirt over skin as though afraid to linger too long in one area.

“I love you so much,” dream-James gasps into her neck, and she feels this more than anything, the responsive crawl of I love you, too from her chest up to her lips and into his ear. It is the most prominent sensation of the dream, and therefore, the most off-putting.

At least—it will be, she thinks mutedly, when the dream ends.

Which it does. Painfully.

To be specific, it isn’t so much that she’s pulled into consciousness as this dream is wrenched out from under her, and in its wake, there is nowhere to fall but into the waking world.

ah the wild ride that reading this has me on, because I’m beaming and cackling about hot lawyers and sex dreams, and then I’m hit in the gut with an emotional punch that’s going to have me out on the sidelines for 4-8 business days. AND THEN HE CALLS HER. And this was the moment that I just. Stopped working. Honestly, I don’t know that there’s much I can say about FG, because what it does is entirely internal. It’s somewhere up and behind your ribs, and it hurts and it makes you feel hopeful and saddened and maybe like you ate a chili pepper and are about to have indigestion. It pulls at every yearning string that makes up jily, two people who always are at odds until they collide like burning stars. (edit: i literally forgot about the splintering stars bit until i read it down the way, so...FG jily give off celestial energy pass it on!) I just. am not working anymore. I’m crying a lot tho.

Black turns to Potter, and the two exchange grins. […] “I can see what you meant about her, mate.”

The way I can just see this as such a good fic about hot, angry lawyers if there wasn’t the tragic longing in the background and like. You know it’s inhumanly good when there are TWO incredible fics happening at the same time and they’re utterly cohesive but also they could be standalones.

Without question, she knows that the voice belongs to James. She could pick it out in a raucous crowd.

The touching of her back, the memory of touch 🥺 some things can’t be erased. they can’t be erased.

I feel both cosmically confused and excited reading this fic, and it highlights my very favorite thing about fanfic. We already know the characters and the story, and so when someone walks on screen we go !!!!!!!!!!!!! probably something to be said for the human nature of loving excitement even when we know the outcome, of caring so much that the enjoyment is not negated by the knowing. I know the people, the place is unfamiliar, so I feel slightly off kilter as I pick my way through the story, but then I see something known—Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, memories—and I latch on and everything becomes brighter, one step closer to them being together again.

Oh also, James Potter the bloody do-gooder 😭 my fav 😭 I love him 😭

HE SENT HER FLOWERS. it’s like I haven’t even read this before, wow. My heart is still surprised. Tumblr is shit at finding non porny memes (how does happy cat lead to bare asses and pouting??????) so insert someone collapsing from sheer overwhelm and being lowered onto a fainting couch.

This is my favorite line in the entire fic, and I stared at it for five minutes when I got to (and I stared some more when I edited this).

Lily feels the press of James’s lips onto the crown of her hair, and she feels a love sitting in her chest that could stop her heart, and distantly she knows that this—all of this, this feeling and this moment and the press of his palm on the small of her back—will be gone when she wakes up. She leans a little closer to his chest. They sway a little slower. Outside, greying branches grasp at tumbling orange leaves.

True, good characters are the most important, but good prose physically builds a scene, builds the emotions, until you get something like this. A little piece that’s been lost, but still lingers and…you have to sit in the moment with them, where it’s so impermanent but so never-ending. The orange leaves and greying branches continue to exist in the world, so it stands to reason that somewhere they’re still dancing to Paul McCartney in the kitchen, and they’re still alive and in love. (Well. Alive. They could never not be in love, not even after).

After them comes James, finally, and he barely makes it in the door before she’s seizing his face, slanting her lips over his and pressing him up against the closest wall. His hands scramble at her waist, her back, clutching at her hair. He pulls back for a dragged breath.

“I’m here, baby,” he murmurs, and a shudder runs through her, possibly because of his tone, even more possibly because of his words and the weight they carry. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

“I was so worried, James, I couldn’t see you, I thought—”

I definitely blocked this out so I wouldn’t have ptsd. Of course Clare would insert my crack of choice, Written-by-Clare-Separation-Anxiety-Order-Jily. OF COURSE. suing you.

