#I saw wicked today lol

[coffeeslorelai]

the what-ifs always visit at 1am. What if I’d never given up acting? What would things be like now?

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

pt 2

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[betterthanyalls]

Can u do a Reader x epic various where y/n is apart of Ody's crew and during the end of thunder bringer Zeus kidnaps y/n and takes them to Olympus instead of letting them either drown or get washed up onto Calypso's island?🥰🥰🤩🤩 It'd be cool if during God games or something Athena finds out what Zeus did and now instead of the games being just to free Ody from Calypso's island, it's ALSO about freeing y/n from Olympus and reuniting them with Odysseus?? Sorry if this doesn't make sense or if it's too much work lol, just write this however you want if you even wanna write it at all teehee ^^"

blinks i think i went through 37 different emotions while writing this, most of them were bad. Ok so, I'm not sure how good this is but please don't kill me😇 TW: Zeus gives reader Ganymede treatment

Part 2

Masterlist

Stolen Soldier

Various (kind of) x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Angst

Words: 1.6K

Published: 11-4-2024

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

Thunder roared, winds whipped, and waves rocked the lone ship back and forth. Standing on the bow of the ship was a figure of divine power and presence, waiting with a wicked grin. “Choose,” the king of the gods demanded harshly.

“Choose?” Odysseus muttered, looking at Zeus in fear. “Someone’s got to die today, and you have got the final say. You,” he pointed to Odysseus before gesturing to the rest of the crew, “or your crew.”

The captain looked to his crew, locking eyes with Y/n—his best friend, his rock, his shelter. He took a shaky breath, looking back to Zeus in desperation.

“Please don’t make me do this; don’t make me do this,” Odysseus begged. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him. Looking back at his crew, he saw a range of emotions: anger, hurt, terror, grief, and more. Taking a daring glance at his closest friend, the soldier felt his heart shatter. Holding back tears, Y/n gave him a hesitant nod to show it was ok.

Then, a new voice tore his gaze away from his crew. Looking out over the sea and to the clouds, a figure of familiarity seemed to take place within the clouds. Illusion or not, that was his wife.

Penelope. Odysseus took staggering steps across the shaking boat and to the edge. Both of his hands latched to the wooden railing, his eyes never moving from the clouded position of his partner. Memories flooded his judgment, from his crew and Y/n, to his family waiting for him. “Captain?” A voice of uncertainty spoke up. Eurylochus. The said captain couldn’t even dare face his right-hand man as the sky darkened and Penelope faded back to the clouds.

“I have to see her," Odysseus whispered, tears brimming in his eyes as he finally looked back at his crew. The general saw all of the hurt and betrayal in his men’s expressions. The fear hurt the most to see. “But we’ll die,” Eurylochus pleaded. Odysseus knew he would regret this option until his final breath. Once he got home, how would he tell Ctimene he was the cause of her husband's death? “I know,” Odysseus’ voice broke, a few stray droplets not belonging to the storm washed down his cheeks. 

At the end of those words, the thunder roared, and Zeus grinned evilly. Zeus rose above the clouds, lightning moving to gather in his raised hand.

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer.” The crew drew their weapons in defense, charging towards Odysseus with murderous intent. Y/n stood away from the fight, not daring to lift any sort of weapon against her best friend.

“Show her I'm the judgment call. The one who makes her kingdom fall. Lightning, wield her, use and yield her.” 

As the crew closed in on their captain, the air started to become tense and electrified. Y/n took a step back from the chaos, looking up to see a phenomenon of heavenly power. “Show her what she can’t conceal; her true nature will be revealed.”

A bright light enclosed the surrounding sky, ripping down to the center of the ship. In an instant, a deafening crack sounded, and all light faded to black. Y/n felt like her soul was being ripped apart as she opened her mouth to scream her pain, but no noise came out. Then she felt a drop, only to be brought into a suffocating embrace of cold. Finally, her mind cut out. ~~~~~ Y/n felt different. She didn’t sense the shivering water anymore, but instead a subtle warmth. It took a few minutes, but eventually she managed to peek open her eyes. Y/n wasn’t on a ship in the middle of the sea with the night sky above anymore, but instead there was a grand painting on the ceiling of white marble overhead. Looking around slowly, the young woman saw an unfamiliar scene.

A lavish bedroom surrounded her, furnishings a king could only dream of sitting like average decor in each nook and cranny. Moving her hands, Y/n felt the silk sheets of a glorious bed below her. Ivory blankets fell from her body as she slowly rose up from her position. Placing her feet on the cold marble flooring, the mortal stepped through the room. It wasn’t long before she found herself in front of a floor-length mirror. 

White and gold fabric draped down on her body—a dress fit for a goddess of divine origin. Confusion clouded her eyes as she scanned her new attire. That puzzlement was quickly replaced with fear as two wooden doors opened, revealing an even more confusing sight.

A tall man wearing a white toga entered the room without a care of knocking. Striding to where Y/n stood, she instinctively took steps back from him. “My dear, why do you back away?” The smile on his face was unnerving, especially with the nickname. Y/n recognized that voice immediately, terror coursing through her veins as her lips parted to let out a gasp.

“Zeus.”

