#I write eight pages in my sleep

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Watching Harmony Forest instead of writing my last two college essays…but it’s okay because looking at Intak will make me motivated to drink water finish my finals assignments so I can look at Intak even MORE and with less stress!!!

But seriously you want me to write eight pages on communication and character when I could instead watch brunette Intak in a cap win at dodgeball?? One of those is clearly the better option

[tempestclerics]

holy shit I am so tired

[httpknjoon]

satellite | jjk

plot | Your friend, Jungkook, offers to help you while you review for your human anatomy exam.

w.c | 3K

genre | fluff, slight angst, fwb (but nothing 18+ happened)

pairing | jungkook x medstudent!reader

note | written from my own swamp of academic-related activities

main masterlist | playlist

JK

u up?

You

yep

i'm studying

exams tomorrow

JK

:(

can i come over

You

yes but don't be a distraction

JK

u know i can't help it 😪

You

🙄

i'm busy stop texting me

JK

will be there in five

You

door's open no need to knock

JK

see u 😉

Maybe you should have just pursued a course in creative writing... Or maybe culinary arts. Maybe something connected with baking. You love baking, right?

Maybe if you picked a college program based on your hobbies, you have better sleep. Maybe you are happier. At 11:51 PM, maybe you are already sleeping soundly on your bed, next to your emotional support stuffed toy, with your favorite weighted blanket on your exhausted being.

But you didn't. You can't.

So here you are, sitting in a swamp of written notes, books, and colorful post-its (that you haven't found any helpful use yet), having a crisis over your career choices.

"You want this, YN." you remind yourself, shaking your head.

Your digital clock on your study desk just ticked the time to 11:52 PM. It has been almost three hours since you began your planned all-nighter for tomorrow's exam.

"I want to cry." you sighed, your forehead softly hitting your desk. "But I don't have the time for that."

Groaning, you opened one of the textbooks you borrowed from the library. You tried to process every word you came across. But considering that you went straight from your eight-hour shift from your part-time job, you only managed to comprehend half of the sentences you read.

"I wish I was born as a nepo-baby."

Another random thought rolled off your tongue instead of understanding where the hell the spine of the scapula is. Admittedly, you find it hard to locate the muscles in the human body when you only have a 2D version of it. But you don't have those 3D models that can help you to learn and remember better, so you will settle for pointing your index fingers at flat images on the book pages.

"Trapezius... Acromion... Deltoid..."

Reciting the muscles in the familiar tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", you began pointing to certain areas of your body. It was one of the studying techniques you have been using since you were younger. So far, it's helping. You keep doing it for the other parts.

"Subscapularis..."

But the longer you sang, the words slowly rambled in your tongue and your eyelids got heavier. You were so close to drifting away until you heard the familiar click of your door. Your head snapped up instantly. You hear his voice greeting your roommate who's probably watching her favorite show in the living room.

"Pizza and ice cream. Want some?" you heard him offer.

He brought food?! Of course, he did. He's Jungkook. For the first time since you sat in front of your study desk, a smile formed on your lips. Shaking your head, you just read your notes again. It didn't take long for your bedroom door to open. The scent of a freshly baked pizza filled every corner of your room. And there, you see him coming in with a smile on his pierced lips.

"Oh, hello, gorgeous."

Jungkook was surprised to see you already looking at him when he entered your room. Usually, he would find your nose dipped between your textbooks when he visits during your study sessions.

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, "I know, I looked like a mess right now. Just give me my prized pizza and ice cream please."

He laughed, not because he agreed with you, but because you are always quick to turn down his micro-flirting. He sometimes thinks that it keeps him grounded.

"And you got the coffee ones! This is why you're my favorite hookup buddy." you quipped before kissing his cheek, elated by the ice cream he got you.

"I'm honored. Thank you." he replied, before getting a slice of pizza.

Both of you know that you don't have any other hookup buddy. You're not that adventurous. It's just something you joke about.

"How's the studying going?" he asked before sitting on your bed.

"Shit." you shake your head, tired. "But this ice cream makes me feel a little better."

Jungkook smiled at that. He listened as you went on telling him about something that happened in your shift earlier today. But he ended up studying you. Because contrary to what you said earlier, you are too pretty, he finds it distracting. You were tired, it's written on your face. But the way your eyes light up as you share your story makes your face glow. With your desk lamp being the only light in your room, it perfectly highlights the small smile on your lips after you take another spoonful of the cold dessert.

"Why did you come here anyway?"

Your sudden question snaps Jungkook out of his daze. He cleared his throat.

"I-I'm bored and you're up."

He was not bored. In fact, he missed a party he was invited to tonight because it has been four days since he last saw you. He was busy with his training and practice, while you were working two jobs and studying. You two were just texting each other these days and with how rare you reply during the daytime, he knew that tonight is probably the best time to see you.

You sigh, "I told you, I'm studying for tomorrow. I can't do anything with you right now."

"And I didn't say we have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here. I'm like little Bear right there." he replied, pointing to your stuffed toy who was sitting next to him.

"Okay, I'll go back to studying. Is that okay?" you asked, putting on the lid of your half-finished ice cream.

He winked, "Of course."

Jungkook is that person you probably know for too long. Like, someone you should have met only once or twice or occasionally. Not like this, in which you see each other almost every day.

When Liz, your roommate, introduced you two to each other during some Halloween party, in which you came as Dorothy from The Wizards of Oz and he was Peter Pan, you did not expect to start any kind of connection with him. You remembered thinking to yourself how exhausting it was to have him around with how he seemed so full of energy, not knowing then that he also enjoyed the same little things you did. You two became real friends after bumping into one another in a record store an hour away from your uni.

Because you feel that you two always stood on opposite ends of any scale. You were a reserved working student with introverted tendencies while on the opposite, Jungkook is a known varsity star, who's rumored to be a CEO's son (He is. He admitted it to you), on campus with a charm that works for everyone.  Just like how great he is at playing basketball, he is equally good at socializing and making new connections. That charm definitely worked for you a year ago because one thing led to another and now, he is in your bed, casually scrolling on his phone.

"Why do you have a camera with you?" you broke the silence after reading for god knows how long. Yet, you are unsure if you picked up anything from it.