Whenever he calls her 😭 the panic, the love 😭 (I would sell my soul for this fic from James’s POV, just saying 👀 just saying 👀)

Splintered star. (This was when I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea so I could steel myself to read the rest because im going to be honest, I was in a rough place at this point)

HAHA the argument at the bar. HAHAH HAHA I’m so sad.

“What happens now?” She whispers.

“Now, we wait.” James takes her hand in both of his and strokes her palm softly with his thumb. “Either for him, or for the train to leave.”

Dream-Lily seems to know who he is, because she doesn’t ask, only lays her head on dream-James’s shoulder and listens to his breathing. When the whistle blows and the train departs, he clutches her hand and they both begin to weep, and Lily jolts awake to a tear-stained pillow.

I literally cried at this bit. The parts with Harry in this fic hit so horrifically hard, because there’s something about children that just…they’re innocent, and a parent loves them so much, and I can’t imagine how losing one would feel.

Even if he’s falling for her the way she already has for him, it will be loving her incompletely, and that—she thinks—might be worse.

I’ve decided from this point forward I’m just going to restate Clare’s name with varying degrees of capitalization and formatting to show emotional destruction. I’ve run plum out of words. (Plum run out? what is the proper order for that no clue) Thank you for your understanding.

“Happy Halloween,” she whispers to him, and the words send a shock through her, though it’s unclear which her receives it, real Lily or dream-Lily, or if it lies somewhere in the nebulous space between.

CLARE

No, she wants to scream, you can’t, James, you can’t—he’s not allowed to leave her this early. He’s not allowed to go before her, to leave her here without him.

The world tilts and shifts. She clutches Harry to her chest and sprints up the stairs, a sob clawing its way up her throat that she has to fight to push back down. Where is her wand? Why can’t she find her wand?

“Da-da!” Harry wails, squirming in her arms, and she has barely the breath to shush him; Godric’s Hollow feels cavernous, and somehow her steps barely make progress, because the hallway seems to extend out for miles and miles and miles.

There’s an echoing voice that sounds like death, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The scream Lily suppresses is a dagger’s cut to the inside of her throat.

I’ll find you, Lily thinks as her vision tunnels to Harry’s bedroom door.

In any world, James, I’ll find my way back to you.

cLArE

I just need to see him, she thinks desperately. I just need to make sure he’s alright, and then it’ll be over. I swear.

Her fingers close around the front doorknob. A clap of thunder makes her jump, but she presses on anyway. Weather be damned. This entire world be damned.

I just need to see him…

Logically, Lily knows that there are no witches or wizards or wands in this world, understands that whatever earth she lived in for her past life was built on different fundamental elements than this one, but when she throws the door open, she decides that there must be some sort of dormant, kinetic magic swimming below levels of dirt and magma, running subterranean pathways that sizzle and spark.

Because there he is. Like she’s conjured him.

James is standing outside of her flat, soaked through from the rain, white dress shirt sticking to his chest and hair flattened to his forehead. He’s breathing heavily out of his mouth; his shoulders heave with it. His glasses are clutched tightly in one fist—presumably useless now, with the downpour—and his other hand is pressed to his side, fingers flexing like he’s suppressing their movement with the last vestiges of his will.

A gasp shocks out of her. He looks up.

Their eyes meet, and it’s a star in supernova, the Big Bang, the creation of the universe. Suddenly there are entire galaxies within her, constellations of loss and longing and joy that crystallize under his eyes, shooting to the surface of her skin and attempting to take flight from her body.

A splintered star, Madame Arnaud had called her. A splintered star, looking for its lost fragments.

But to look at a star is to see it burned out, to stare at its ghost as the lightyears of distance trick the eye, and this, too, is true as she look at James; she doesn’t just see him, but the ghost of who he was, the mirror image of him forged from a life of war and magic, one they shared together, a stellar collision in a different cosmos.