The god in question continued to walk towards her with that two-faced smile until he backed the mortal into a wall. “Mmm, you’re as smart as you are beautiful,” he took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Y/n shuddered in disgust and fear; her heart raced faster than a chariot racer's steeds. She wanted to push him away, but her body felt locked in place. Y/n tried to speak, but her lips were closed tightly like a stone wall. “Hm, dear, I think I know a dress that’d fit your body much better. Let me help.”

~~~~~

Within only the second morning of the Heavenly Palace, Y/n had the overwhelming urge to jump off. But she wouldn’t be allowed such a pleasure with the god at her side. Zeus had taken it upon himself to guide the mortal on a tour through Olympus, which only influenced her thoughts. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Zeus every second. Not out of intrigue or anything of that sort, but of apprehension. Each movement of his that was near her direction, the mortal would tense up and pause everything. Soon enough, the king of Olypmus noticed and grinned with faux comfort. “Dear, you seem tense. Allow me to ease you.” ~~~~~ Day after day. Weeks after week. Zeus never let Y/n leave his side, threatening any god or goddess who even dared to give her a sympathetic glance. The woman was a shell of who she once was. Her eyes sunk and her soul depleted; she felt her life draining by the day. Not in mortality-wise, no Zeus would never let her perish. But in consideration of her spirit.

Each night she would cry until no more salt would leave, leaving only choking sobs. Each night she was infiltrated by the king of Olympus. Y/n would stare at herself in the mirror, vomit building in her throat as her eyes trailed down to every mark on her body. No spot was untouched. No matter how hard she tried, Y/n could never wash off the sin. The mortal would scrub her skin until she was raw and bleeding, but the phantom touches remained.

Each night she missed her home and friends more and more. Where was Odysseus now? Did he forget all about her when he returned to Ithaca? What about Penelope? Would she miss her best friend? 

Seven years. Seven years of misery, force, and agony. Seven years of physical and mental torture she endured to no fault.

But soon, like all stories, her savior arrived. ~~~~~

Athena stood in front of her father, spear and shield in hand, while staring into the king’s eyes murderously.

“I’ve played your game and won. Release them,” the goddess of wisdom demanded, shifting her gaze to where Y/n stood anxiously beside Zeus’ throne. The mortal had gone through so much, and Athena was determined to save her. 

Zeus glowered down at his daughter, rage covering his expression. “You dare to defy me? To make me feel shame?” He growled, his fists clenching so tight that his knuckles turned a bright alabaster. “No one beats me; no one wins my game!”

The lightning god stood up threateningly, his hands glowing a static yellow. “Thunder, bring her through the wringer!” The air was caught in Y/n’s throat at the familiar words, her eyes wide in horror. Zeus rose up, the electricity in his hands growing as the woman noticed the alarmed looks on the other god’s expressions. “Show her I’m the judgment call, the one who makes her kingdom FALL!” With a vociferous burst, he threw the lightning at his daughter, forcing her back onto the floor. Once the light faded, everyone looked to see the warrior lying face down, her body still as ice. “Is she dead?” the voice of her brother Ares asked hesitantly. Y/n thought back to every moment her and Odysseus had been with Athena. They were an unstoppable force together. Now though, Y/n only wanted to rush to the goddess side.  Before anyone could do anything, Athena struggled to her feet, holding her aegis in defense while pointing the spear tip to her father.

Zeus’ look of utter shock soon turned to rage at her defiance. In response, he sent a barrage of bolts towards his favorite child. Against this attack, the war patroness held her shield strong and pushed against the force, making her way to her father.

Finally, at the feet of the king, she grabbed his arm and fell to her knees.

“Let them go, please. Let them go.” Her plea was finished as the goddess collapsed, her breath slowing to a stop.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After finding out about their exclusion from the school yearbook, Hellfire—Eddie Munson—isn't keen in letting his feelings fall for your attempt to fixing said issue.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, and mentions of bullying.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Don’t know why, but I have an obsession with referring to Eddie by his full name, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

By the coming of the fall season of 1982, the Hellfire Club had garnered the stigma of satanic cultists that tainted the lives of those associated. 

What started as a throng—four losers—of curious minds, on an endeavor to escaping the suffocating suburbia of Hawkins, Indiana, transpired into a league of camaraderie, fighting the hellscape of dark wizards and evil lords. Perfect comb-overs and pristine pom-poms who lived on the green laws that housed Reagan signs couldn’t touch them under the guise of their characters who built their strength and thick skin to defeat the wicked of suffering towns and cities through quests. Those four were invincible in the threshold of the drama room.

But in the real world, they had a target on their backs that merely grew as the years passed. 

And Eddie Munson was victim number one, placed at the forefront of all propelled abuse. 

But the beauty of Hellfire allowed the proffering of solutions, in which he quickly found solace within. See, the notion of characters, and qualities, and disguises permitted the perfect opportunity to build a facade unlike one’s truest self, that protected the vulnerable inside. 

The terrors of childhood abuse, loss of loved ones, and the torment of classmates couldn’t be seen on the sneering smirk and scowling eyes that accompanied Eddie Munson everywhere he went. The act of toughness was not a thing to be found difficult; he saw it in its worst quality within the bruteness of his father, and he saw it in its best quality within the perseverance of his uncle. 

Eddie Munson had no issue opening his arms to those who were caught in the pressuring seas of conformity, and he surely had no issue abusing back those who started it first, with a insult or shove being met with his harder kick and punch.

See, both aspects of toughness.

And while the idea may have protected him from the superficial blows of a socially divided high school, it actually hurt the potential improvements to his well being, suppressing all that left him weak and vulnerable, and choosing the outlet of a drink or substance that disabled his mind from the thoughts of reality. 

But Eddie Munson couldn’t care about himself, no ever did anyways. 

Until you. And he hurt you. 

“This is bullshit! Complete and utter fucking bullshit!” If it hadn’t been for the cacophonous shrills of the school cafeteria, surely Eddie Munson would have garnered the usual attention from his antics. But instead, everyone’s attention was captured by the occurrence that was happening on the southern end of the crowded room. “I mean, really, what the fuck is this?!” His broad hand flung a pretzel out of frustration, not bothering to acknowledge the innocent bystander that got caught in the crossfire of his heated action. 

To say Eddie Munson was pissed would be the understatement of the century. 

The gnawing agitation that seemed to innately follow him wherever, had now been triggered by the bright smiles of individual students, paraded in their best attire, with glee of acknowledgement. Today was club picture day, and Hellfire was not included. As the lunch period progressed to its ticking last minutes, students of all age ranges savored the remaining bits of their glorious thirty minute break from school hell, but not Eddie. Nope. Because for every minute of those thirty minutes, Eddie watched as clubs, one by one, walked the notorious stage where all Hawkins High’s productions had been showcased, and sat with cheesy smiles at the notion of being a valued representative for their school’s yearbook.

But not Hellfire.

The heavy, black curtains provided the cleanest backdrop for its low budgeted cost, giving ample focus to the students, who sat with the straightest of all postures, amongst the perfect array of chairs—the good ones, too, not the ones that make your butt go numb after twenty minutes. Row by row, everyone had a place, even being complimented by the two large, fake plants that added a splash of color with their faux green leaves. 

Gareth sighed. “It really is, man.” He turned back from watching the drama club get their picture taken, returning to pick at the cold spaghetti that stained his plastic tray. Everyone got photos, Hellfire got stale food. “But what do you expect, dude? This school already treats us like garbage, as it is.”

“We shouldn't tolerate this treatment, Emerson!” Eddie snapped, slapping Gareth’s hand that was causing the insistent scratch of his fork scraping his plate. The boy could only scoff in defeat at his ruined lunch, now that his plasticware landed on the dirty tiles of the lunchroom. 

Eddie was becoming revved up. He groaned in irritation, feeling the need to slam his palm into the table, eliciting the flinches of each boy.

“Look, well, there’s nothing we can do.” Mike, at an attempt, reasoned with Eddie. But he merely got a seething glare that asked him who does he think he’s talking to. 

“Oh, no?” Eddie snuffed with a mocking face. None of the boys were daring to challenge his eye contact. None of them ever did when he got like this. His worst days. “You boys gotta learn to take what you deserve.” He spoke too calmly for anyone’s liking. “It’s the only way people like us make it through life.”

Eddie jumped from his chair, the force too heavy for the flimsy thing, as it scraped the tile flooring before clashing with the ground beneath. All eyes were on him. Puffing the laps of his jacket, he strutted his way to the stage, all leather and chains, bumping shoulders with those who stood in his way. Done diligently, his worn sneakers stomped the couple steps, announcing his arrival. Those in the drama club were quick to move out of the way, refusing to become belittled for their judgemental stares against the Freak. But they were disregarded. Closest to Eddie Munson sat Nancy Wheeler, co-editor of the 1986 Hawkins High Yearbook. She rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her precious pen that had been used to check-off every name of every member of every club to ensure publication was precise and correct.

“Wheeler.” Eddie taunted, coming close to her table, tightly-balled fists supporting his weight as he leaned close to her face. “Funny,” he peered at his watch, “lunch is almost over and you have yet to call us up.”

There was no need to clarify “us.” Everyone knew—for worst reasons—who they were.

Nancy huffed, professionalism embedded in her character as she responded with such cadence, “That’s because you’re not on the list, Eddie.” And it was such professionalism of cadence that ticked him off. As she held up the roster of all clubs and members, contaminated with the ink of her pen, scratching titles off, Eddie snatched the paper from her hold, Nancy wincing at his aggression. 

“The Art Club, the Aviations Club, the Math Club,” He read off, “the fucking ROTC shitbags!” He slapped the paper down with a harsh slam. “Some fucking wannabe soldiers, who aren’t even a fucking club here, can get their fucking picture taken, but not Hellfire?!”

Nancy was attempting to control her emotions from the ambush of his angry words, his spit coating her delicate makeup with every yell of his tirade. “Look, Eddie, that’s the list Principal Higgins gave us.” She pointed between herself and you. 

Shit, she pointed to you. 

You, who’d been quietly watching this shitshow go down, standing near the edge of the stage, with a camera held tightly in your sweaty palms. While his outburst had you racking with worry, it also elicited a wave of sympathy due to their obvious exclusion, clear as day as to why Principal Higgin’s didn’t want their association with Hawkins High. It was fucking awful. 

But Eddie Munson didn’t see you. He saw you.

You, as in the fake smile that accompanied your obnoxious cheers, where’d you hangout with your bitchy friends, mingling amongst Jason Carver’s goons, before heading back to school the next day where you ran the student body government, finding yourself involved in all school activities, making the Principal's List and Honor Roll every year, and was about to be crowned prom queen by May and valedictorian by June.

And now, partnering with the Newspaper Committee to create ‘86’s yearbook.

Though he may not have known you, Eddie Munson fucking hated you. 

He followed Nancy Wheeler’s pointed finger, now aiming his degrading scowl that shot bullets at you, and you peered down from the intimidating stare. “Oh, I see!” His terrorizing laugh stifled the already straining atmosphere. “Fucking, little Miss Pom-poms jerked Higgin’s cock to make sure we weren’t included. Isn’t that right, princess?” His sneering smile showed just how amusing he found your evident discomfort to be, as he marched his way towards you, the tip of his toes scuffing your pristine sneakers. “Tell me, sweetheart, was Carver there, too? Huh?” 

“N-no, w-we didn’t do, uh-”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Eddie mocked. You could feel his large eyes scan your face, taking in all your features, and seeing your chest heave from the confrontation. “Bunch of fucking pussy, all of you, huh?” He glared, refusing to break from you luring eyes.

Saved by the bell, the obnoxious ringing gave you an out, and Eddie was quick to jog back to Nancy, who was beginning to pack up her station. For a second, his daunting demeanor relinquished, and his eyes softened with panic. “This isn’t fair, Wheeler, and you know it. C’mon.” He pleaded. “We’re as much of a club as any other bullshit clique here.” Eddie tried to reason, as Nancy sighed, trying to quickly gather her things.

Despite his hostile behavior, there was merit to his concerns. Hellfire was a club, and though Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole you’ve ever met, you understood his petition. Everyone knew why they weren’t included. They were never included. 

“Your own brother is in the club.” Nancy stopped in her tracks and looked at Eddie. “Look, I’m sorry, Eddie, really, I am. But if you have a problem, take it up with Higgin’s not-”

“Maybe we can just take their picture.” You felt stupid for interrupting, hearing your voice waver under their snapping, stern stares—one more of anger than the other. “Um, Higgins already approved of our, uh, layout, so he may not even see the final draft until it’s already been printed.”

“And then what, we get in trouble? Not happening.” Nancy affirmed, more comfortable with disregarding Hellfire than staining her clean track record. 

Eddie scoffed. “Fucking screw this!” He stood straight, adjusting his posture. Any shot at his ego and feelings went unnoticed, as he returned to his callous attitude. There was a moment in which he simply stared you down; all that was clouding his judgment was your refined Hawkins High cheerleading sweater. Your well known name printed at the forefront—cursively embroidered in velvet gold—encasing the pinnacle of all things Eddie Munson hated. As Nancy Wheeler left you be, Eddie trudged his way against you again, hot breath fanning across your smaller stature. “I don’t need your fucking bullshit pity. You understand?” He gritted with clenched teeth.

 And he merely left it at that, nudging passed you, as he joined the stagger of students who were fleeting out of the cafeteria. 

And you stood in disbelief. 

-

You were crazy. You were out-of-your-fucking-mind crazy.

It was late into the night, and you were ready to break school rules for something so trivial, but seemed so desperately important to others.

You groaned in the palms of your hands, as you stood outside of the newspaper room, stolen key in hand. Why were you even doing this? Eddie Munson was an asshole to you. He didn’t like you. But this wasn’t for him. No, this was for the other members. Yeah, the other members, like Nancy’s brother, Mike Wheeler, or Lucas Sinclair, you sweetest kid you’d ever met on the basketball team, who were both totally innocent in all. Jesus shit.

“Hey!” Chrissy waved out to you, as you watched her flood out of the gym doors with the rest of the squad from practice. Clearly, your plans of leaving early to avoid them fell through. “What are you doing, I thought you left already? You coming?”

“Yeah, no, I just need to check over some things for the yearbook.” You lied, with your infamous fake smile. “Don’t know how long it’ll take, so I’ll just have my dad come pick me up.”

“Make sure my picture is front and center!” Jessica joked, as the girls laughed, and waved you goodbye.