He looked up, reaching for the camera bag he brought with him earlier, "It's a new one, my dad brought it to me as a gift."

"For what? Your birthday was like three months ago," you asked even though you already had an answer in your head.

"I helped him with some documents," he replied, knowing that you would say something after.

"Spoiled." you teased him.

"Haters gonna hate," he responded with a sassy roll of his eyes, you laughed. "Anyway, I'm kinda testing it out. So, if you don't mind..."

He placed the camera in front of him, aligning its viewfinder to his left eye. You put the back of your hand under your chin with a tight smile on your lips, posing. Click. A shutter sound and a bright flash followed. You see Jungkook look down at his camera to check the outcome. A small smile forms on his lips.

"You have too many pictures of me," you told him.

Every single time you two are together, he takes a picture of you. You don't really mind even though some shots are candid. Some of the pictures of you he took are the only ones you have on your Instagram. He's good at it, but sometimes, you worry you will get used to being his muse.

"I'm thinking of making an exhibition out of it." he said.

Sensing his sarcasm, you ride on with it, "Yeah, you can title it with something like, The Life Of An Overworked Twenty-Something Student. I looked exhausted in all those photos. An ugly, dry potato."

"I think you look pretty in all of them."

And it didn't help that he complimented you a lot after taking pictures of you. It just scares you that you feel a light feeling in your stomach when you see him smile after taking a shot of you or when he calls you gorgeous or pretty.

But instead of letting the giddy feeling show, you just smiled, "Of course you do, you're sleeping with me. You will always find me attractive."

It was almost an hour later when Jungkook paused the video he was watching on his phone to once again try his camera. A camera nerd, he was watching a clip about his new camera's settings. Of course, he was in his earphones so that he wouldn't get to distract you.

After modifying some parts of the settings, Jungkook placed his camera in front of his right eye, ready to capture another picture of you. But before he could click the button, he noticed your shoulders shaking.

His right eyebrow raised as he slowly put down his camera.

"YN?"

He heard you hiccup before humming, "Hmm?"

"YN, can you look at me?" he asked since you kept your back turned to him.

"Not now, I'm busy." you sobbed, failing to hide from Jungkook.

He frowned, getting up from your bed, "YN, baby..."

"No, I said-"

Before you could continue denying, Jungkook already pulled the swivel chair you were sitting on closer to him. You covered your face with your palms since you hated crying in front of anyone. Jungkook tries to remove it softly but you shake your head.

"Please, let me see your face. It's okay," he whispered while his thumbs drew circles at the back of your hands. Finally, you listened and let him hold down your hands.

"Shh..." he hushed you, wiping the tears on your cheeks. "What's going on? Are you okay? Is there any way that I can help you?"

"I-I cannot remember anything and I'm just so tired." you broke down, feeling the exhaustion from both studying and working finally creeping up in your body.

"Then, take a break. Let's nap." he offered, knowing how much you need it.

You cried even more, "I can't nap. My exams are tomorrow and I can't understand anything I've been reading so far."

He clicked his tongue in disagreement, "I'll wake you up in thirty minutes. How about that?"

While his offer seemed ideal for you, the pressure for what is coming tomorrow is heavily sitting on your shoulders. But you're really tired.

"Just nap?" you asked, making sure that it won't lead to anything else.

"Yeah— Okay, maybe cuddle." he shrugged.

"Okay." I kinda need that.

"Okay. C'mere, my snotty baby." He cooed.

You glared at him before slapping his chest. He laughed, catching your hand and pulling you to him on your bed. You fell on top instead of your mattress, feeling his toned body under you. His chin rests on the top of your head as he draws circles on your lower back.

"Let's do anything you want after your exams," he mumbled.

You exhaled, "Why celebrate? I am not even sure if I can pass it."

"You will. You're the smartest person I know."

This isn't the first time Jungkook saw you broke down over academic reasons. He knew how much you value your studies as someone who has always been an achiever since you began studying. It didn't help that your mom expects quite a lot from you, based on what you told him.

You looked up to meet his eyes, "Thank you."

He simply kissed your forehead, "Of course, babe."

You did find yourself feeling much better after your 30-minute rest. But, you also found something else when you woke five minutes ago next to Jungkook. It's something that can probably help you study.

"Take off your shirt," you whispered as you rested your head on his arm.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious.

"I think you can help me study," you said, sitting up on the bed.

Jungkook sat next to you, "I thought we were just cuddling."

"Jungkook." you called him. "Please, just do it."

"Okay, I will. You know I can't say no when you beg, babe." he teased.

You watched him reach for the back of his shirt and remove it over his head. With how cold your room is, Jungkook immediately crossed his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge before you. You were quiet, squinting your eyes on his arms.

Feeling a little conscious and confused, Jungkook spoke, "It's a little chilly here. What now?"

"Wait, let me get my sticky notes."

"You know, I should be paid for this," Jungkook spoke, covered in neon-colored sticky notes from his neck to his back and arms. "I am like your model."

"You are my 3d model." you laughed while tracing his body with your finger to look where you could stick your next label. "I'm too broke to buy one so just be my friend and let me put some sticky notes on you."

"I'll just buy you one." he offered and he's serious. If it's something that can help you, he'll buy it for you.

"You sound like the spoiled kid you are." you joked.

"I like it when you keep me humble and grounded," he reacted sarcastically. Out of a hundred people he knows on the campus, you are the only one who always reminds him of his privileges. He found it annoying at first but now, he just finds it funny.

"I know, it shows especially when you get all submissive sometimes." you joked again, scrunching your nose at him.

"Why won't you just let me spend money on you?" he asked, recalling the other scenarios he tried buying or doing something for you. But you were quick to decline him, especially if it's connected with money.

You stopped and stared at him, "For the tenth time, Jeon, I will not be your sugar baby."

"Or you can just be my... baby," he whispered, but since you are the only awake people in this house at this time of the day, you still heard that.

Your eyebrows scrunched, looking at him. Visibly cringing at what he said, you pushed his face with a laugh. You hear him chuckle lowly.

"If you want someone to be your baby, you should be asking girls out, not signing up for a friends-with-benefits-type of relationship with me," you mumbled while writing a certain body part on your notepad.