Her head swims under the intensity of his gaze, because he’s never—not in this lifetime, at least—looked at her like this, like the entire world could swallow itself around them, and he’d not spare it a single glance, so long as she stayed within view.

It’s intoxicating. It’s foreign. It’s long overdue.

I can’t even talk at this point, but this jily might be my favorite ever written, because…they’re every jily. Clare writes the jily in my head, the jily I can’t even express with hundreds of thousands of words. 

“I remember everything, my love.”

RIP. I’ll be lying in my grave, clutching my laptop to my chest while I sob.

“Do you hear that, Harry?” She whispers. “Your mum and dad have been waiting for you.”

What the fuck. What the fuck Clare.

James leans up and presses a kiss to her abdomen. “We’ll do it right,” he says softly, to her or to Harry or both—she can’t be sure. “We’ll have more time.”

Yes, Lily thinks, they will. She looks up through the bedroom window. The London lights are dimmer than usual tonight, and above them, the sky is twinkling with stars.

Truly, who even comes up with something like this? Sometimes the power of art astounds me, because out of a line someone tossed into her inbox, Clare built something that makes everyone who reads it overwhelmed with feeling. It hurts so beautifully that I don’t need to reread it often to remember it (and I don’t know that I can I’d just be a constant mess. It gives you a literal hangover I’m going to be useless tomorrow); it’s just imprinted somewhere in my memory, an archive of all the art that has moved me, or made me think about love and life in the real world.

Clare—love you, you’re a shining star of a person and friend, and a witch of a wordsmith. Never stop making magic ❤️

[ghostiewriter]

TW ED

ok so this is definitely me projecting my own issues on shit but i saw the ask about summer and adhd and eating disorders and i was wondering if u could do a concept of her and dean around that topic🥺 no pressure though if it’s too dark or triggering

Okay I really don’t think I did this justice and I can only apologise for that. But for those suffering from an eating disorder, just know you are loved and I hope you find the help you need and deserve because you are incredible besties❤️

It wasn’t completely obvious at first.

No one blinked an eye when Summer said she had eaten earlier or that she was still full from before. No one questioned it because what reason did she have to lie? Especially for something like her meals?

Or maybe it wasn’t obvious at first because even Summer didn’t realise she was doing it. At least, not on purpose all the time.

Sometimes Summer just didn’t want to eat, she would rather just drown herself in fashion magazines and blogs until she could barely keep her eyes open and would end up passing out at her desk. Sometimes Summer just didn’t want to hurt their cook’s feelings when she saw what had been made and the mere thought of the rubbery texture of mushrooms or the crunch of celery made her skin crawl. But maybe sometimes Summer didn’t even realise it had been hours since she eat. Maybe sometimes Summer didn’t remember that it had been three days since she had a proper meal and the incessant snacking was the only thing keeping her going.

But Dean noticed it, and he kicked himself for not noticing earlier.

“Hey, I’m gonna go grab burritos for me and Nick, you want one?” He asked, popping his head into the room. He found Summer lounging on her bed, feet swinging back and forth as she read something on her laptop.

“Hm,” She glanced away from her laptop and smiled. “Nah, I had a big breakfast.”

Dean frowned. “You had toast.”

“Not all of us are big muscular athletes, Dean.” Summer retorted with a small snort.

“Yeah, but you ate toast like seven hours ago.” He pointed out to her.

“I—” Summer paused, looking at the time on her laptop screen. “Oh…I could’ve sworn I had ate only an hour ago.” She murmured, almost like she forgot he was there.

“You sure?” Dean asked softly and Summer looked a bit taken back.

“What?”

Dean glanced down the hall before slipping into her room, closing the door behind and settling down beside her on the bed. She had to shuffle over to give him room.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” He started, suddenly wishing through his little time of research he had notes on…how you even bring up something like this. “I just care about you, you know that, right?”

Summer frowned, but nodded regardless. “Yeah, you’ve always been a bit of a worrier.”

Dean turned to her with a serious expression on his face. “Summer, are you…are you avoiding meals on purpose?”