As soon as they left, your head dropped back in your clammy palms. In all honesty, leaving would probably be a better choice, right now; you could drop your heavy cheer bag, get out of your sweaty shorts, have a nice bath, and dine out on some food. But instead, for whatever reason you tried to excuse in your brain, you’re here. Probably getting ready for whatever shit Eddie Munson was going to shout in your face when you appeared. 

But fuck it.

-

“The weathered wood creeks beneath your feet as you confront the abandoned foundations of Barlok’s Tavern.” An unnerving sense consumed the boys, as Eddie’s bravado narrations subjected their quest through the ominous grounds of Havocs Beacon. “The merchant of Dunbar Armory has promised this place to be of pure seclusiveness, unknown to even the commoners who dwell the treacherous forest.” All attention was sucked, this was the escape. The escape from the conformity that abused the boys. And Eddie Munson was their protector. “The fate of decision lies in your hands, boys. Do you enter or run?”

They peered at one another, unsure of their next move. “Remember, there is no shame in running.” Eddie’s malicious smile worried them.

But before a consensus could be determined, a soft knock spooked the boys, Dustin’s shriek being most evident. Eddie’s eyes shot at the door, narrowing with his brows furrowing. Everyone went quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they misheard. But sure enough, a delicate knock came again.

Eddie trajected from his throne. “One of you expecting someone? On Hellfire night?!”

His agitated voice was quick to receive a series of stern no’s and insistent head shakes that saved the boys from an invective of shouts for interrupting Hellfire. But for whoever was behind that door? Yeah, they were about to be hit with a diatribe of yells. 

Eddie’s breath heaved with irritation as he stomped his way to the large door, swinging it open with a heavy, “What-” But he was quick to shut up. 

You timidly dropped your balled fist from the air, and held eye contact with Eddie. His gaze was intimidating, but unlike the earlier occurrence in the lunchroom, it was weirdly softer. His eyes widened at the tired state in which you appeared; sweaty hair messily splaying your head, face heated from clear exertion, your lip plumped raw from your nervous chewing, and then he looked down. Unabashedly, too. You watched his eyes peer at your glistening chest that was displayed from your low cut long sleeve, then found his attention primarily focusing on your tight spandex shorts that hugged your hips and exposed your legs. 

“Um.”

His eyes shot back to yours, but you lost the ability to formulate words, both of you staring silently at one another.

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff’s voice snapped him back to reality, as he turned back to see his buddies—all terribly confused—watching his blanking face obviously check you out.

His vulnerability was showing. And just like a switch, Eddie turned back to you, “What the fuck are you doing?!” You cowered at his sudden yelling. “We’re in the middle of a fucking campaign!” 

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered from embarrassment, as you saw his friends watch and wince at you. “I-I just needed to, uh, take your photo. F-for the yearbook.”

“What?” He scoldingly questioned you. 

“Your picture, um, Hellfire’s picture.” You pointed to his shirt. 

Before Eddie could get another word out, Gareth, who you only recognized as a random friend of Eddie's, did, “We’re getting our picture taken?” A small smile appeared on his face at the idea of inclusion.

“Wait, seriously?” A young, curly-haired boy spoke up.

There was a glimmer of hope oozing from their expressions, one that they didn’t get to experience often or lavish in, just at the mere idea of getting their picture taken, because it was a big deal, and seeing their excitement was enough to take Eddie’s hatred with honor to grant them their wish.

So you nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m here to take your picture.” You smiled, waving the stolen camera to prove so.

“Is this some fucking joke to you?!” And just like that, your smile was gone. “Don’t mess with their feelings for some sick joke!”

“N-no, this isn-”

“This is just a prank?” Eddie’s friends’ sullen voices simultaneously asked. 

“No!” You were quick to assure. “I promise, it’s not. I would never.” You ignored Eddie’s scoff. 

“Then why didn’t we get called up during lunch?” Mike, who Nancy Wheeler informed you about, asked. 

“That was totally on me. After lunch,” you nodded towards Eddie, “I asked Higgin’s why you weren’t included, and he was just as confused.” You lied. You never visited Higgins. It was obvious why he didn’t want to include them. “And, well, apparently it was just some fluke with the system, and you guys were included! All of you, uh, Eddie Munson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair… and t-the rest of you.”Lucas gave you a shy wave, which you softly returned, as he’d always shared his sense of not fitting in just yet with the basketball team. You were there to reassure he was okay and welcomed—and right now, thanking god that you knew him and Mike’s name to confirm your lie. “It was all on the revised list, and I should have checked the first one better. Totally my fault.”

Eddie stared at you warily. 

“So, uh, come on!” You smiled, and the guys were quick to flood out of the drama room. 

“Wait! W-We’re in the middle of a campaign!” Eddie warned. “We’re not fucking stopping for some dumb photo! I mean, c’mon, guys.”

Everyone stopped.

The younger faces of the group fell, as they contemplated going back or following you. Jeff sighed, walking up to his longtime friend with pleading eyes. “Come on, man. Just let us have this.” He whispered. 

Eddie groaned, taking in the faces of the younger crowd, and nodded regardless, “Fine.” And a cheer of the younger boys echoed through the empty halls. “I’m bringing our logo! Wait- can I bring our logo?” Dustin—the young, curly-haired boy—asked.

“Uh, yeah, by all means, go ahead.” Logo? With a gummy smile, he ran back into the drama room, shortly returning with the round shield that mimicked the drawing on their shirts, encapsulating all that was the beauty of Hellfire. 

Lucas smiled up at you, “So where are we going?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have time to set up the fancy stage, so…” you thought quickly, “…against the wall in the main hall should be fine. Is that alright?” You grinned back. “We can just hang your logo up, though you guys will definitely stand out from the formality of the other photos.”

“Good.” Eddie mumbled. “Wouldn’t want to conform to this bullshit school, anyways.” He sneered, bumping into you with no apology. 

Ignoring his hostility, you cleared your throat and directed the group of boys into the main hall, clear of all lockers, and decorated with plaques and awards honored to the Hawkins High establishment throughout the decades of operation. Catching sight of the familiar photo of Principal Higgins—one that had been countlessly vandalized by yours truly, Eddie Munson—you made the rash decision to dismantle it from the rusty nail that was drilled in six years ago when he first became principal. “Okay, hand me your precious shield.” You smiled at Dustin.

“Handle her with great honor, your majesty.” He unleashed his greatest—not so great—British accent with a bow to his knee. 

You giggled, joining his playful antics, “Wouldn’t think to do any less, kind soldier.”

Eddie studied your interaction. His lips were fighting to flash a tiny smile, but his ego was stronger, choosing to focus on his sneaker scuffing the floor rather than you. 

You, who was breaking every belief in the Munson Doctrine about prissy cheerleaders who hung off the arms of meathead jocks, and who was actively making his group of bullied outsiders feel included with your kindness; such kindness that Eddie was adamant he could not fall for. No matter how nice, how pretty, or enticing you were, all he saw was you. 

You stepped back from hanging up their logo. “Okay, how’s that?” You asked the boys. After Dustin’s insistent need of a little to the left and just a bit to the right, it was perfect. “Alrighty, you guys line up there, and we can take a couple.” You smiled.

Every member was quick to find their designated spot against the wall, Eddie though, he slowly walked up beside you, as his friends got ready. He sighed, as he looked down at your warm face, “Are you actually putting us in the yearbook?” For a moment, you wanted to savor the little moment of bliss, in which Eddie Munson wasn’t throwing an insult or condescending comment towards you, but his genuine concern about your sincerity had your heart aching at his unmistakable plea to wanting to be included, also. 

You softly spoke with a gentle nod to your head, “Yeah, of course.” You smiled at him. “Right where you guys deserve to be.” But his deep stare into your eyes had you pulling back from the moment that was happening, “J-just like Higgins said to do.” You were quick to add. 

 His heart could only manage a tight-lip nod back. “Right. Higgins.” He eyed you before joining his friends. 

You took a deep breath. “Okay, guys-”

“Wait, you don’t expect us to, like, stand up straight or whatever?” Mike interjected. 

“No, no,” you laughed, “be yourself, do whatever you’d like and just be comfortable.” You smiled, holding Eddie’s eye contact for a second longer than the others. “Okay, big smiles!”

Lining the camera to focus on the seven boys, you peered through the lens to see their uniquely catered pose establishing themselves through their individual personalities. Thumbs up, leaning postures, hands on hips, and beaming smiles, you snapped the photo with a large flash. You peered away from the camera and titled your head at Eddie. “What about big smiles did you not understand?” Your lips twinkled with delight of teasing. “You, too, Wheeler.” You giggled.

“Trust me, I look best without smiling.” Mike was able to rationalize.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Okay, and your excuse?” You smiled at Eddie, who was undoubtedly using all his willpower to bite back a grin. 

“I don’t smile.” His stern voice was no match for his wavering smirk.

“Why not, it’s so beautiful?” You giggled, as his cheeks flushed with redness, apparent that he was not expecting such a compliment. “Come on, for me!”

His smile started appearing at you, though his friends were quick to ruin the moment. “Oh, you are so beautiful, Eddie.” Jeff mocked with a girly voice.

“Just wanna kiss you.” Dustin was quick to add kissy faces.

“Fuck off, both of you.” He shoved them, though his laugh was evident along with his smile, and were happy with such accomplishment.

Because you weren’t lying, Eddie Munson had a beautiful smile.

“Alright, alright, alright.” You laughed. “No more teasing. I want big, beautiful smiles—with the exception of Mike—so I can get the most perfect photo.” 

The boys shook out any giddiness, and were quick to, once again, get into their own poses. Eddie, for once, showing you his crookedly perfect smirk as he leaned into his friends comfortably. Instructing them to get ready, you realigned the camera and focused on their beings, capturing the fun that was occurring at Hawkins High’s center hall at 8:59 p.m.

“How lovely.” You smiled at them, as they cheered and excitedly congratulated each other for actually being in the yearbook. 

As you watched the utter glee consume their face, you caught eyes with Eddie. He flashed you a small grin, one that lingered longer than he was anticipating, but how could he not? No one had ever thought to include them, and here you were doing just that, tugging on the string of his heart because you cared. You actually fucking cared.

“Okay, um,” you caught their attention, “sorry for interrupting your game, you’re free to go back. I’ll be sure to have these quickly developed for the yearbook.” You smiled.

You were quick to get a multitude of thank you’s from the boys, though it was then when Eddie suddenly fell uncharacteristically quiet. He cleared his throat, snapping back to reality, and once again, his apathetic face was nimble to mask his genuine smile that was once shining on his face. As the boys started flooding back into the drama room, you turned to catch his staring at you, though when you went to flash him a smile with a small wave, you were only met with cold eyes that stared your figure down. The same eyes that degraded you nine hours earlier at lunch. The eyes that you thought you managed to break through after today. 

Speed walking away from his glare, you fumbled into the newspaper room, returning the stolen camera. You took a minute to adjust yourself, still stuck in your sweaty practice clothes, that only seemed tighter after Eddie’s scowl. But maybe you were just reading too far into it. He had been smiling at you before, maybe he was simply slipping back into his character to resume his campaign. 

Placing the camera back—Nancy was going to have one out with you when she found out—you locked up, closing the heavy door quietly behind you. It was once you did so, a heavy hand prevented you from walking away. Turning you around, you were, once again, faced with Eddie’s daunting demeanor as he stood over you. 

It seemed like a common occurrence now, that every time you came face-to-face with him, his unnerving eyes were always studying your face, from your eyes to your lips. “H-hi.” You gently spoke, breaking his trance from his detailed staring.

He cleared his throat, “I know Higgins didn’t tell you to do that.”

He wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t like you exactly sold your lie too well. “Uh, yeah, b-but you guys still deserve to be included, and well, I’ll just take the fault if Higgin’s does find out. But I can assure you he won’t, so you’ll still be in there, I promise.”

Your reassuring voice that was laced with nervousness made him drag his hands across his face in frustration. It made all what he was about to do that more difficult. “Look, what you did back there…” He huffed. For a second, you thought that he may actually thank you and apologize for his previous actions towards you. But that’s not reality. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.” The way your face dropped had him slowing the lump in his throat knowing that he caused it. 

“W-what?” Your eyes became round with confusion, and Eddie screwed his eyes shut to refrain from looking into them and being swept away. “B-but I thought-”

“No, no, stop.” He cut off your quivering voice that was sinking his stomach into a deep pit. “I, uh, I told you before that I don’t need your pity. We don’t need your pity.” He casted his face down, unable to face your disheartened look.

“No, Eddie, I promise, this wasn’t out of pity.” You were swift to defend. “I did it because you guys deserve to be in the yearbook, just like you said. I swear-”

“You’re gonna get their hopes up!” His. His hopes up. You flinched at his booming voice, attempting to find the strength to control the stinging in your eyes. “Some gorgeous, popular cheerleader being nice to them, leading them to believe all’s good, they won’t get hurt, only to come back and find you and your friends tormenting them as if today never happened!” 

“No, I wouldn’t! I never even have! I’ll tell my friends to back off, Jason and Andy, I’ll tell everyone to stop, I promise. I didn’t do this to be some savior, you were just right earlier, and it wasn’t fair to exclude you guys.”

“Stop, just stop!” He couldn’t trust your words, though every fiber in his body was yearning to, but he just couldn’t subject himself to do so. His hands pulled on the roots of his hair. He wasn’t going to fall for you, in no alternate reality did Eddie Munson falling for a perfect cheerleader ever work out in his favor. He was an asshole before, and he’ll be an asshole right now, because that’s what kept him safe. “Just stay away from me- I, uh, my friends! Just stay away from my friends.” He choked with a shaky sigh, watching as you were fast to wipe away a running tear while looking away. Fuck.

He sighed, chest heaving with emotions he didn’t want to come out. “Just stay away.”

Eddie Munson was choosing to run.

Before he could crack from your glassy, round eyes, he marched back into the drama room with a heavy slam to the door, leaving you there.

Alone and crying.

[yeetfanficccc]

Just Friends Wicked Boq x reader Oneshot

Author's Note--

So.... I haven't written x reader in years and not ever on this platform, but when I saw Wicked movie and thought Boq was low-key hot (I guess Ari and I have same taste lol) I couldn't find ANY fics for him I knew it was my duty to write this. I am rusty and this was in a single sitting but... enjoy, This is in an AU where Nessa never liked him, reader was written in mind as female but can be read as gender neutral :)

TW reader has anxiety and a panic attack

Shiz University was blooming with life. Ozians from all walks of life buzzed down the hallways chattering away about the new student, Elphaba, who was the most beautiful shade of green. Everyone seemed so lively and bright like they were dancing through life. I was not so lucky. 