It is part of your agreement that this thing you two have will end once one of you starts dating again. But the idea of him asking girls out after literally sleeping on your bed for the last twelve months still made your heart sink a little. You cannot imagine how your future will be without him, you still haven't thought that far.

"I know..." he whispered. But you're not up for any commitment. He wanted to say that. Instead, he replied, "But you give the best blowjob ever. How can I look for someone else?"

You laughed again. God, he loves making you laugh. It's like a melody playing in his head.

"Yeah, I know. It will be hard to find someone better than me. I'm the best."

Yes, you are. He agreed, almost saying it if you haven't spoke to soon.

"Now, please, can you stop moving? My notes are falling everywhere."

"Hi, I'm Mabel."

It's been days since that night. Now, a blonde, blue-eyed girl offered her hand to Jungkook while he prepared to leave the campus with his car after his basketball training. Jungkook, being polite, introduced himself even though he was not really interested. He continued making sure he got all his stuff in his backpack as the girl continued saying that they had two classes together. When he was done checking, she spoke,

"I think you're really cute and was wondering if we could go out sometime? Maybe we can grab some coffee together?"

Jungkook scratched the back of his head, feeling bad for what he was about to say to this seeming freshman before him. A tight smile forms on his lips. This isn't the first confession he got in his lifetime, but rejecting someone is always hard.

"Wow... uhm... I'm sure you're a really wonderful person, Mabel. But I'm not really interested in dating anyone right now. I'm sorry."

The familiar flustered face instantly showed up on Mabel's face, "Oh, okay. Uhm, thank you for your time. Nice to meet you though."

Jungkook was not even able to reply before she ran away. It didn't took him too long to dwell on that interaction when he got a message from you.

YN 🩺

I PASSED

COME OVER!!!!1!

Jungkook smiled after reading that, feeling your relief and excitement. He typed in a reply before hopping in his car.

JK

I KNEW U CAN DO IT

SO PROUD OF YOUUU

WILL BE THERE IN FIVE ;)

note | scheduled as my first post for 2025 :) thank you so much for reading!

ps. will probably delete this later on

taglist rules

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones

[moonysbookshelves]

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets

The Cadence of Part-Time Poets by @motswolo

Have been working on this 10 volume set for the past few months now, and they are finally complete. My Magnum Opus. I have peaked and probably depleted all of my brain power.

Thank you to @motswolo for writing such a beautiful story. My brain chemistry has been favourably altered. Will forever flinch when I hear Queen, The Beatles or Bob Dylan. Love to you from western Canada (west coast best coast lets gooooo).

I also posted a TikTok of these since posts here are limited and I love the insides as much as the covers, so if you wanna see between the pages, here’s that.

Also thank you @avisbindery for letting me scream and cry in your DMs while I read the fic. May you get some uninterrupted sleep now LOLLL.

Going to write a whole essay below about the ideas and details because uhhh I wanna yap bit!

So for starters, I wanted to make these binds look like magazines because of the epilogue where (spoiler) Tonya sees Remus in a copy of New Musical Express. But of course this fic is long, so I was like, what if I do multiple volumes? This very quickly spiralled into me painstakingly (finding publication-accurate fonts almost sent me to an early grave) recreating 10 different music-focused magazines from the 70s and 80s from scratch (thank you to Photoshop, Affinity, Procreate and Canva). Each volume features a unique cover, along with stylized typesets to match that display the songs for each chapter but in different designs. And then I went a little crazy and made a 45 sleeve and a cassette too, to really set the scene when I took the photos lol

While the covers display the dates pertaining to the contents of that particular volume (Sept 1975 for volume one, for example) I was thinking about what the magazines would say if they were really published when Marauders are traipsing about being spectacular and famous in the future. I sprinkled in details from the fic itself and fanon-ed it a bit, but that was the general inspiration :-) Tried to keep the photos used either faceless/obscured, or to use the fancasts on Mots’ Cadence master post. I also tried to use period-accurate photos but didn’t always succeed, so settled for photos of 4 member bands where I had to :”) But the general intent with the facelessness was that they could be implied to be Marauders. If you squint? lol. Just pretend. Pls.

Volume One: Based upon The Record Song Book. This magazine went on to inspire the typesets, since it publishes lyrics and such. The cover images are of Spacey Jane and David Thewlis.

Volume Two: Based on ZigZag, specifically the issue from July 1978 featuring Siouxie and the Banshees just because I thought it looked sick as fuck. I re-drew the abstract shapes and such in procreate. The cover images are The Clash and a young Gary Oldman. Lord he was foiiine.

Volume Three: Based on Trouser Press, November 1980. The cover images are a young Metallica, and my personal fav fan cast for James, Reiky De Valk. The film negatives are from a Bruce Springsteen tour, 1976.

Volume Four: Based on Gay Times (November 1984), a queer magazine from the UK because this volume contains Wolfstars first kiss hehe. Also hence Somebody To Love plastered all over the covers. The Front cover is Inhaler. The “4A” on this one is of course the boys’ dorm number, but I made the A the lambda symbol as this was a pride symbol in the 70s after Stonewall.

Volume Five: Based on Melody Maker. Front image is Alex Turner. All of the text on this one is pulled directly from the fic. The scene where they all drop acid and James jumps off the roof Almost Famous style had me hootin’ and hollerin’… until Tomny showed up hahaha :”)

Volume Six: Based on IT (International Times, Aug 1971). Front image for this one is Joy Division, and the back features Jane Asher for Lily

Volume Seven: Based on Record Mirror, June 1976. Front image is John Taylor of Duran Duran. Yum.

Volume Eight: Based on Rolling Stone. More vibes than anything for this one, but the quote still makes me laugh.  Front image is of Matt Hitt. Can you tell I photoshopped a cell phone out of this one? IDK. This photo just screamed ‘Remus’ to me so I had to use it. The back image is an old cigarette ad, but the photo is taken in Shepherd’s Bush.

Volume Nine: Based on Fusion magazine. Front image for this one is once again Inhaler. Oops. Back cover is our gals. Images are Jodie Foster as Cherry, Brenda Sykes as Mary, and Goldie Hawn as Lottie.