Summer didn’t say anything.

“Summer…” His voice sounded pained.

“I…it’s just…” She could hear her heart thumping in her ears, distracting her from the words she was trying to say. “N-Not always…but…I…”

“Hey, shhhhh,” He quickly wrapped his arms around her, not even thinking twice before bringing her into a protective embrace. “I got you, don’t cry, please. I got you, Summer.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither one saying anything or moving away. Summer taking the time to calm herself down, let her heartrate return to normal and her vision no longer be blurred by tears. Whilst Dean closed his eyes at the sound of her sobs, no sound having ever pained him so badly.

“Dean.” Her whispered voice finally broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her tighter. “You know it’s not healthy, Summer.”

Her voice was so soft. “I know.”

“You’re not alone,” He told her, in a soft but firm voice. “You’re not alone. I’m here and mum and dad and Nick are here. We’re here for you.”

“I—” She took a deep breath. “Can we…I mean, can—”

“We don’t have to tell them,” He told her and felt her visibly relax in his arms. “Not right now, at least. But we will have to tell them eventually. Until then, I’m here for you. Whenever you need me, we are gonna fight this together, okay?”

“Okay.” There was a small pause before she continued. “I love you.”

He grinned, pressing a small kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you too.”

“I know.”

“Little shit.”

“Learned from my brother.”

“Nick is a little shit too, isn’t he?”

“Touché.”

[timetravelprincess05]

This looks so much fun!! I’m ALWAYS in the mood to answer anything Back to the Future related! Let’s gooooo!

1. My favorite way of seeing the trilogy used to be on my dvd boxed set i’ve owned since i was a kid. Looking it up online, it came out in 2002 and i’ve been a fan since at *least* 2006-2007? It’s definitely aged not only because the art is worn. It also skips in a few places and when the picture display on a flat tv is in letterbox format LOL! So now i watch it on the 25th anniversary box set.

I love watching it with my partner, even though we’re still long distance. And it’s not on any streaming site (for free)…

2. Omg i have thought about this for YEARS! (No pun intended) Hmmm… Probably good ol’ 1985.

3. Does a photo with Michael J Fox count?? 😭

4. I think i’d get along with Marty (and hopefully Doc) wonderfully. I’m also the youngest in my family and although my family is more similar to when he comes back from the past the first time (when George is a author and Lorraine is not drunk), they’re less…. happy. I also just relate to his nature of feeling like he doesn’t really belong anywhere, has to stand up for himself, but he’s still so kind and brave.

For Doc, science is a 50/50 subject to me, but Doc makes it seem interesting and fun, and honestly just radiates safe father figure. And i LOVE THAT. Being a massive reader, i would love to go to him and be like “Check out this new novel i read!” Only for him to endearingly be like “I don’t understand why x and x have to/did…” or just be somewhere to go when i have family troubles.

These two are my comfort characters, you have no idea! ❤️

4. I’m tempted to say none, however, i would change one detail in the scene where Biff is with Lorraine in the car. It wasn’t until i was older and experienced a… situation… That i realizes what he was doing. I’d change it to maybe a heavy make out session? Or just something where it doesn’t imply that’s what he’s doing. In the novel of the book, it’s worse because it almost outright says it.

5. Definitely the game! I played it years ago and wanna play it again, but don’t have the consoles to. Bummer :(

6. I haven’t yet! I keep putting it off lol. I hope one day i can see it live.

7. Oooo probably more time with Clara and Doc before Marty? I adore Marty, but i wanna hear more about the seven(?) months of them in the timeline where they are in a relationship before he comes to rescue Doc and subsequently Clara. You know what? More Seamus and Maggie (plus William) as well! I have SO many questions and adore that lil family!!

8. The watch Marty wears (yes, the one that is always messing up lol) was a gift from Doc.

9. Biff Tannen or Bufford Tannen!!

10. Dang, that’s a good question… *Maybe* Rock n’ Roll Fantasy?

11. Probably why does Marty only drink/order sugar free things? I know about the joke in Lou’s diner, and it probably sets it up for that. But i’m looking for the in-universe answer.