I had been at Shiz for a week now and I still was perpetually scared everywhere I went. Everything was so loud and disconcerting.  During orientation, there was an altercation with Elphaba and for some reason Madame Morrible cast a huge spell to keep us on our toes, at least that’s what she told us. Pieces of the building flew clean off! I nearly passed out because my Oz, I am pursuing a higher education I should not be afraid of being crushed! There was a stunning girl named Galinda Upland who I was so intimidated by I had not uttered a single word in any class we shared in fear I would somehow upset her. Elphaba had gotten on her bad side, and I did not want to be 2nd on that list. 

So, I stuck to the edges of Shiz, trying my best to stay focused on study.  I people watched, admiring them from a safe distance. It was a quiet life, a simple life. Today, I sat in the library rewriting a history assignment for Dr. Dillamond. I just couldn’t seem to find the words. My body gravitated back to my beloved shelves. Our library had the most amazing rotating shelves I had ever had the honor to behold.  I reached for a reference book and turned the page,

In the years after the arrival of our Wonderful Wizard of Oz…

Smack! 

My book and I were sent hurling towards the ground. Panic. First for the book, it was not my property, and then for the warm body under me. More panic. Dear Oz, LET IT NOT BE GALINDA! 

“I am so sorry!” I spurted out, tumbling off the poor person I landed on. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault.”  

I looked up to see a shock of curly red hair. Huh. The stranger held out his hand and helped me to my feet. 

“No. I shouldn’t have been walking with a book in my face.” 

“You were just killing two birds with one stone.” 

“My third bird was not using another student as a landing pillow, but I’ve never been a good multitasker.” 

The joke was simple and not very funny, but he laughed.  A genuine boyish laugh.

“You’re in my class, right? Dr Dillamond’s?” 

He remembered me? I was a statue in that class. 

“Oh yeah, I am…” 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just never forget a face.” He giggled in his lovely tenor, “And you have a great face! Oh wow. That’s even weirder of a thing to say…” 

I felt a tingle in my chest, light airy. But one I hadn’t felt in a long while.

“(Y/N).” I spat, “I guess we’ll find out if you ever forget a name.” 

“Boq Woodsman,” He stretched out a bit to appear taller, “at your service.”

“That’s a good name.” 

“Really? I’ve always thought it was a bit stupid.”

“No. It’s a strong name. It suits you.”  I looked down when I said it. How could I let such cheesy words come from my mouth?

“Is your book, okay?” He stumbled the words, his face a bit red. Had I embarrassed him?

“My book? OH, my book!” I retrieved my wayward copy of Oz history from the ground, “I think she’ll make it. Just barely.” 

“Good, because I think we have class in like 2 minutes.”

Damn! I had lost track of time. 

“Oh no.” 

“Wanna make a run for it?” He grinned. 

“Only if it’s a race.” 

“Deal.”

We both entered Dr Dillamond’s class heaving and gasping for air, somehow on time. We couldn’t stop laughing. 

Weeks Later 

From that day on, Boq and I formed an allyship of two awkward college kids just trying to get by. We started sitting by each other in class, eating lunch together, and studying night after night. After a few weeks, I had even started feeling comfortable around Galinda. Kind of. Boq informed me of his crush on her, which apparently went away very quickly. I wanted to believe him, but I just thought he was saying that because he knew she freaked me out. Boq had even given me the courage to make another friend, Nessarose, who was so sweet. Of course, there was also this very inconvenient feeling in my chest whenever I saw Boq. It was getting to be very annoying. So, like most of my life’s issues, I ignored it. I was not about to mess up my strongest college friendship over stupid, most likely one-sided feelings. 

“Boqqqqqqq.” I ran up to him outside in the courtyard. 

“Whatttttttttt.” He drew the word out to match me. 

“I’ve been looking for you!” I smiled, “What do you think about the new guy? Fiyero. It makes so much sense he’s a prince!” 

“A prince?” He grimaced, “I don’t know if it fits him.”

“What do you mean? He’s so charismatic, it’s scary.”

“He’s okay I guess.” 

“Are you going to the thing tonight at the Oz Dust ballroom?”

“Are you?” He blurted out. 

“I think it’s more of a date thing.”

“Do you want to go through?” 

“Yeah, kind of.”  There it was. That stupid feeling in my chest.

“I could take you…” He stammered over the words like tripping on molasses. 

“Really?” I lit up. 

“As friends.” 

My shoulders sunk, “of course…” 

That Night, the OzDust 

Music exploded from every corner of the room. It was piercing. I held myself together. Couples in lavished gowns and suits danced under the watery glow. Ever since earlier that day when Boq corrected this to be a friend’s date, something was off between us. We had hardly spoke on the way over. When I saw Galinda looking ever so enchanting in her dress with Fiyero, I worried Boq was off because he wished he was there with her. I couldn’t blame him, she was the light of every room she was in and I was just… there. 

I was determined to still have fun. Even if all the people and the loud music was wearing me down. I danced next to Boq yet he seemed to zone out, like he was somewhere else. I frowned. 

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” 

“Maybe we should take a break. Get some fresh air.” 

“(Y/N)” He turned to me suddenly, “there’s something that’s been weighing on me, I need to tell you-“

Before Boq could finish a man stepped out of the crowd and took me by the hand,

“May I have a dance lovely?”

He was a guy I had seen around Shiz and in Dr Dillamond’s class. He was broad, always brooding and gave me a bad vibe. Still, he had never spoken to me at length in any sinister way. He had never spoken to me at lengh once so ever. There was a chilling ache in my head under his gaze, I blamed it on me just being too anxious for my own good.  

“Oh sorry. I’m okay.”  I smiled polite as possible.

“Come on. You’re always so quiet. But I think you’re amazing. I see the real you.” 

Dread ate away at my composure. The music seemed to blare into me like a siren.

"It's a party, you should dance with someone fun."

Did I lead this guy on in some way? I don’t want him to hate me. There are so many people around… I don’t want to cause a scene. He touched my shoulder. His hands were so cold. 

“They said no.” Boq corrected his voice a light in my growing panic.

"Come on, man. They're not your partner or anything. Let me have a shot."

Boq shoved away the guy and put himself between me and him. 

"Stay away from them." Boq spoke the words with a bitterness I had never seen from him.

People began looking at us, whispering. I couldn’t handle it. All those eyes. I ran out of the room without thinking. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. I breathed in and out. 

“(Y/N)!” A familiar voice called. Boq. 

“I’m sorry,” beyond my control, tears poured down my face, “I shouldn’t have ran like that.”

“What do you need?” he was sweet, low, gentle.

“Just air, I’ll be ok.” 

“Let’s sit.” He led me to a soft patch of moonlight. I felt safe again. We sat for a few minutes, watching the world go by. It made me think, think about what really mattered. I couldn't let this moment pass me by.

“Boq. I need to tell you something.”

“Anything. Anything from you.”

“I like you, like as more than just friends.” 

“Are you serious?” his eyes were big and round like he was going through heart attack. Oz, did I send him into shock?

“I’m sorry! It’s silly. I just needed to tell you.”  I turned away, "Forget I said it."

“No. It’s not. I like you, like really like you (Y/N).  Since I’ve been at Shiz, I feel the happiest when I’m with you, like I can really be myself.” 

"I feel that way with you to." I grinned, warmth flooding my body.

"Can I kiss you?" His face was as red as his hair. It was adorable, handsome, all the good things! And it was for me.

I sprung forward and planted my lips on his. He was melted honey. And I was more than just a friend.

"I am so glad you couldn't keep your face out of that book..."

[saintrvckwell]

There'll be no rest for the wicked (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!teen!reader AU

summary: more than enough of your mother's vices waltzed into your life unannounced, leaving without a trace. but then, then there was joel.

warnings: heavily implied father-daughter dynamic, joel grows protective for the reader, father-daughter bond, platonic stuff and thangs, angst as well (what else i would write, lol), but man the fluff, joel works as a cop (lol howdy), trigger warning mentioned into story (there is a warning before the scene! -- nothing happens, but the nature of it implies the boy's intentions, so i rather chose to give a warning)

wordcount: 4.6k

a/n: hi! lately i found myself enjoying the joel x platonic reader stories again and figured, i could contribute myself, again. treat the daddy issues strugglers like me, ha. enjoy!

splitting this into more parts, please, be patient with me.

Your mother was never the nurturing type. For her, this word did not exist in her vocabulary. She loved you, you supposed, because there was never a clear sign. You were left to wonder. Whether she really cared and if so, where was she?

Throughout your childhood, your mother seemed like a visitor. Someone who, once in a while, passes through. There was never a holiday, spontaneous trip or even a lunch. She had lunch, just not with you. Her friends, her social life -- it was everything for her.

And it seemed, as though, you were not part of that list.

From time to time, as you were growing up, the idea of your father popped in your mind couple of times. Your mother never told you his name, went as far as to not include him in your birth certificate. There was no clue. So, for a child, who's yearning for a presence of loving parent, your imagination stepped in.

Whenever your mom would be on a business trip or simply out with your friends, you would sit on the windowsill, counting the threes below your apartment window. Until you fell asleep. Until the dreams, the wishful thinking, the cycling imagination, gave you what you had been looking for.

A father.

It was natural, you thought. You wished to be saved from your mother's claws. Unmaternal claws that suffocated you. The desire in your eyes, she saw it. But never bothered to do something about it. Your mother never cared, she never listened. She never came to your recitals, school races or when you gave a valedictorian speech.

You put your sweat and tears into it -- trying to figure out that your message will be received. It was a significant moment in your life, or so the teachers kept saying. The praises were coming from every direction, except for the one you wished for the most.

This was the moment you were hoping for -- that she would finally acknowledge your achievements and efforts. And she would come, sit in the first row and cheer you on.

But the reserved seat stayed empty.

And you found yourself standing in the middle of the parking lot, diploma in your hands; your mother nowhere to be found. You waited, for almost an hour, before pulling out the keys from your backpack and setting off, walking the streets in your graduation robe, wiping away the tears you promised yourself not to waste.

Not on her.

When instead of trying, she stayed at home.

With a man.

The anger was running through your veins and the patience was standing on the edge of a cliff.

You could go ballistic.

Who would have blamed you anyways. Your mother's attitude gave you enough reasons to scream it out of your lungs and lose control. But, perhaps, the anger was the one, standing on the top.

The bittersweet taste of disappointment, there it was again.

"Hey, how was school today?" she asked, casually, as though it was an ordinary day -- to be frank, she probably had forgotten about your ceremony anyways.

The man, standing by the kitchen island, with a glass of brandy in his hand, turned around.

Compared to what had travelled through your apartments over the years, he looked decent. Well-dressed, without an awful cologne and more importantly -- without a fake smile. Most of your mother's short-term partners would always pretend wanting to find out more about you.

When they only wanted to find out what was under your mother's clothes.

Still, it would not last forever, you thought.

"Good," you mumbled, putting the cap back on your head. "Same stuff as usual."

There was an urge to leave this uncomfortable setting but before you made a move, the strange man had noticed the clothes you had been wearing and smiled, again. As if though it was contagious.

"Congratulations," he spoke.

Your mother looked up, eyeing your appearance.

"Oh, you had the thing today, right?" she mumbled, grabbing her glass of vine.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Somehow, the bizarre kept getting worse.

"Yeah, the Valedictorian thing, if that's what you mean," you mumbled, holding onto the red case of your diploma.

"Cool," she nodded, "Hey, how about you go pick us up some celebratory dinner? Noodles down the street?"

The anger crawled back into your mind.

"It's raining outside," you shook your head.

"Ever heard of umbrella?"

You never attempted to lash out at her -- solely because of knowing the fact that she would not care. But now, when she stood next to her latest boyfriend, vine in her hand and disinterest in her eyes, you just wanted to scream.

Every symptom of emerging emotional breakdown was on its way, and you knew, you had to get out of there. Not another word said, as you departed into your room. There was no energy to slam the door -- to give a little statement.

Throwing off the robe, along with the diploma, you laid down on the cold, wooden floor and closed your eyes. Five minutes, you just needed five minutes to gather your thoughts. You got four years left, in the same household. Then you would be free.

You never understood her stance. Why was it so easy to show to all of her dates and parties, but never to yours? When you stood on the stage, reciting your speech, you could see the numerous pairs of eyes of those proud parents.

You did want her to sit among them and weep.

You just want her there.

At this point, you would be grateful for anything. For the tinniest amount of your mother's affection that she so graciously gave to her boyfriends.

"Can I come in?"

The voice on the other side of your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

There he was her boyfriend.

You did not know why he knocked on your door and frankly, you did not care. He was going to be here long, there is no point in getting to know a temporary vise.

He could not overlook the redness in your cheeks and how swollen your eyes had gotten.

At that moment, you were thankful he decided to not care either.

Or perhaps?

"So, what food for the celebration?" he asked, trying to cheer up the mood, after a minute of an awkward silence.

You frowned.

"I was thinking, since it's raining, we could take a drive and pick up something for dinner."

There was an urge to leave the house, without a doubt. And you could either take a walk and come back soaked and cold, and mainly, hungry. Or you could follow him to the front door, watch him grab the cars keys and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

The further the house had gotten, the lighter your shoulders had become. The burden of your frustration kept following you everywhere, like an unwanted traveler. But now, you had a moment to breathe out a little, after everything that had happened today.

Even if it meant taking a ride with mom's newest obsession.

For a moment, you cursed yourself for not taking your phone -- since the first few minutes of your drive seemed awfully awkward. You could have at least pretended to read something profoundly engaging instead of staring out of the window, visibly trying to avoid his sight.

He was not very talkative, but still, had this odd aura that floated around the car. There was no tension, especially once he put a cassette in, having the tunes of Billy Idol fill out the space between the two of you.

He had a good taste, you thought. But still -- he was not going to be here longer than two weeks. Why invest your time, you thought.

"So, valedictorian huh?"

After ten minutes of the drive, he finally decided to break through the initial awkwardness.

You looked up from your sneakers, staring at him.

"It's just a stupid red diploma case, nothing else," you shrugged your shoulders, whilst rubbing your fingers, nervously.

He chucked, shaking his head.

"You cannot be so modest, c'mon," he so exclaimed enthusiastically, you found yourself staring at him, little taken aback. "I mean," he gave you a quick look, before locking the eyes with the green light, "You should give yourself a little credit. It is an achievement."

Somewhere, in the pits of your heart, under the walls you were forced the built, there was laying a part of you, wishing to hear this. Only if the source could have been your mother. She had these sweets words for everyone, but you. There was never an applause to be given -- not that you would be asking for it. But a little pat on the shoulder never hurt anyone.