Volume Ten: Based on New Musical Express. You know why :”) These are all victims of fanon, but this one especially. I wanted it to be NME instead of the re-invented logos I’d been doing for all the rest, as I wanted it to look like the magazine the Sister gives to Tonya. I referred to an issue of NME from October 1979 for this and layered in fic references where it made sense to. The cover image for this one is (I think) Cigarettes After Sex. This issue also contains all of the B-Side chapters, and the Marauders song lyrics too just for fun :)

Slasher Chick: This is just my take on what Sybill’s zine could’ve looked like. Prob way off but I just wanted to have fun with this one since I had no cover to reference lol. The zine contains her little write-up and the interview, lifted straight from the fic :")

ok yap sesh over byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmfaooooo

[parfaitblogs]

you're losing me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he's an entirely different person after prison, and your relationship is crumbling. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: post prison reid. no happy ending. argument/fight. strong language. word count: 2.0k a/n: big fan of soul crushing angst. clearly. i dreamt this one up in an everything shower. likely place for me to plan fics? whole lot of nothing happening i love yapping about sadness!! my least favourite spencer trait is that he doesn't think he deserves good things so he pushes them away so obviously i have to write novellas on him doing just that? this used to be based on tolerate it but i listened to ylm the entire time so erm. things change! lol enjoy xoxo

Perhaps you were stupid. 

Very, very stupid. And ridiculous. And every other synonym for those two words that your brain could not possibly imagine up right now. You were all of them. But also none of them. Because you also felt like there was not a single word that could describe you anymore; if there was, maybe you'd consider yourself a person. But clearly you weren't a person. Not anymore, at least. Not to him. 

An awfully painful year it had been. And maybe that's what stripped you of your right to be a person. Maybe it was the overtime. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was everything all at once. Maybe it was nothing at all. 

Three years of dating one man meant you learned quite a bit about who he is as a person to you. Eight years of knowing him meant you knew very well what sort of person he is in general. 

And this wasn't him. 

He was sitting on your couch. A piece of furniture that had, in just one year, erased the memory of you from it, there no longer being an indent on the right side where you always sat. A book was sat in his lap, but he wasn't properly reading it. You could tell from how slowly he turned the pages. From how he stopped every few minutes to rub his eyes, his eyebrows creasing and a quiet, irritated huff leaving his lips. 

It was a habit he had developed. 

This was how it was every night. Three o'clock came, and your body would wake you up from an otherwise restless sleep, and you would drag your feet out to where the man who should be occupying the other side of your bed, actually is. And he wouldn't look up, but you both acknowledged each other's presence, silently. 

And you would watch him for an hour. Until your eyes began to droop, and your feet started to ache, and your heart couldn't handle any more shattering for the night. And then you would drag yourself back to the bedroom, and you would climb into a now cold bed, and you would fall back asleep for another two hours. 

Like clockwork.

You were good with him. So patient. You would make him mugs of morning coffee that he wouldn't drink, and you would wash clothes he wouldn't say 'thank you' for. You wondered if he was actually grateful or not. 

You were too scared to ask. 

"Hey," you said, quietly, when he had come home from work, shrugging his bag off his shoulders, and slipping shoes off his feet. 

"Hi," he answered. As if on instinct, he moved to where you were seated at the barstool to kiss you in greeting, before brushing past and heading into the kitchen. 

You watched him for a few moments as he found a piece of bread to eat, nothing on it. Just... dry. Before your eyes returned to the laptop screen you had open in front of you, fingers tapping away at your keyboard. 

"There's been another terror threat," you said to him, tilting your head to the side. "But they let me work from home."

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, but he could not sound less interested. 

You lifted your head, because you thought he knew. "Because of you, Spence."

"Oh, okay," he answered, and you watched as he threw out half of the bread he did not eat, before he disappeared down the hallway. 

He didn't even care. 

You stared at the empty space down the hall, where he had once been, heart lodged in your throat in an uncomfortable lump you couldn't swallow. This was why you felt stupid. 

Maybe you were sick of feeling stupid. You must be, because subconsciously, your feet had already planted themselves firmly on the floor, and your legs were already taking you down the hall in the exact direction he had just disappeared to. 

He was taking his button up off when you appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, replacing it with a t-shirt. You had never seen him wear so many t-shirts until now. 

You cleared your throat, alerting him of your presence, and he turned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you. 

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you said, voice wavering with cautiousness. 

His lips parted, then they closed, and all he managed was a short nod, before he turned back around to find pyjama pants in his drawers. 

"Spencer, I'm serious," you pressed, taking a step into the room. "You need to talk to someone about this."

"I have those counseling sessions at work," he answered, turning back around to face you only once he was wearing pants. 

Your lips pursed. "You hate those."

"Yes, but I'm talking to someone."

"Not someone you trust!"

"And if I talk to you, it would be so different compared to a counsellor, right?"

You froze. He froze. Maybe he realised the implication of his words, you certainly did. That such a simple spoken sentence had your heart stuttering in your chest. 

You shakily exhaled. "I'd hope it would be different," you decided to say. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't anymore."

He stood straighter at your comment. Perhaps not the best thing to say. Certainly not the most mature. 

"What does that mean?"

Right. The reason you decided to follow him in the first place. "I just—I don't feel like you care anymore. And I have tried to be patient, Spencer. I really have. But you shut me out, and we don't even talk anymore. I make you coffee, I do your laundry, I offer to cook, I clean up the house, I do everything I possibly can so you can focus on healing, and I can't even get a proper sentence out of you unless we're arguing."

He inhaled sharply, staring at you. "I don't know if you forgot, but I was locked in a prison for three and a half months."

Your shoulders deflated, your eyebrows creasing and lips pulling down into a frown. "Seriously? I express that I am feeling neglected, and your only response is that you've been in prison—"

"—Well, it kind of changed who I am!"

You fell silent for a few moments, trying to collect your thoughts before you threw them all in his face and actually ruined things between you two. 

"I just feel like you don't care anymore," you repeated, voice awfully soft compared to how hard your body was shaking in anxiety. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and he opened his mouth to speak with that same frustrated frown, so you cut him off. 