12. Hmm.. Define aspect. I’m gonna just gonna say all of it! Lol

13. God, these are amazing questions! Top memory has to go to when i went to Orlando, Florida and saw one of Delorean’s used in the movie and the time train! I even met an actor who pretended to be Doc. He was so on point! That was when i was 12-13. I hope to go back one day

14. I definitely would have liked that moment filled out for sure. Or the moment between the McFly family in the 1800’s eating supper and the morning where Seamus takes Marty to the train tracks. So many possibilities!

15. Does Clara count? She’s SUCH a role model for a GOOD female character! Kind, smart, knows how to stick up for herself, and knows how to chase after what she wants! Oooo i strive to be like her!!

16. The fur babies!! Ahhhh!!! ….Copernicus. Smoll boy

17. The main theme! Part three! Goosebumps

when “The End” appears every time ❤️

18. Classic skateboardz

19. Either the cowboy outfit with the poncho or classic white shirt and suspenders :)

20. In 1955, while he’s tinkering with the Delorean and building the “not built to scale” model of Hill Valley :)

21. Any of them! But i did a closet cosplay of Marty (minus the red vest) a few back for a college costume contest and won $10!

22. Three, one, and two! :D

23. I couldn’t dare!

24. Gotta go classic #1

25. I can’t pick oneeeee!

26. Probably one of the beginning scenes where Marty busts out of detention

27. The McFly house or the Clocktower!

28. BOTH!!

29. Marty would be the perfect age to try the first computer when it comes out!

30. N/A

❤️❤️❤️

⚡back to the future ask game!

decided to make this litte ask game for y'all fellow bttf fans! have fun :D

📽️what is your favorite way of seeing the trilogy and who do you like watching it with?

🕰️if you were to insert yourself into the trilogy, what year would you come from?

💵what is a piece of bttf merch that you really really want (but can't afford)?

😊if you could be best friends with one of the characters, who would you choose and why?

🎞️if you could change one scene from any of the movies, which one would you change and how?

🎮what is your favorite bttf extended media (the game, comics, musical etc.)?

🎵if you have listened to the musical soundtrack, which song is your favorite and why?

✒️you are hired to write/draw a new bttf comic, and it can be about whatever you want. what in the bttf universe would you want to expand on?

👀share a random headcanon you have about your favorite character!

💢which one of the characters would you want to punt into the sun the most? (feel free to include the new characters from the expanded media as well, there are certainly a few of them who would deserve it)

🎼if you have one, share a song that you associate with your favorite character!

❓what is one question you would love to ask bob gale?

❤️this is probably a hard question to answer, but what is your favorite aspect about the bttf trilogy/franchise?

💭share a favorite memory related to back to the future!

⌛choose a timespan in the trilogy that wasn't shown on screen (e.g. the time between november 5 and the monday where marty goes to the school to introduce his parents). how would you have filled that moment out?

➡️what is your favorite side character in the trilogy and why?

🐶einstein or copernicus? (you MUST choose >:) )

🎸what is your favorite piece of movie soundtrack? (can be orchestral or any other!)

🛹skateboard or hoverboard?

🧒what is your favorite marty outfit?

👨‍🔬what is your favorite doc outfit?

🎭what bttf cosplay do you want to own?

🏅rank the movies in the trilogy (if possible)!

🎥what character in the movies would you like to play if you had the chance to?

🚗what is your favorite version of the delorean? part 1, part 2 or part 3?

📄what is your favorite scene in the trilogy?

✍️if you have read any of the alternate screenplays, what is a scene you wish would have made it into the movies?

🏡what filming location do you want to visit the most?

🎢what bttf attraction do you wish universal had, or do you want them to just bring back the bttf ride? or maybe both?

⏲️what time period would you want marty to travel to and what would you want him to do? for fun or for something serious?

💫if you have any bttf related wips, here's the oppurtunity to ramble about them!