But she never cared enough to do it. So, you settled yourself with the determination to do more, to try more. The desperation ran through your veins like fuel.

Despite the desire to hide it, his words brought a smile on your lips. With that, the awkward silence vanished, as you drove through the suburbs, with Billy Idol's White Wedding.

That evening, somewhere in the middle of ordering your victory dinner, you learned that his name was Joel. And for the first time, you caught yourself thinking that, perhaps, it would not be so bad if your mother's newest vise stayed for more than two weeks.

Over the summer, to your surprise, your mother and Joel had grown significantly closer, travelling almost all the time. You found a job at your local cinema -- with too much free time on your hand, you could have used it for something practical. Saving money was always a good choice. You spent your days watching the same comedy three times in a row, covered by the smell of cheese popcorn and splashes of coke on your sneakers.

Of course, your mother would stop by -- although, mostly to just repack and set off, again. Throughout the summer holidays, you hardly ran into each other. Usually, she left before you got home from work. She would leave a concise note on the fridge (or, if she was running late, a text message) stuck together with a small chunk of money.

As the days went by, you happened to notice the uneasiness that suddenly settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew the source very well -- the good, old, fear of missed opportunities.

It was supposed to be your last summer before high school, naturally, there was the teenage urge to do something memorable. Something, perhaps, completely out of your comfort zone.

And, as it turned out, your empty house presented an incredible opportunity.

Before this sudden urge to fit into your generation, you had never thrown a party. Frankly -- you had no clue how to throw one. Clueless to arrange but eager to learn, the help of your friends seemed as the best fit. As people more fitting for the extrovert description, it posed no issue for them.

Thus, the curse landed on your shoulders.

Certainly, you had no idea how quickly these thinks can come together. It took bunch of your friends, pack of plastic cups, one text message and before you knew, the beer was lined up by the front door and your suburban house was filled with at least thirty people from which almost a half of it were high schoolers.

Seniors, if you may add.

Quickly, they managed to turn your dining room into beer pong game hall, with liquid spilling all over your mother's expensive rugs. Only then, the feeling in your gut started to cry out for help. There were the warning signs, hanging in your mind -- but each one was followed by a cup of beer, until you found yourself looking for a balance.

You lost the track of time, somewhere between your cups, as well as of your friends. It was supposed to be one, welcoming drink. But the more your house turned into a trashcan, the bigger was the urge to kill the voice in your head, cursing you.

For being so reckless in the first place.

Before this spontaneous get together, you had not encountered alcohol -- certainly not in form as large as this one. Rules of drinking were unknown to you; not that you would be too intrigued about them, in your state.

In that moment, the only think you cared about was to stand on your own for more than two seconds. The world around you had become a little dizzy -- this state of being was completely new for you which was quite noticeable for the ones around you.

So, it happened to be a matter of time before one of the seniors posed himself as the knight in shining armor.

If only.

You were aware of his presence but paid no mind at first. After another lost round of beer pong (with no surprise, against him), you had decided to get yourself some water to freshen up. You had no desire whatsoever to lead a conversation with him, let alone anyone else. You wanted to stumble back to your bedroom, lock the door and sleep this off.

Unfortunately, in your current state, path to your bedroom down the hall felt like a ten-kilometer-long hike.

trigger warning for the part below

"Are you okay?"

He could not have asked more useless question. The false concern almost made you chuckle.

"I am absolutely perfect," you grinned your teeth at him.

"You should get some rest," he spoke, unsettling smile on his lips as he brought himself closer to you, locking your possible ways out.

He was much taller, undeniably stronger and determined.

Without a doubt, that was the worst combination.

"Thanks," a forced smile landed on your lips. You had to be smart about this, given his advantages. "But I should actually go and look for my friends."

There was an attempt to make a move, quick slip out of his claws.

You have not even fully tried it, he was already in your away, again.

"I can help you look," the creepiness of his smile imprinted on your brain. "We can search your bedroom first."

The gulp in your throat grew so big, you thought it was going to explode in your stomach, pulling everything out as well. The anxiety was circling throughout your body, up and down, the sweat was running down your shoulders, despite how cold the room had become. Every bone in your body, every nerve sent a signal into your brain.

The fear was going to swallow you whole.

You have never encountered a situation like this. The uneasiness that suddenly held so tight on you.

You could have screamed but what that be good for? Everyone around were too drunk to notice and too unbothered to care, anyways.

Or perhaps, there were exceptions.

end of the trigger warning part

Just not exactly those you would ask for, voluntarily.

You always knew that the universe had its ways to fuck with you.

But this time, this time, came the cherry on the top.

When the scream echoed around the house, buying you an escape from this situation, leaving him too shocked to notice, you ran into the shambles that once used to be your living room, coming face to face with universe's sense of humor.

Dressed in a police uniform, wearing your mother's boyfriend's face.

There he was, catching the sight of your drunken appearance.

"Oh, fuck."

Your stunned reaction came louder than you initially intended, reaching the wrong ends.

His end.

"Officer Miller, we arrived at the scene of disturbance, over..."

You mother's never mentioned his occupation -- not that you would be dying to know, but having this intel beforehand, before you had decided to tarnish your and your mother's reputation, could have been a little useful.

Now, there was no way back, as you watched three other police officers enter your nearly-destroyed house. The number of scenarios lined up in your anxious mind, one coming off worse than the previous. Frankly, just the idea of your mother receiving such phone call, interrupting her annual girls' trip, the wrath would be horrid.

After that, you would wish to be invisible, in her eyes.

You had no idea how these things work. Couple of your friends once mentioned how a party, they attended, ended being busted but the process was never shared. So, you stood there, as though your limbs had frozen, watching the cops escorting all of the kids outside.

He could have been an asshole -- with all due honesty, part of you thought he would be. Your self-made catastrophe presented an incredible opportunity to turn himself into a hero in your mother's eyes. Her brave vise that had stopped her adolescent daughter from drinking her brains out.

But when the distance between the two of you decreased and his hand landed on your arm, you founded yourself letting a sigh of relief escape through your lips.

You were not out of the woods yet.

As inconspicuously as one could, Joel walked you out of the filled living room and back into the kitchen. He was aware of the liquid courage running through your veins -- after all, he was a cop. This, most likely, was not his first rodeo.

Also, he was not an idiot.

Or so you thought, for now.

It all depended on the events that were about to unfold.

"Here," he mumbled, handing you a glass of tap water, "get some more, I will be right back."

Within a second, he was one foot out of the door.

"What now?" you called out, curiosity prevailing the fear for a glimpse of second.

"They'll do search up, so unless you wanna get your ass busted, you better stay here."

With that, he departed into the hallway, as you dissolved into your anxieties, chucking one glass after another, naively hoping the sobriety would arrive sooner.

Despite the conditions, your foggy brain was capable of holding onto the ends, getting the grasp of what was going on, from the pieces you had gathered. There had to be an advantage he had found in helping you out, you thought. The possibility of him acting on the goodness of his heart seemed too absurd to even consider.

All at once, every partner your mother had brought into your life was a copy of his predecessor. One shallow as the other, hollow and unauthentic as the one before. None of them, especially those who you once had decided to give a little faith, succeeded.

So as exaggerated as it may came to be, you could not let yourself get easily fooled. Despite the part of you that wanted to.

Undoubtedly, there was something about him, the warm your mother never had.

But once that you started building castles in the air, you knew it was over.

So, you had to snap out of your liquid-influenced thoughts and stood stern on the ground.

There was no time to be naive.

Especially, once the so-thought, banished glimpse of danger entered your space, again.

just in case, (last) trigger warning for part below

In all directions.

It still baffled you how tall and buffed he was -- he could surely pass for an adult. Adult that should have no interest in girl your age, but here he was. With that intense gaze, sheepish smile and hands that quickly found their way to your hips.

"Brought you something," he whispered, reaching into his back pocket.

He slowly reached closer, his breath brushing against your cheeks, as his hand slipped in the back pocket of your jeans, tucking something in. Only then, he pulled away, hands still resting dangerously close to your body.

"Your friend told me you're coming in September," he smiled. "Figured we could finish what we started."

In that moment, you were stone cold sober.

"I think you should go," you mumbled, rubbing your fingers. "The cops and everything.."

You had to find an easy way to let him down. Words from people like him, especially the fabricated ones, travelled faster than one would have wanted.

But he turned out to be too persistent for your abilities.

"Seriously, you're gonna get in trouble," you chuckled, as forcibly as one could, to shake off the fear.

He laughed, shaking his head.

The false care was the right string to pull, as he became more curious of the sounds coming from the living room. The voices layered over each other, mostly coming from the cops and their walkie-talkies.

He turned around, one last time -- and the second his face lowered to your height, the worst flew over your mind, as the fear squeezed you like a ball.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing to throw up.

Right into his face, right all over him.

end of the trigger warning part

"What the hell are you doing here?"

But perhaps, digestive problems could have been postponed.

When you found officer Miller standing by the kitchen entrance.

Officer Miller.

You were not sure whether it was the alcohol or the bizarre nature of this situation, but there was an urge to laugh over this phrase.

How absurd, you thought, that of all people, your mother would decide to date a police officer? The more you thought about this, the more you reassured yourself that he, truly, was not her usual type.

Whether it was a good or bad thing depended on the following twenty minutes.

The obtrusive boy gave you one last, nightmarish smile, before he followed your mother's vise out of the kitchen. You could not shake off the feeling his intrusive actions had left on you -- the eerie look on his face, the smile of winner. For awakening the fear.

You wished for this situation to disappear, cursing yourself for ever having such ideas.

After a while, the house fell into silence. The sirens outside the front door started to disappear, along with the heavy steps and chatters. You could not even think of the consequences that would follow this dreadful idea.

The urge to throw up arrived again.

And the kitchen sink turned out to be the only available option. So, naturally, within a second, every liquid your body had absorbed tonight, ended up exactly there.

There was no point in asking if this situation could have gotten any worse.

Because it could.

In the middle of cleansing your organs, whilst your hands were gripping the edges of the kitchen sink, you heard the slam of the front entrance, before a set of footsteps headed towards you.

It really could get worse.

Hair disheveled, mind on a rollercoaster and balance slowly disappearing into the night. Your already skilled friends knew how to throw a party -- just did not give you the manual of processing one. For a moment, you wondered whether your cheeks were splashed by the water, or perhaps, if those were tears, running down your neck.

Nothing about this night you wished to treasure. And you knew that what was about to follow -- was right behind.

Literally.

The pat on your shoulder startled you, almost hitting your forehead against the kitchen cabinet above. Slowly, turning off the faucet, you took a deep breath, trying to keep your existence in one place -- in all senses.

Knowing your current state -- Joel chose to be careful with the physical closeness, moving his hand away as soon as the room felt quiet again. Letting you turn away on your own, he stepped back, remaining focused, just in case your balance would decide to betray you.

"Get some more water," he mumbled, hands on his hips, as he watched you jump up on the cabinet. "That ain't smart, doin' this, y'know."

"Do I look like someone who makes smart decisions?" you hissed, wiping away the drops on your chin. Perhaps, the liquid courage was awaking, you thought.

Sigh escaped through his lips, now formed into thin line.

"Where's your mom?" he asked -- stepping into his police officer demeanor, frowning.

You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders, leaving him more confused than before.

"You don't know?" you looked up, mockery tone now swallowing your voice. "I'm surprised, considering you know more about her whereabouts than I do."

The sentence left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

The frown has disappeared, as he stood there, noticing the shift in your attitude.

"Does she know?" he asked, after a moment.

The look in his face almost made you roll your eyes. It was the typical look of someone who was about to offer you a lecture no one had asked for. Considering your experience with your mother's temporary better halfs, Joel was just passing through. None of your mother's relationships passed the three months mark. He was about to be gone in a blink of an eye.

"Look, I am trying to help you--"

Now, there it was.

The sentence, all of them had practiced. The sweet-caring tone of his voice, the pitiful look in his eyes -- all of them were the same.

Or perhaps.

You could not bet on him.

"Okay," you mumbled, chuckling again. "Good for you."

Joel's frustration started to arise. You did not make it easy on him.

He shook his head, trying to maintain his patience.

"Listen, smart ass," he stepped closer, as the frown arrived again. Although, this time with disaffection. "An ounce of gratitude would not hurt you."

Bitting your lip, you got off the kitchen counter, now standing face to face with Joel. He was much taller, with broad shoulders -- he was the epitome of someone who tried to play the good cop.

"Okay, Joel," you whispered, deadly sarcastic.

It was a risky situation; you were well aware. But the events of this evening emptied the rest of your decency.

"Thank you for being such generous police officer, even though we both know your true intentions," you smiled and curtsied.

Now there it was.

The thin ice had been broken and Joel's patience ran over the edge.

"Excuse me?" he asked, offended.

"Excuse me," you whispered. "I've got a house to clean. So why don't you go ahead and give my mother a call? She'll be delighted."

Part of you knew that being this harsh could come back and bite you in the ass. Perhaps it was the defense mechanism -- your mother had never brought an exemplary man into your life. And if they happened to resemble one and you chose to believe it, they vanished into the thin air before you knew it.

You could not settle with the thought of Joel being an exception.

For your own good -- for the high hopes you would be willing to give him.

Joel stared at you for a little, without uttering a word. Which, you chose as an opportunity to leave this conversation for good.

But it took one step in your condition, for you to fall on your knees.

Howls of pain escaped through your lips.

And two steady hands pulled you back before you managed to smack your face against the cold, kitchen tiles.