"And yes, I know you're dealing with everything that happened to you in prison. I only know what they told us, so I can't even imagine how much you're withholding. Because I know that's what you do. But that doesn't give you an excuse to treat me like I'm not important in your life anymore. I mean, If I'm not, then tell me. If you really don't care, or you've decided that you can't be in a relationship and process everything at the same time, then I'd like to know."

The silence is uncomfortable. And thick. And you're staring at him with eyes that burned with tears you weren't ready to shed yet. He's coming up with a response, so slowly you think maybe prison actually did break his brain. 

"I do care," he finally said, and you wondered if it took him three minutes to come up with that because he was controlling a lie. You pushed that thought out of your head. "But I also don't want you to wait for me to be better, if it's making you feel this way."

Oh.

"Okay," you manage to say, voice not above a whisper as you stared at him. 

"Okay," he echoed, and the tears you were trying so hard to keep in brimmed your waterline, blurring your vision. If he hadn't become one big blob in your vision because of them, you might've seen his eyes soften and his shoulders deflate. 

Maybe he was waiting for you to confront him about it all. So he could end things. Maybe he's been thinking about this for too long, and this was just the final push he needed. You'd like to hope it was a spur of the moment decision, and he wasn't banking on this relationship ending. 

"I'll stay at a friend's," you then murmured, wiping the tears from your eyes, sniffling pathetically. 

"No, this is—"

"—You deserve familiar walls," you cut him off. "I'm sure anything else would freak you out."

He fell silent, because you were right. But he didn't want to kick you out of your own home. He didn't want to kick you out of his life, a sickening revelation he was having all too late.

Maybe that was why, when you turned around to leave, he called your name. Pleadingly. So, you turned back, and he stared at you, and silence fell over you two again. 

"What?" you breathed out after a few too many minutes of quiet. 

"I don't know how to talk to you. Or anyone. Not—not just you."

"About what happened?"

"In general."

You stilled, confusion sweeping across your features, for the thousandth time tonight alone. "You don't have to talk to me, if you can't. Regularly, I mean. That's not... that's not what I'm asking of you. I just need you to communicate with me. I feel like you don't even have feelings for me anymore. That's where most of my issues lie."

"I do have feelings for you."

"It doesn't feel that way."

More silence. More thick, deafening silence that felt like you had submerged your head underwater. And you really just wanted to come to a final conclusion. If this was the end.

"Then is it just that you don't want to be with me anymore? If it is, please tell me," you said, voice pathetically desperate.

He stared at you some more. Silence accompanying him, like some (annoyingly) comforting best friend amidst this conversation. And you slowly nodded your head as what he wanted became clear to you, your heart stuttering uncomfortably in your chest. Your stomach flipping. 

"Indecision doesn't look good on you," you finally cut through the blanket of quiet. "I need a verbal answer, Spencer."

"I do want to be with you—"

"—Then fight, dammit!" you finally snapped, the tears you had managed to control coming back to you, a sob lodging in your throat. "I am sick of you saying you do feel this, and you don't feel that. Make a fucking decision. Please. I cannot keep up a fight for the both of us anymore. You're losing me here, Spencer."

"I'm scared!" he shouted, and you took a step back, his voice vibrating throughout the room. He waged an internal battle for a few moments at your recoil. "That. That right there is what I'm scared of. I am so scared of scaring you."

"You scare me more when you shut down. I will take your anger over your silence."

"I won't," he snapped, watching you flinch. Again. You wanted to stop flinching. 

"It proves to me that you're actually feeling things. Spencer, I feel like I've been living with a ghost."

"I can't control my anger anymore," he added your name with a voice crack, mirroring your heart.

You blink some more tears down your cheeks. "You don't have to. You are allowed to be angry."

"Not around you," he shook his head, his hands brushing curls out of his face. "What if I—I hurt you."

"What if you don't?"

It seemed he hadn't considered that possibility, because he fell silent, and averted his gaze to the ground. He shook his head after a beat. "I can't take that risk."

You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing up your options, before you sighed. "Fine. Don't." He said your name again. "No. If you're not willing to fight, then... then fine. Don't fight. But neither will I."

He didn't say anything as you took a step back from the room. And even as you stilled for a few seconds longer, achingly but silently begging him to ask you to stay, he didn't utter a word. Which was, really, all you needed in confirmation. 

And so you left.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[zkaus]

At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.  

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.  

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.   

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.” 

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?” 

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”  

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.” 

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor… asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?” 

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.  

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile. 

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue. 

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”   

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.  

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door. 

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.  

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

[p0orbaby]

She’ll Know Me Crazy, Soothe Me Daily

summary: you go into labour (leah’s version)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy and labour, who’d have guessed

a/n: i got a request for this and dropped everything at work to write it so if i get fired it’s your fault !

word count: 1.8k

-

It’s three a.m., and you’re lying in bed in that half-dream, half-wake state, thinking about nothing and everything at once—plans, names, logistics, the strange feeling in your back, how Leah’s snoring sounds almost like a broken radiator. You’d drifted off earlier with the usual suspects on your mind—last-minute nursery tweaks, what it’d be like to actually meet this new person, how you’re supposed to keep them alive once they’re here.

Then suddenly you’re very awake. And aware. The kind of aware that has you blinking up at the ceiling, trying to gauge if you’re imagining this, if maybe it’s all just part of the anxious last-few-weeks-of-pregnancy weirdness. But no, no. It’s real. The sensation you’d ignored all night is now gripping you in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Your waters have broken.

You’re in labour.

In the midst of grappling with this sudden, primal realisation that your body is not only capable of this but actively doing it, your first instinct is to look to Leah. After all, this is the same Leah who can keep her head in the midst of a stadium of screaming fans, who’s always told you, right up until yesterday, that she’s “got this, babe.” The same Leah who’s been planning this night in her head like a military operation—bags packed, snacks labelled, an entire eight-page birth plan on the kitchen counter with sections highlighted in three colours. She’s got this.

You roll over and give her a shake. “Leah,” you hiss, breath short and tight, like you’re hoping the urgency will slip through the layers of her sleep.

She doesn’t stir. Instead, she mumbles something incoherent and continues snoring, entirely oblivious to the fact that you are, in real time, about to bring a whole new human into the world.