"Fuck!"

Curse words were flying left and right, though Joel had decided to ignore that. He could have paid you back -- which you were kind of expecting. Instead, with one swift move, you were back on your feet, with Joel being the one responsible for your balance.

The world around became slightly dizzy. And, for a moment, it felt as though your limbs were made out of Jell-O. The funny bubbling in your stomach made you laugh.

"I think I am gonna throw up."

Was the last thing you whispered, before leaning against the floor, letting the remaining bits of alcohol depart on the tiles.

It was Joel who, once again, caught you in the last minute.

"You really are a fuckin´ pain in the ass, kid."

It really, really, could get worse.

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

Will you spoil us and talk about a dream dinner date (aka public stuffing lol) of yours? Love your writing sm

I'm having eye surgery tomorrow (in 15h!!!) so I can't look at a screen long enough to write long... but "dream dinner dates" are a thing I write about all the time, so I have one in the bank. I posted a fragment of this a while ago... here's the whole.

***

They'd been playing for hours, the five of them; digging up every 5-player boardgame that never saw the table. Nora was used to her regular group, the four of them every Wednesday for years, but this was the first time she'd brought Tristan. They'd been dating long enough, but her friends...they would put him through the wringer. She'd avoided putting them in the same room until she couldn't, but thank god, her big, cinnamon roll of a boy fit right in. However soft he was with her, here, he had a wicked wit and could shit talk with the worst of them.

Eventually, Dave had to head home, but Jorge and Matt were up for dinner. Nora glanced at Tristan.

“You in?”

“Dinner, me?” he said, scandalized. “That would ruin my diet.” Nora almost choked trying not to laugh out loud at that. “But I did spend three hours in the gym today so maaaaaybe I deserve a cheat day.”

Jorge, the only person on the planet who knew even a little bit about her food thing, raised an eyebrow at her. “Diet,” he said skeptically.

“Cheat day,” she said firmly, shooting him her best don’t encourage him look, but Jorge couldn’t have understood about Tristan. Not when they’d met five hours ago. RIP me, I guess, she thought. As if every day wasn't a "cheat day" for Tristan.

“Cheat day,” Tristan repeated with some glee, rubbing his hands together.

Or RIP Tristan. She shivered.

Matt brought them to a pub near his place, craft beers and hi-lo bar foods in considerable portions. Nora knew better than to order anything but a salad at a place like this, but Tristan perused the menu like it was the table of contents and he was gonna start on the first page and work his way to the end. Nora’s heart flipped over half with desire and half with panic.

“Tris,” she said, low, leaning close to his ear. “You don’t have to impress me.” As much as the look on his face lit her up, he’d been so manic all day, she didn’t trust him to be safe.

“I’ll be good,” he muttered back. He took her chin with his fingers and kissed her gently before leaning close to her ear. “Can’t have you having orgasms at the table with your friends.”

Why did that give her goosebumps? He rubbed her prickly flesh until it was warm and soft again, looking as innocent as a lamb. She knew she was in trouble but it was too tempting for her to care.

“Mercy me,” Tristan said to the waiter. “Pint of Blood Brother. Hot Cheetos chicken wings and the mac and cheese. That’s two food groups, right? How about the deep fried pickles? That’s a vegetable. Thanks.” He pulled the menu back before the waiter could take it. “And leave a menu.”

Jorge looked Nora squarely in the eye with a shit-eating grin of pure entertainment. Nora scowled back.

Anyway, both Matt and Jorge ordered ridiculous things as well, so Nora got gyoza and pretended she lived on the moon. Sitting at a table with three men eating like pigs, one of whom was deliberately trying to get her worked up and another of whom would absolutely egg him on was either the most embarrassing or most amazing thing she could have hoped for out of the evening, and the jury was out on which. Their beers came, she snuggled up against Tristan, and at least for the next ten to fifteen minutes, she relaxed into her happy place.

The alcohol helped blur the edges. She loved this. Her friends, talking about games and the people they all knew and sounding out Tristan for his versions of the experiences they’d all had, looking for common acquaintances. When the conversation strayed away from him, Tristan just watched her with a goofy grin. Nora could practically see the cartoon hearts in his eyes.

And lord, they ate. The food here was so fun that everyone had to try everything, and they’d not even made it through the course when Matty and Tristan had flagged the waiter to add a couple more things “for the table.” Nora had been worried about Tristan pushing himself to make her crazy or Jorge egging him on to make her crazy, but all three of them were just in their element, enjoying the food and drinks like they did this all the time. Nora tried to pretend she didn’t notice how excessive it was, and realized early on that she was gonna be the designated driver equivalent, because even though none of them were driving, these guys were gonna have trouble finding their way to the subway, or an Uber. She sipped water and enjoyed the show.

By the time their actual meals arrived, the guys had already put away one of everything on the appetizer menu and two pints each. Tristan sat back on the bench with one arm tight around Nora’s shoulders, and she snuggled into his shoulder, rubbing his belly with one hand. That wasn’t even inappropriate; there was something about the ambiance of the place that made belly-rubbing part of the meal. Nora just leaned into it, practically purring with pleasure as Tristan drank and laughed and glowed with the people she considered her family.

None of them slowed down over their mains, not really, even though Tristan’s “mac and cheese” was a massive skillet of five-cheese gooeyness crumbled with fajita chicken and more Cheeto crunch. Massive was this place’s MO, everyone here knew what they were getting into.

“Hell of a cheat day,” Jorge finally did say, winking at Nora. “I don’t need to eat again until next week.” He’d left a wreck of his burger, which was too big for mere mortals, and was throwing in the towel.

Tristan wasn’t slowing in the least, but he nodded enthusiastically. “I’m coming here every cheat day, starting tomorrow.” He grinned at Nora, who was by now curled into herself, nursing her beer and watching the meal unfold with burning cheeks.

“Dessert, though,” Matty said. Nora didn’t expect this of him, but maybe she should have. He’d brought them here. He knew what he’d gotten them into. “Save room. We have to at least try the tempura spread.”

Tristan nodded. “Save room. Sure,” he said. Nora, eyes flickering to his beltline every 90 seconds, was well aware that room was not something he would save, it was something he would make. “You gonna eat your fries?” he asked Jorge, who responded by laughing entirely in Nora’s direction.

“All yours. Try the burger too,” he suggested. Tristan didn’t need to be asked. He just pulled the whole plate over, polishing off his skillet of pasta in three more bites.

Jorge eventually excused himself for the washroom and Matt was texting his wife, so Nora sat forward, placed a hand on Tristan’s arm, and spoke quietly.

“How are you doing?” she asked. He’d hardly slowed down since the main meal arrived.

Tristan looked at her with a relaxed, casual smile. “My stomach must be stretched out after yesterday. This is nothing,” he said. He pinched some of Jorge’s fries, grunting appreciatively. “What should I get for dessert?” He nudged the menu at her.

Nora studied him closely. “Want to take a break first?”

Tristan crammed as much of Jorge’s burger into his mouth as he could. “Mmm, maybe not. Wouldn’t want all this to catch up with me.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “It’s going to catch up with you one way or the other,” she pointed out.

“Yah, but maybe I can get dessert in first,” Tristan said, suppressing a wider grin. Nora’s eyes bore into him. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze, pretending he didn’t notice. “Anyway, I missed lunch, with the gym and all. I’m famished.”

“Hmm,” Nora said. “Are you.”

“Skip dessert if you must, but Matty will join me, won’t ya, Matt?”

Matt looked up, distracted. “Hm? Yah, sure, let’s get the spread.”

“Just a normal, big meal,” Tristan said, a little lower. He finished Jorge’s dinner with deliberation, and snagged the last risotto ball Matt had left behind. Then he slowly pushed back from the table, leaning against the wall.

Nora’s eyes widened. He was full, the kind of full that was on clear display. Fuller than yesterday, that was very clear. He released a slow breath as he eased into a slightly reclined sit, a noise that made Nora’s pussy clench. His belly was so round that his belt had slipped under the bulge and his shirt couldn’t cover the real estate. He wasn’t even trying.

Nora was about to launch herself at him, but Jorge returned from the washrooms then. He dropped in his chair and gave Tristan a look of frank appraisal. “Had enough, there, buddy?” he teased, staring at his belly. Tristan grinned and folded his hands over his stomach.

“We’re getting the tempura spread for dessert,” he said. “You in?”

Jorge’s jaw dropped, and he quickly glanced at Nora before looking back at Tristan. “Where the hell are you gonna put it? I already feel like I swallowed a boulder, and I’ve been to the men’s.”

Tristan ran his hands over the curve of his bulging stomach a couple times, working out a belch. “Wherever I need to,” he said. “Cheat day. I gotta take my shot.”

Jorge finally looked at Nora. “He’s definitely one of yours,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.

Nora didn’t trust herself to speak. She wanted so badly to climb into Tristan’s lap and feel the extent of the damage, but all she could do was turn red and nod. When she glanced at Tristan, he quickly looked away, trying to feign casual distraction. He was flushed pink too.

Matt tucked his phone away and flagged the waiter for dessert and another round of drinks. Tristan thumped his belly twice and lurched forward to lean on the table again. Nora watched as he widened his legs and took a deep breath, his belly expanding, hidden by the table. “I can’t wait,” he said enthusiastically. Nora made fists to avoid grabbing him.

The beers were probably the worst. A pint is a lot of liquid, and the guys were into their fourth, at least. Nora had barely had one and she needed a bathroom break, for more reason than one. She touched Tristan’s shoulder and met his eyes awkwardly.

“I need, um,” she gestured beyond him at the restaurant. “To scoot out for a moment.”

The smile that ghosted over Tristan’s face was almost devilish.

“Oh, of course,” he said. He sat straight and scooted over with a grunt, turning and levering himself off the bench belly-first. As soon as he was standing, he took a deep breath, patting his belly apologetically with one hand. “Whoof,” he said. “Sorry. I’m getting to be a big boy.”

Nora noted he didn’t really move far from the table, forcing her to brush by him as she climbed to a stand. He offered a hand like he was being gallant, and deliberately led her so close that his belly pressed into her. She couldn’t keep her squeak-like gasp silent enough. She noted the shiver of goosebumps on his arm before she released his hand and practically fled.

She used the washroom time to steady herself, splashing water on her face and taking a few deep breaths. She could not have an orgasm in front of her friends. She could not mount the man at the table. Even if he was deliberately trying to push her as close to the edge as he could, she had to hang on. She couldn’t decide if she loved or hated what this was doing to her. She was painfully frustrated and as turned on as she had ever been in her whole life.

When she got back to the table, Tristan was still standing there, Leaning casually against a girder and chatting with Jorge about miniature painting as if his belly wasn’t pooched out like a basketball, his shirt riding up. When he spotted Nora’s approach, he smiled and his face softened, until he caught the look still glowing in her eyes and reddened a little.

Before sitting down, she stepped close to him, leaning into his ear with both hands on his belly, relishing in the size and girth of him while she could.

“You had better not get too full to fuck me tonight,” she murmured, trailing her fingers past the hem of his shirt, over his bare underbelly, and taking hold of his straining belt, “I might not accept that as an excuse.”

She pulled back and met his eyes, finding his pupils fully dilated and his lips parted.

“No such thing,” he whispered back, and she felt his cock throb into his belt just under her fingers, as if making his point.

Nora grinned and slid into the booth, Tristan following so close after her that his belly bumped her ass before she sat and he tucked close to her side an instant later. He leaned in to whisper back:

“Get this belt off of me or I will never get the rest of this beer down.”

Nora raised an amused eyebrow and pressed him back by the chest. She glanced apologetically at her friends and then wrestled his belt open, his fly too, then patted his belly as he took a deep breath and reached for his beer. He groaned exaggeratedly and flashed a broad smile, playing up the role of dumb jock at the buffet. Then he emptied the rest of the pint with one hand on his expanding stomach, burping when he finished. “There we go,” he declared.

“You happy with yourself?” Jorge teased her with a knowing smile.

“He was like this when I found him,” she said innocently.

Tristan leaned over with another exaggerated groan and pressed into her with a kiss that quickly got out of hand. Matt and Jorge laughed and took digs at them, but from where she sat, back against the wall with Tristan’s belly spilling into her lap, his hand pressing subtly between her legs, and his kisses coming heavy and desperate, all she could feel was the inevitable explosion she could hardly keep back.

Then dessert.

Nora had misunderstood what Matt had meant by “tempura spread”, thinking he meant something like a sauce. But no, he meant a full spread of tempura-battered treats, a sharing platter, a table’s worth of desserts that clearly exceeded their remaining capacity. Except Nora knew Tristan wouldn’t let anything go uneaten, so she practically became a coach, bullying her friends into eating all they could just to spare her poor Tristan, who was too drunk and horny and manic to think straight.

Even she ate three things, taking a hit for the team, but in the end Tristan demolished the better half of the course. By the end he hardly seemed able to breathe, and Nora gave up subtlety to sidle up next to him and give his belly a firm massage, he groaning with relief, just to free up the space she knew he was gonna fill no matter what. When he finished, he happily slumped into her, head on her shoulder, moaning quietly with a huge grin on his face.

“I’ve got the bill,” she told Jorge and Matt. “You guys go ahead. We might need a minute before we’re going anywhere.”

“Oh my God,”’ Tristan groaned. “This place is the greatest place on earth.” He hiccuped and pressed his hand over hers where his belly stretched the most. “They just need reclining couches, like the Romans.”

“Glad you like the place, Tris, but I am three seconds away from all kinds of things that are illegal to do in restaurants, so maybe you can come here and recline sometime without me…”

“I would never come here without you,” he said vehemently, “nor anywhere else. You stir my appetite, love. I feast for you alone.”

“Tris, can you sit up?”

“Only if it is to roll into an Uber.”

“You need to get me out of here, Tristan. Immediately.”

“Yes, ma’m,” he said, a little breathlessly. He slowly levered himself off the bench then took her hand, waddling out of the pub with his belly preceding him by half a foot.

“Sorry,” he muttered once they were outside and he’d wrapped his arms around her as she slowly rubbed circles around his swollen stomach. “I didn’t mean to get like…this. I just can’t resist. Not with you. Not while—“ He stopped speaking as his whole body shivered with goosebumps when her hands glanced around to the bottom of his belly, massaging the area firmly under his shirt. His eyes closed with a gasp of pleasure.

“Do you regret this, Tristan?” she murmured, voice low since they were huddled so close.

“No,” he breathed.

“Then don’t apologize. If you can’t already tell how pleased I am, you will soon.”

[ichiwashername-o]