“Leah,” you say, louder now, and with a sharper jab to her shoulder. “Leah, wake up. My waters just broke”

This gets her. She bolts upright, eyes bleary and unfocused, looking around with all the awareness of someone woken up by a fire alarm. She has one sock on and her hair is falling out of her bun in every direction, sticking to her forehead in curls that make her look, for lack of a better description, entirely unhinged. What?” she blurts, looking at you like you’ve just told her the moon’s fallen out of orbit.

“I said, my waters just broke. I’m in labour”

She stares at you blankly, and then at the clock. “Now? Like…now, now?”

“Yes, now, Leah. That’s how it works”

“Oh… oh my god. Okay. Right.” She throws herself out of bed, hands flailing a bit in what could generously be called an attempt to find her balance, looking every bit like she’s just woken up in the middle of a burning building. She blinks, rubs her face, and then stares around the room with all the sharp focus of someone who’s lost all concept of time, place, and purpose.

She begins moving around the room, grabbing objects seemingly at random—a pair of your slippers, a half-empty water bottle, the book she’s been reading that she still hasn’t finished because every time she gets to a chapter break she’s distracted by some tangent or half-thought that spirals out of control. You watch as she picks up her phone, only to immediately drop it in a panic.

You try not to laugh. You fail, slightly, but she’s too distracted to notice.

“Hospital bag,” you remind her. “By the door”

“Right, yes. The hospital bag.” She says it with the blankness of someone who’s just been reminded of the existence of the universe itself. She nods emphatically, almost comically, and rushes out of the room, one sock on, one sock off, muttering, “Hospital bag. Yes. By the door. Got it”

For a few blissful seconds, she’s out of the room, and you can breathe, collecting yourself in the strange solitude. You can’t help but feel a strange, surreal amusement in the whole thing—after months of birthing classes, of Leah listening intently to the instructor, nodding along like she was studying for the final exam, of stacks of books and bookmarked articles and quiet reassurances that she’d be ready…she’s now charging through the house like a headless chicken, her panic almost louder than the quiet early-morning calm.

She’s back in less than a minute, looking absolutely horrified. “It’s… it’s not there”

“What do you mean, it’s not there?”

“I mean it’s not—by the door. I don’t see it. Did we…did we put it somewhere else?” She’s visibly panicking now, eyes wide and darting around as if the bag might materialise if she looks in enough absurdly irrelevant places, like the windowsill or behind the potted plant.

“It’s by the door,” you repeat, managing to keep your tone steady and encouraging, despite the fact that you’re, oh right, currently in labour.

“Right,” she says again, nodding in a way that looks almost mechanical. “Right, yes. By the door. Of course”

She’s off, scrambling out of the room with one sock half-off, muttering the word “bag” to herself like it’s some kind of holy incantation. The momentary peace of her absence gives you a moment to focus on your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling in slow, measured counts, trying to recall the absurd number of hours you spent watching labour tutorials and wondering if any of that information will come back to you now, in the thick of it.

Moments later, she returns, this time clutching the bag triumphantly in one hand. Her face is a strange mix of pride and exasperation, like she’s just conquered Everest but is deeply unimpressed with the mountain.

“Got it,” she announces, as if the sheer act of retrieving it from the entryway deserves some sort of medal. She sets the bag down on the bed with an air of absolute finality, as though the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders.

You smile at her, keeping your voice calm. “Alright, love. Let’s get dressed and head out”

“Dressed,” she echoes, her face going blank again as if the concept of clothes is suddenly beyond her comprehension.

“Yes, Leah. Clothes. You might want to put some on”

For a long moment, she stares at the wardrobe as though it’s some kind of cryptic puzzle. Then, with an almost bewildered shake of her head, she pulls it open and begins pulling out clothes at random—a pair of jeans, a jumper she only wears when it’s freezing, and, inexplicably, a thick wool scarf.

“Leah, it’s June”

She freezes mid-scarf-wrap, blinks, and slowly unwinds it. “Right, yeah. June. Good. Warm.” She tosses the scarf aside, looking faintly sheepish.

“Hang on… should I call someone? I feel like we should call someone. Do we… call 999? Or is that just for emergencies?”

“Leah,” you manage between breaths, “this is an emergency. It’s literally… labour. It’s happening right now”

“Right! Emergency.” She nods rapidly, like a bobblehead on overdrive, and jabs at her phone screen with so much intensity that it nearly flies out of her hand. She stops mid-dial, eyes wide with panic. “Wait. No, no…maybe we just drive there? Or do they… do they send someone?”

You look at her, trying not to let your exasperation show through the mounting pain. “Leah, we’re just going to drive. We’ve been through this.”

“Right. Yes. Driving. Of course. I knew that.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to physically dislodge the panic, muttering, “I’m just—okay. Drive. Right. Okay.” She finally lets go of her phone and starts making her way toward the door, muttering things like, “Got it. We’ve got this,” in a way that sounds more like she’s trying to reassure herself than you.

But then she stops. Turns. Looks back at you, blinking in realisation. “Are you…are you alright?”

“I’m in labour,” you say with a thin smile, “so no. Not really. But let’s keep going”

“Right, yeah. That makes sense.” She nods like you’ve just imparted some deep wisdom, like the words in labour contain ancient knowledge previously unknown to her.

By now, another contraction has hit, and you’re clutching the edge of the bed, breathing through it with every bit of focus you can muster. Leah watches, horrified, looking like she might faint just from witnessing the sheer audacity of labour itself.

“Should I… is there something I can… I don’t know, can I do something?” She’s hovering now, looking at you helplessly like she’s waiting for you to hand her a to-do list.

You grit your teeth, squeezing out a reply. “Just… breathe. With me. Okay? In… and out”

She takes a shaky breath, her hand rising and falling in time with yours as if synchronising her breathing might somehow keep you both tethered to reality. For a moment, it’s almost peaceful, the two of you breathing in unison, a strange little pocket of calm amid the chaos.

And then, just as quickly, the panic is back.

“Wait. Snacks. We’re going to need snacks”

“Snacks?” you manage, halfway between a groan and a laugh.

“Yes. For energy. They said snacks are crucial.” She’s already halfway to the kitchen before you can protest, practically flinging open cupboards and rummaging through drawers with the frantic energy of someone who’s just realised they’re on an episode of MasterChef and has thirty seconds left on the clock. She emerges with an armful of items that make absolutely no sense together—a banana, a bag of crisps, two protein bars, and, inexplicably, a tin of chickpeas.

You stare at the tin in her hands. “Leah, we’re not bringing chickpeas”

“They’re protein,” she says, with a ridiculous level of conviction.

You watch, trying desperately not to laugh as she rummages through drawers, muttering about water bottles and phone chargers and—god help you both—“emergency blankets.” She’s wearing one shoe, and her sock has somehow ended up on her hand, and she’s pacing so frenetically that she nearly trips over her own feet at least twice.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to corral her towards the door, where she stops suddenly, wide-eyed and visibly distressed.

“Wait!” she exclaims, her hand shooting out to grip your arm in sheer, abject horror. “The… the speaker for the birthing playlist!”

You stare at her blankly for a moment before realising that, yes, she’s referring to the hours-long playlist she’d meticulously curated in the months leading up to this moment—a mix of calming piano tracks, soothing instrumentals, and, inexplicably, a handful of 80s power ballads that she swore would “keep the energy up.”

“We… we don’t have time for the speaker, Leah”

She looks at you like you’ve just suggested abandoning a child. “But you… we planned it. I spent hours on Spotify—”

“We don’t need the speaker,” you tell her, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm. You’re at the door, shoes on, bag in hand, and if she doesn’t start moving soon, you’re fairly certain you’ll be having this baby right here in the hallway.

She stares at you, visibly torn, before finally nodding, reluctantly. “Right. No speaker. We can…we’ll improvise”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “We’ll improvise”

And finally—finally—she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and steps out the door, hand in yours, still muttering under her breath about the playlist, about snacks, about breathing techniques and birthing balls and god knows what else.

[gumigirl]

thinking about you! megumi f. x fem!reader

an: where his love lies' prologue is coming soon TRUST i just needed to get this off my chest// i really can't take myself seriously while writing smut

cw: smut, masterbation , aged up char, pre-estab relationship.

you'd been gone on a mission to Okinawa for a week. which was fine, but megumi did tend to get a bit lonely on his own. he had no one to yap to about his books, even if you probably didn't know what he was talking about half the time— at least you listened. of course, you called and texted every day, but he missed your presence. you being there with him.

it was probably day four of your seven week mission when you noticed. megumi didn't call, did he? it was nine, but he always called at eight. you'd already done your skincare, just about ready to settle into bed before you noticed the irregularity on your boyfriend's end. so you picked up your phone, maybe he messaged? yeah, there were four messages in your inbox.

you clicked on his chat, seeing that he sent you a video, the cover being a black screen. odd. you clicked on the video anyway.

almost immediately, you were greated with quite the sight. megumi's phone was angled on his desk so you could see everything from his mouth go down— not showing his entire face in the video. his shirt was pulled up, the hem held between his teeth, showing off his pale abdomen. the grey sweatpants he wore were tugged down, just enough for his cock to spring out, pale fingers wrapped around it as he stroked himself at a deliberately slow pace. the last thing you noticed, from the sliver of his desktop that you could see. he was jerking off you your instagram page. your highlights, completely innocent pictures, he was getting off to it. one's that were more risque, showing off a little more of your body, his pace quickened.

muffled whimpers escaped his lips barely. yuuji's dorm was right next to his, so he was probably trying to keep himself quiet. but still, his hand moved up and down his shaft, his pace only quickening— stark contrast from the languid thrusts he started with at first. his tip oozed pre-cum, that he smeared all over his cockhead with a shuddering exhale as he bucked up into his own fist. after a couple more thrusts up into his own fist and a strangled noise, thick ropes of cum splat out of him, painting his abs as the rest dripped down his cock like forbidden icing. his 'clean' hand reached over to his phone, ending the video.

after a brief moment of silence to process what you just saw, you'd click off the video probably saving it to you cloud before deciding to read what on earth he could've sent after that.

“missed you a little more today.”

“gonna sleep.”

“good night🖤”

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: Usual mentions of brief violence/killing. It's Doflamingo, he's his own warning. Descriptions of illness

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2,824

A/N: Health stuff and non-stop interruptions have been keeping me from writing but some of it is calming down a little so I can get some writing done while I can. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and hopefully the next one won't be as long of a wait.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine(here) | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen(coming soon)

——————

For two days after the kiss, you and Doflamingo both acted like the incident hadn’t happened. As far as you both let on, everything was completely normal, or rather normal by your standards. Still you threw attitude and disrespect his way while he tried to kill you. Normal. Just how you both wanted it. Because pretending that the kiss never happened was better than admitting it still constantly played on your minds. Even now when you both sat across from each other at the small table in your living quarters Doflamingo’s eyes continually fell to your lips even though he kept forcing himself to look away over and over. Thanks to the dark red lenses the direction of his stare was hidden. As he sipped at his coffee he watched as you stared blankly at the same page of the newspaper, realising you hadn’t turned the page in a while. “Well, what’s got you so interested?”

At the sound of his voice you blinked and your stare sharpened on the words on the page before meeting his relaxed, grinning face. With a frown you glanced at the paper again and set it on the table, sitting back and shaking your head slightly. “Nothing, honestly I was zoned out. Wasn’t even reading.” You explained while reaching for your drink only to stop and instead push it a little further from you. “What kind of poison did you put in my breakfast today? It’s different.”

“No poison today.” Doflamingo explained with a low chuckle building in his chest. “Haven’t tampered with your food or drink for a while now. You trying to say you miss it?”

“Well it seems like it did give a nice kick, must have gotten used to it without realising.” You teased slightly only to scowl suspiciously when the Warlord’s usually broad grin had lessened. “What?”

“Something wrong?” 

“Apart from the fact I’m strangely used to you putting poison in my food?” You asked before giving a tired sigh. “I didn’t sleep great. You didn’t interfere with my bed did you?”

“Your accusation hurts.” Doflamingo returned your teasing remark with one of his own. “I promised you I’d never mess with your sleep again didn’t I?” At that you nodded. He’d promised and so far had kept to his word that your sleep had never suffered because of him or any of those in his command. Even on the mornings you were sleeping in the servants avoided waking you because of the young master’s orders.