Saw the trailer for Wicked. Loved it. Play come to the Silver Screen. Annnnd...that reminded me, YEARS ago I read a pair of fics that kind of served as a "fix-it" to the Wicked universe. They were a bit dark, but not as dark as the "Wicked Years" books. And then they vanished at some point. So I posted on Reddit yesterday looking for them and someone found them...like yesterday or today I think, and that lead me here. I remember you on FFN. I remember your writings very fondly. I was sad to see them go but now maybe they can be posted to A03 or something? You're as hype for this fandom as ever lol. I was away from it for years. Thank you. I love happy endings and redemption and I remember your stories being two of the best for that.

Thank you for the kind words! And yes, way back when over on fanfiction.net, I went by the username Ichiko Wind Gryphon. Notable fics that I wrote were "Dangerous Secrets," The Fire That Consumes Us All" (that's still such a dumb name and I wish I thought about that title more) and "Cursed Blood."

And in fact, someone (magica12, huge shout-out to you) reached out to me on deviantart and they were able to lead me to an awesome archived website where I could find all of my old deleted fics! It was such a rush of nostalgia. I deleted those fics in a fit of me cringing at my past self and I regretted it ever since, but thanks to them, I can reread all those fics I poured so much time and love into!

I definitely plan on re-uploading them, either on AO3 or fanfiction.net. And when I do, I'll be sure to post about it here! It may take a while, as I'll be pretty busy in the upcoming weeks, but keep your eyes open!

[medlarmeadows]

I’m a dance major (and I’m not) 5 6 7 8!

Charlie Slimecicle x fem!reader

Theatre kid au

Synopsis: You and Charlie have been best friends ever since you met in your high school’s theatre club in freshman year. Since then, you were inseparable, even though you were a techie, and he was an actor.

Or, tech week goes really well, with a little luck.

Warning(s): swearing, cuticle picking, slight anxiety, high school theatre tech week.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: In loving memory of all the high schools that recently finished tech week (I am not American I only saw any of this on TikTok) (Also I assume those TikToks pertain to American high schools? I actually don’t know sorry) (I hope people get the title LOL it's the sound I saw some people used). And thank you to the wonderful @fullofgutsndopamine for beta-ing this for me :)

As a wise man once said, behind every great actor is an exasperated techie.

That wise man was truly wise, because you could find nothing better to encapsulate the current state of your friendship with Charlie.

You were sitting in a pile of wires, trying to hold on to a shred of sanity because who the fuck sorted these wires yesterday, when your goofball of a best friend stumbles into the theatre.

“Y/N!” cries Charlie, practically sprinting towards you with enough energy to power a sun.

“Charlie,” you deadpan, not even looking up from your sorting because whoever coiled these wires needed to be strangled by one –

“Y/N, I’m having a crisis,” he cries again, dramatically flopping at your feet on the carpeted floor of the high school’s auditorium. He reaches for a wire, presumably to start strangling himself, and you snatch it back from him with an annoyed tch.

“So am I,” you deadpan again. “I have no idea who touched these wires last, but they’re tangled as shit and I need to sort them and coil them before rehearsal today.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Charlie freeze in place as a guilty expression takes over his face.

“Charlie.”

“Y/N.”

Exasperatedly, you pause your sorting and stare at him.

“Did you coil the wires last?”

Silence, and you see Charlie’s eyes dart between yours and the pile of tangled wires on the floor, then:

“Maybe?”

You should have let him strangle himself with the wire.

“Charlie, you’re not even a techie!”

“I’m sorry!” He throws his hands in the air. “You guys were so busy after rehearsal, and Nate was shouting, ‘Can somebody help keep the wires!’, and nobody else was free, and the security guard was minutes away from chasing us out, so I volunteered myself.”

You stare at your best friend for a second, absorbing the flurry of words that had just tumbled out of his mouth, before leaning over to flick his forehead.

“Ow!” he complains, holding his forehead.

“Karma’s a bitch,” you say without bite.

“I guess no good deed goes unpunished, huh,” he laments.

“We’re not even doing Wicked, nerd.”

“We should! I would make a great Elphaba.”

Charlie begins to sing the climax of Defying Gravity. You smack his shoulder before he can get too far.

“Shut up, idiot, you’re going to ruin your vocal cords before rehearsals even start.”

“Aw you care,” Charlie coos at you, reaching up to pinch your cheek.

You lean back as you try to bat his hand away, only to tumble over your pile of wires. Your groan is interrupted by a fit of laughter from Charlie.

“Now it’s even more tangled,” you complain.

“Hey, hey.”

You glare at Charlie as he scoots over to you to pull you back to sitting.

“You’re looking a little tied up, want some help?”

“I will strangle you – ”

Your voice cuts off when you catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall of the auditorium. You had fifteen minutes till the rest of your crew would start to stream in for rehearsal. You don’t even realise that you had started picking at your cuticles until gentle hands pry yours apart.

You exchange glances with Charlie, your best friend, your partner-in-crime, your actor to your techie. And you know immediately that he has clocked your anxiety for the impending disaster that would be the rehearsal if you don’t get the wires sorted in time.

“C’mon,” his voice is gentle. “I’ll help you and we’ll sort them a little faster. Just tell me what to do.”

The two of you sort and coil the wires in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing whenever one of you leans to grab a wire that was just a little too far away. With two pairs of hands, the wires are sorted and coiled just in time for the first people to start streaming into the auditorium.

You’re gathering the wires in your arms and about to rush off when Charlie stops you.

“Wait, I have – ” he interrupts himself, shooting you a sheepish, almost embarrassed grin as he rummages through his pockets. You look at him expectantly, but the look melts into one of fondness as he pulls out a small keychain shaped like a tech headset.

“It’s a good luck charm for you,” he says proudly.

Your mouth falls slightly open in shock.

“For tech week?”

“For tech week.”

God, you guys were such theatre kids.

“I didn’t get anything for you,” you say, warmth rising in your neck.

Charlie shrugs as he moves to hand it to you, but when he realises that your arms are too full to take it, he bends and clips the keychain to the belt loop of your jeans.

“I don’t need a keychain when I have you!” he says as he pats your shoulders good-naturedly.

You’re saved from having to give him a proper reaction when somebody yells for Charlie to get backstage to prepare. So, you mouth “Thank you” to Charlie just before the two of you are swept up by the whirlwind of chaos that was tech week rehearsal.

In your three years of friendship with Charlie, the two of you had never really gotten gifts for each other, much less good luck charms. But then again, it was your last tech week of your high school career, so maybe you did need it.

Equipped with a good luck charm from your best friend, you were sure that tech week was going to go just fine.

-

As it turns out, you really did need the good luck charm.

Over the week, several episodes of misfortune occurred. First, part of the set piece fell apart during a climax scene. Then, two of the leads’ mics stopped working during two separate rehearsals. Subsequently, two ensemble members sprained their ankles tripping over a prop. In a completely unrelated incident (lie), you now had a broken bench that needed to be fixed. Lastly, you got chased out by the security guard before the techies could keep all of the equipment. You returned the next day to find three wires and a wireless mic set missing.

All in all, it was tech week. And somehow, you got out of it alive.

By some miracle, the set pieces and props were easily fixed. The two ensemble members had gotten injured at the beginning of the week, so by the end of it their ankles were much better, and both were ready to perform. Another techie found the missing wires and mic at the beginning of the last day of tech week by sheer luck when she was cleaning out the backstage area.

You suppose you should thank Charlie for the good luck charm.

You didn’t get much time alone with your best friend during tech week, the both of you being too caught up with your various responsibilities as an actor and techie. So, by the end of tech week, it was safe to say you missed your best friend.

“And that’s a wrap for tech week!”

Your director’s words are met with cheers from your whole crew. Tech week was over, nothing burned down, and you were officially less than 24 hours to opening night.

Charlie finds you as you’re packing your bag, his own bag sitting on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” you return, bumping his shoulder. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”

He rubs the back of his neck as he replies, “Yeah, it’s been a crazy week, huh?”

You hum in agreement, before unclipping the keychain he gave you and holding it out to him.

“Turns out I really did need the good luck charm. I don’t think I would’ve made it through otherwise, so, thank you. Now’s your turn to have the keychain for opening night.”

He chuckles, reaching forward and taking it from you. Then, he’s grabbing you by the belt loop and pulling you closer, clipping the keychain back onto your belt loop.

“What – Charlie – ”

“I told you, I already have my good luck charm,” he says sincerely, gazing into your eyes.

The two of you are close, standing inside each other’s personal bubble. You’re acutely aware of Charlie’s hand hovering over your hip where he had clipped the keychain. You’re also aware that you’re so close you can see specks of green in his blue eyes.

“Charlie,” you whisper. “What does that mean?”

His smile line crinkles as he says, “How about I tell you after opening night?”

There’s a quiet moment as he studies your face for your reaction.

“Okay,” you reply.

You’re not sure what drives you to do your next action – maybe because you missed your best friend and the stress of tech week and opening night were getting to you – but you’re pulling Charlie in for a hug before you can stop yourself.

“A hug for good luck,” you blurt out.

For an embarrassing second, Charlie doesn’t move. Then he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you.

The two of you pull away, smiling.

“You’re gonna smash it tomorrow, Charlie.”

“So are you.”

“I think I’d rather not smash anything,” you joke.

Charlie shoves you slightly, and the two of you are chuckling.

The biggest event of your senior year was happening in less than 24 hours. And the two of you were going to get through it by the power of friendship and good luck charms.

[sula0kim]

DAY SIX WICKED EYESSS

ahhhhh yess my waifu xddcc anyways prompts for today was unnatural eyes and since like episode 3 came out like yesterday I decided to draw her to be honest this my first time drawing her DIGITALLY aside from that i know that like the was a few ppl that drew pomni to be honest I lit chose her before I saw the other pieces of art

Lol that’s all for today

[alltimefail]

Happy Day 6 of Cast Appreciation Week to Lukas Gage, Joshua Colley, and Gabriel Drake!

I am once again fashionably late lol, but we're still pushing forward! None of these guys are on Tumblr (to our knowledge haha), but I’m singing their praises everywhere today!

Our perfect Cat King, Monty, and Simon… we love you boys so much! 💜💀🔎

Transcript of my letters below the cut!

LETTER 1:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Lukas,

You poofed on screen in your little throne and I yelled at my TV, “YESSS BITCH!” very loudly. That sentiment toward The Cat King pretty much persisted every time you appeared, just so you know!

You are an enthralling, incredible actor. Your gestures, your delivery, your expressions, the way you played off of George’s Edwin so, so well... it was simply genius. I would believe you were half-cat if you told us that in earnest because The Cat King’s mannerisms were spot on. You masterfully walked the fine line of a character that’s as incredibly charming and alluring as he is wicked and dangerous, which is no easy feat. Some of the most divine characters in fantasy are the “Chaotic Neutrals,” the tricksters, the ones who do what they want, when they want, and will go to any lengths as a means to achieve their ends because the audience never knows which version of them they’ll get next. I felt like every time we saw you on screen, we learned something new about your character, no matter how brief the time was.

I never wanted Edwin with The Cat King, yet I found their chemistry to be electric. I could not imagine anyone else playing the role, and I don’t know if I’ll ever view a “Shifter” entity with the same kind of delight I view The Cat King, and I know that’s largely due to your unbelievable performance.

You are our Cat King, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

——————————————————

LETTER 2:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Joshua,

When an actor can take a character I would normally not love and somehow charm the heck out of me, that’s when I’m really impressed... and you did that with Monty!

You radiate such a fun, warm, inviting energy; that part of you found its way into Monty and, somehow, into my heart. I joke that I’m a Charles-adjacent spirit, so much like Charles I was averse to Monty at first, but I was shocked to find myself starting to see him as a little possible extension of the group and hoping he would stick around and shake Esther’s influence! I blame you, really, (a compliment, lol) because you’re so darn talented and you made Monty glow on screen. He was complex and naiv, innocent and whimsical, and you captured his essence and “Born Yesterday” sparkling outlook on the world with expertise.

I didn’t even want him and Edwin together and I pouted, full-on pouted, and said, “Awww, poor Monty... we’ve all been there babe” when Edwin told him he didn’t reciprocate his feelings! I can’t say enough about how impressed I was with you, truly. Monty is a quintessential part of the narrative in my opinion, and I could not imagine anyone else playing him.

You are our Monty, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

——————————————————

LETTER 3:

Happy Cast Appreciation Week! October 25, 2024

Dearest Gabriel,

First off, you played your role so well that Simon, despite his flaws, became one of the characters that fascinated me the most. Seriously!

I wanted to see more of him, to see more of his and Edwin’s past dynamic, and to understand how he got to the point he did in life. When I’m watching the show back, I can’t help but wonder if Edwin might have told Charles about Simon, or about their brief passing in Hell, and what Charles would have thought about their conversation. While Simon’s actions angered me and were objectively abhorrent, I still felt immense sympathy for him, and during his scene with Edwin in Hell, I wept for them both. I was moved by your portrayal of his complexities, and although our time with you was brief, it made a lasting impact.

The scene you and George had together in Hell is perhaps one of the most provocative conversations between two canon queer characters on screen. When I think of the impact Dead Boy Detectives has had on the LGBTQ+ community, your scene is one of the first ones I think about, and Simon’s self-hatred is a tragedy all too common amongst our own. Seeing it play out was heartbreaking, but necessary. You did a phenomenal job.

You are our Simon, always and forever, and we will all be here to support you (and fight for you) in all your current and future endeavors.

All my love, Veronica “V” @ atfsims1

[chu-diaries]

140 days of productivity: days 35, 36 and 37/140

The last few days have been hard, so today I want to start by listing the things that, after spending the whole night crying, made me smile as soon as I saw them:

- a lizard running to lie down in the sun

- two parakeets resting in a tree

- kind people in traffic

- a man on a machine fixing the wiring on a street pole

- a girl taking a picture of her orange soda to post on social media

All of this made me happy for a few seconds. Today I'm feeling really depressed, so seeing life outside of myself is like receiving a tonic of hope and joy.

I've been working and studying a lot, which makes me think that I've never taken a vacation since my first job. Still, there's a lot to do. My generation isn't going to retire and I can't count on someone to support me financially or clean my house for me. Sometimes I miss being younger and having the comfort of living with my parents… my only concern was studying and getting good grades. What a simple life! Now I just feel emotionally, physically and mentally drained all the time lol.

🩸: day 4/27

💧: 1 L

🏋🏻‍♀️: 🚫

🏃🏻‍♀️: 🚫

🕯️: did two wick tests on 20g and 60g candles (3 h)

🪘: 🚫

🇰🇷: 🚫

🎧: pineapple slice - baekhyun

📺: one piece live action - ep. 6-7

📚: the things you can see only when you slow down - haemin sunim

🛑: 🚫

💊: vitamin c, iron and omega 3 supplements

[lanassgirlll]

Old Faces

part 1, part 2

Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The last time you saw the Mikaelson family, you got left heartbroken. Now, you meet a certain member of the family again after centuries.

Warnings: kidnapping (kinda?) tiniest bit of angst ig?, mentions of paranoia and anxiety, use of y/n!

AN: So, I'm thinking about making this story into two or three parts. Also, I haven't decided which the love interest will be, so I will make a poll and I ask of anyone who reads this, to vote and choose!! Anyway, enjoy my new story and I hope you like it! (side note: please excuse any grammar and spelling mistakes, lol)

Getting out of the taxi, Y/N took in a deep breath whilst looking around the fascinating streets of New Orleans. She had only been here a few times, long before the city had been made into what it is today. So, saying the place had changed would be underestimating.

It was almost dark outside, and she couldn't wait to have a shower and get some sleep. The flight she had booked was early in the morning, so she had spent many hours in the air just to get here.

Taking her bags out of the car, Y/N slowly made her way inside the hotel she had booked a room in. The hotel itself wasn't anything special and it wasn't one of the best places to stay in the city. But she liked the simple, rather than the extravagant places, so this would be just perfect for her.

It was now early in the morning when Y/N was getting ready for her day. She had decided that she'd spend the few days she was staying in the city, exploring, and collecting little souvenirs for her home in Europe, instead of sulking and rotting in the bed of her hotel room. Y/N didn't like traveling so far away from home much, as she loved the comfort of it, but whenever she did, collecting things that would catch her eye was like a tradition for her. Her house was full of colorful toys, rugs, all kinds of weird cutlery and even furniture, all of which she had gotten from her travels.

Putting on her coat and grabbing her bag, she made her way out of the room, and outside into the streets of New Orleans.

After strolling around the more modern part of the city, Y/N decided to go to the famous French Quarter, as she had heard many good things about it. At least more good than bad, as the place was known for the wicked vampires, werewolves and witches, who somehow could never make peace between their communities.

The place was truly beautiful, she had to admit. The buildings, the people, the jazz music, which she didn't like much, but it was still charming in a way.

But as she was walking around the streets, simply just admiring the place like a kid would admire a toy store, Y/N couldn't get off the feeling that someone was following her.

Sure, she was known for being a little too paranoid at times, but this time she really couldn't figure out why. A thousand questions were running in her mind: Was it because of the stories she had heard about this place? Were the witches trying to get her for being in their territory? The fear was slowly building up as the paranoia was taking over her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly made her way into an alleyway and looked around, just to make sure she was alone.

Just as she was about to turn around and make her way back to the hotel, a man appeared in front of her. And as she was about to speak, the unfamiliar man broke her neck, and her world went dark.

Slowly waking up, a quiet groan escaped Y/N's lips. She figured it had to be from getting her neck broken. As the realisation kicked in, she opened her eyes and looked around.

She was in a big room, big windows letting the bright sun lighten the space. The room itself didn't have much furniture nor any people in it. She looked down at herself and saw that she was tied down to a chair, and from the burning that she felt, it was obvious that the ropes were soaked with vervain. Great.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she managed to speak up.

''Hello? Is there anyone?''

She had to admit, she was scared to death right now. She had never really been in any situations like this up until now. She had never gotten attacked by anyone and it's been a few good centuries since anyone has broken her neck. She didn't really know how to fight either, since she never had any reason to. The worst feeling was the anxiety she was feeling at that very moment, she hated the feeling of the unknown.

How could she be this stupid? She was such an old vampire and she always let her fears get the worst out of her at the worst moments. Like this one. Y/N thought that this would be the day she'd die.

She was so lost in her thought, she didn't even notice the man that was now standing behind her.

''What do we have here?''

Hearing the deep voice behind her out of nowhere, made her squeak and close her eyes tightly, trying to control her breathing. She was a scaredy cat and at that moment she felt more embarrassed than afraid.

''Who are you? What do you want with me?''

The questions flew out of her mouth as she tried to get a better look at the man behind her.

''The more important question is, who are you? And what are you doing here?''

Just as Y/N was about to answer his questions out of fear for her life, she heard another man walking into the room. Of course, she couldn't see him either and the only thing she could hear now, was the quiet mumbling between the two of them.

Y/N swore that the voice of the man who had just walked in was one she had heard before. She just couldn't place where.

She looked down at her hands, trying to pull them out of the ropes, even though she knew it was of no use. She hissed at the burning feeling and clenched her jaw. Y/N was getting angry now. She had done nothing wrong to deserve this.

''Hello? If you won't tell me what you want, just let me go! I have done nothing to you!''

As she looked up, with the corner of her eye saw one of the men making his way over to her. He stood in front of her and looked her up and down, and Y/N swore she could feel the judgment in his eyes.

''Quick change of attitude, I see?''

The man was tall, with dark skin and sharp face. His expression wasn't giving anything out, and she couldn't read him.

''Look, I only-''

She stopped mid-sentence as the other man now stood in front of her, too. Memories started flooding her mind as she stared up at him. It had been centuries since she last saw him.

The one and only, Elijah Mikaelson.

He was looking at her, like he had just seen a ghost. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were parted, as he was sucking in a breath.

Before either of them could make a sound, the dark-haired man that stood next to Elijah, spoke up first.

''I'm guessing the two of you know each other. Care to explain, Elijah?''

Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, looking away from them without a saying a word. She was getting overwhelmed with all the memories that were coming back. She had been keeping them locked at the back of her mind, as they were too painful. It had taken her decades to get over what had happened. In all honesty, she never truly got over it, but at least she managed to control the thoughts.

''Marcel, would you be so kind and leave us.''

She heard the man, whose name apparently was Marcel, sigh with a hint of annoyance before slowly making his way out of the room.

Y/N reluctantly looked up at Elijah again, her jaw still clenched tight. He looked so different since the way time she saw him, yet still the same in a way. The only obvious changes were, of course, his clothes and his hair style. 

''Y/N, this is- a really unexpected surprise.''

She scoffed as she heard his words. Using the word 'unexpected' was a funny way to describe it.

''Then let me go, and we can all continue with our day, peacefully.''

''I'm afraid I can't do that. Just yet.''

''You cannot be serious, Elijah.''

She was so angry at this point, her blood was boiling. What did he want with her? She knew that he didn't know she was here until he saw her with his own eyes. The shocked face he had made told her everything she needed to know.

''Just let me go. I don't know why your friend had to snap my neck and bring me here, but I assure you, I have done no wrong to him!''

Elijah had a small smile dancing on his lips as she chuckled at her words lightly.

''What's so funny?''

''I'm just- I am at loss of words. You've changed so much since the last time we saw each other.''

''I will not sit here and suffer, just because you want to chit chat.''

As she was looking at him, she saw as an emotion flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before she had the chance to figure out what it meant.

Suddenly, he ripped the ropes off her hands and threw them down on the ground.

Y/N quickly stood up and took a few steps backwards, needing space from him.

''Don't expect a 'thank you'.''

''Why are you here, Y/N?''

Her brows furrowed as she heard his question.

''Excuse me? Suddenly you own the world? I was here on a holiday, and now you have ruined it!''

His face was like a rock. She couldn't figure him out anymore and it was slowly annoying her even more, along with the other hundred things that had already did.

''No, of course not.''

''Listen, Elijah. I don't want to be around you. So, I will get my things and go back home, and you won't hear or see me ever again. Sounds good? Great!''

Just as she started walking towards the door Marcel had walked out of earlier, figuring that had to be the way out of the building, Elijah appeared in front of her, startling her.

''Jesus-''

''Don't go. Just not yet, at least.''

''I don't owe you anything Elijah. And you don't deserve a second of my time. Now get out of my way.''

''Y/N, please, let's talk. Or let me talk. I believe we have much to go through.''

She was looking at him, thinking about his plea. Was she really about to agree with him? She had tried so hard to keep the memories out of her mind, because of how painful they were.

But just like in the past, she really could never say no to him.

Knowing she'd regret it later, she took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest, before speaking up quietly.

''Fine, let's talk.''

[voidsuites]

MAYAAAAA. I MISSED UUUUU 😩

how are you doing? what do you have to tell? 💕

hi!!!!! 💗💗💗 i’m doing well! feeling a lot less-stressed with being on my winter break + being able to spend more time at home! super excited to get these next round of bots out… snagged a copy of preacher’s daughter on vinyl… i saw wicked and queer on monday and yesterday and loved them BOTH. omg the queer soundtrack— the reg and the ost— are so delicious. related a LOT to elphaba… can they leave my girl alone????

need to grab a few more things for christmas gifts so i’m glad i got paid today 💀 LOL but other than that i’m just chilling. loving all the time i have to bed rot i’ve been waiting for this since september. living my best life. hope you’re well!!! <3333

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

last week before break!! and it should be a pretty chill one… a last minute cancellation means i have 5 or 6 sessions left, depending on whether this homework help student i may or may not be giving a trial session to comes through, and the only prep i have left is digitizing a single practice test for the hunter exam, although ideally i’d like to get the next one done along with another ACT and some workbook pages so i can hit the ground running in january (and there is that dev work to do….). i’ve been thinking about my idea of setting a goal for hours worked in a year and what i might do with my time in those weeks where i can theoretically get away with doing less and honestly… i might just try to bank some ACTs… it’s such a long fucking test…. although also my one ACT student might switch to the SAT so other things may wind up more pressing lol.

another thing i have been Pondering this week is, i stopped doing a morning routine of any kind because i was so busy and it took so long and i didn’t feel like i had the time, and honestly, HONESTLY, it’s been fine in that i have enough of an internalized routine that i’ve made it through fall mostly doing what i need to do and not even feeling particularly horrible (i checked my time tracking app and last fall i was working less but my mental health was soooooo much worse), so on some level i was like well maybe i don’t really have a use for a morning routine. but i think by now i have come to the realization that if there is anything i want to change, add, or improve…. that’s where the morning routine comes in lol. that’s the value add of a little conversation with myself.

this week was p. good! some quiet productive days at home in which i, most importantly, tamed my room so that waking up in or entering it doesn’t fill me with a wave of despair that requires repression, and also continued addressing the kitchen situation. on friday i saw gladiator ii (fun and denzel is going CRAZY but paul mescal is no russell crowe) & sang britney’s novelty christmas song at a bar that does karaoke fridays (“we all thought we didn’t know this song and then we all realized at the exact same time we did” — two separate people to me afterwards), & on saturday (i did not plan for this) i saw wicked (once again: ariana grande literally deserves an oscar) & got diner food with a friend i hadn’t seen since summer. today i worked & tried to do a little set up for tomorrow & worked out, which i only managed twice this week (my steps were also very low and guess what i have also been having a terrible fucking time falling asleep…. hmmmmmm……..), which means i am finally set to finish this fucking program tomorrow or whenever my legs feel up to hiit day. i am either going to start it straight over because i liked it a lot or do one of her shorter problems while my body continues reacclimating to working out until i can get on a five day schedule again… will depend on how i wake up the next couple days lol. other than that, try to get in a couple more amnesty blurbs (i’ve managed 4 so far which is a little less than i wanted but oh well…), keep it chill for week 15, and… maybe bring back the morning routine? as an experiment to start seeing what feels good right now so by january i have a plan? maybe! we’ll see.

[hey-hamlet]

I was gonna ask for number 3 for iruma, *briefly, he wonders when this turned into a cinderella story* but iruma was a cinderella story right from the start, lol, so!

How about number 18? I can see it fit very well for when one of Irumas friends learn about his parents, but feel free to take it any way you want!

As the saying goes, you learn something new every day. Today he learned that, apparently, homicide was an act of love.

Sat on the floor of the Magitools battler, Alice worried, shredding paper with his claws so he didn't shred his own hands. Iruma hadn't used his wings when they'd battled the kraken, instead getting into position with a surge of water. That wasn't too strange - he didn't know much about archery - maybe flight wasn't stable enough? But - it was the silliest thing. Iruma had tripped in the sand. Most demons would instinctively flare their wings to stop themselves from falling. Iruma hadn't.

"Azz-azz?" Alice jolted, whipping around to face the door. Clara padded in, looking concerned. "Whats wrong?" Alice shouldn't. If he was right, then it was a massive invasion of privacy to be speculating like this. But, he just couldn't let it go.

"Have you ever seen Iruma's wings?" Clara laughed, sitting down beside him.

"Of course -" she paused, brow furrowing. "I - have I seen Iruma-chi's wings?" her face twisted, hands clutching at her dress. Alice watched as she squirmed, lip bitten and fighting with herself. "Iruma-chi's really close with his grandpa, but never talks about his parents." The words tumbled out of her, almost overlapping. Alice wished she'd never said them.

"No - not their own son - they couldn't have -" But Iruma was so small when he'd started at Babilus - all hollow faced and bird boned. It could have just been how he looked, but he'd filled out quickly, pale skin warming, his hair regaining a luster Alice hadn't known it was missing. Iruma, who hated fighting but who's skin was crisscrossed with scars.

The horror faded rapidly, replaced by a burning, aching rage. He saw his anger mirrored on Clara, her face contorted into a snarl he'd never seen her wear before. He breathed carefully, fighting to keep himself from slipping into his wicked phase on school grounds.

"Azz? Clara?" Iruma's soft voice doused his anger, leaving a clawing sadness in its wake. "Are you guys ok?" Alice couldn't help himself - he threw himself at his friend, wrapping his arms around him like he could shield him from the world. Clara clearly had the same idea, wrapped around his back like an octopus, hands fisted in his uniform jacket.

"If anyone hurts you, I'll kill them." Alice muttered, face pressed into his hair.

"I'll make them wish they were dead!" Clara near yelled into Iruma's shoulder, almost looking like she was trying to merge herself into him in her distress.

Iruma flushed brilliantly, so bright they could feel the warmth radiate from his face. "I don't - what's going on?"