Normally you loved the bed you’d been given and found sleep so easily when lying in it but the previous night barely anything seemed to work. You just couldn’t get comfortable long enough to properly fall over to truly restful sleep and when you did fall asleep you were awake after a couple hours and right back to tossing and turning again. You were still feeling the effects now, drained and tired but not entirely like you had when Doflamingo had been on his quest to keep you awake for as long as he could. “I’ll try and fit in a nap or two in between my busy schedule and I’ll be back to my charming, wonderful self by tomorrow.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to say something to reassure him but the words were out of your mouth before you could think about it. Still it was strange for him to outwardly be concerned over something as small as you not getting a good night’s sleep. Even with the grin on Doflamingo’s face you knew he wasn’t entirely convinced and you could feel his sharp stare fixed on you, searching your features. The last time he’d looked at you so strongly was the night you’d kissed and not wanting to open that particular can of worms you grabbed your mug and took a drink, looking out the window. It wasn’t long before fanfare could be heard from the city.

“Bit early for fireworks isn’t it?” You asked, your gaze going to the Coliseum in the distance where the noise seemed to be coming from. “What’s so special about today?”

“Nothing really. Diamante felt like throwing a tournament.” Doflamingo chuckled. “Something to break in and introduce the new additions to the arena.”

“You really think they’ll last long in there?” Your lips couldn’t help but curve into a cold smirk. “They weren’t exactly an impressive bunch of pirates.” Doflamingo laughed at your observation.

“Do you even find any pirates impressive?”

“Are you going to be jealous if I don’t say you?” You asked turning your head to look at him again. 

“I don’t get jealous.” Doflamingo answered with his grin spreading when disbelief shaped your features and a subtle look of amusement began to creep into you gaze. “C’mon tell me who.”

“But leaving you wondering seems so much more fun.”

“You have a cruel streak in you, you know that?” Doflamingo laughed only to stop when a single knock sounded at the door and a servant hurried in. Their face was apologetic but his stare zeroed in on the white and blue den-den mushi in their hands. The Marines were calling.

———

For Doflamingo’s call with the Marines, going through the motions of being a Warlord you had left him to talk into private. You knew you didn’t have to leave but felt it would be best. Plus it gave you a while to get some fresh air and have some space from the Warlord. The plan of acting like the kiss had never happened meant having to continue being in his presence which irritated you because of how it was bringing new problems for you. In the beginning it was irritation and dislike that made you speak openly and antagonistically with the man but now you could tell you were both speaking to each other with a little more playfulness and almost civility. You’d accepted your fate as Doflamingo’s prisoner and his eventual victim when he found out a way to kill you with no resistance when you were first brought to Dressrosa. 

Now though? Now you almost felt settled that this was your new life and that disturbed you more than anything. The kiss you wished hadn’t helped matters. It felt like another sign that your mind and body were starting to give in to being the Warlord’s soulmate. This wasn’t how it was meant to be and you had to try harder to keep things as they were. Your hand brushed against the cold metal of a door and you snapped out of your thoughts and mindless wandering to all but curse yourself. You were now outside Doflamingo’s personal office, your body moving there out of instinct or pure subconscious habit. Sighing sharply you forced yourself to step away from the door and continue down the corridors, making sure you were more aware of your actions. 

Thankfully you ran into a servant who seemed relieved to see you and began to talk to you. Normally you embraced talking to someone normal and who wasn’t a pirate but you began to grow confused when it wasn’t idle conversation they wanted to speak to you on, but instead they started to report to you the chores completed for the day and discuss minor issues with the Palace upkeep and some tasks. 

When they asked for your opinion on how best to handle the problems it took a moment for you to snap out of your confusion and shock. You offered your advice as best as you could, seeming relieved when the servant immediately smiled and thanked you, beginning to set off to act on your words. “Wait, don’t you want to double check with Doflamingo or your superior?”

“The young master’s busy.” The servant explained with a small smile, looking at you like this should be obvious. “After him, you’re the next in charge. Thank you again!”

You could only watch the servant hurry off with a smile, unable to catch your mind up fast enough to call after them and tell them that you being second in command wasn’t true. Instead you were frozen in shock and extremely confused. Feeling a headache begin to form rapidly, you shook your head and continued on your aimless walk through the palace, the servant’s casual declaration still repeating in your mind. You didn’t even think anyone was second in command, as far as you ever saw things Doflamingo’s word was law and the only time the elite officers of his ‘family’ gave orders was when they came from Doflamingo or when they told the servants what they wanted to eat for their meals but that wasn’t the same as being in charge. 

Now even more drained than you had been, you turned to make your way back to your room. You’d jokingly said you’d nap but now it was seeming like a good idea. As you approached your quarters you stopped to see Doflamingo casually strolling towards you. “Well? When do you go?”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Doflamingo asked with his broad grin in place. Part of him was confused why you’d need to be sneaky and listen in to a conversation you were more than welcome to stay in the room for. He turned to walk beside you as you continued on your way back to your quarters.

“No, I just know this is normally the time of year they’d be calling you and the other Warlords in for a meeting.” You explained with a shrug.

“The time of year?” Doflamingo repeated in interest.

“If there’s no pressing issue they need you and the Warlords to deal with they usually call a meeting to have you in the Marine building for some visiting nobles or royalty to see you.” You explained as you stepped into your room and shrugged, settling down on your sofa. “A way to reassure them that the Marine’s are in power I suppose. What better way to show that than for them to see pirates of the Warlord rank?” Doflamingo chuckled and perched himself on the back of the sofa, looking down at you as you got comfortable. He’d always known the Marine’s patterns and habits and liked to play dumb but it was oddly surprising and refreshing for you to have noticed it too. “So when do you go?”

“Soon.” Doflamingo answered your repeated question. “Won’t be gone too long.”

“Guess I’ll have to fit in as much destruction as possible then while you’re gone.” You smirked, idly rubbing your temple as you felt the headache from earlier still nag at you. “Want to try and kill me before you go? You didn’t try today.”

“Aw aren’t you sweet?” Doflamingo grinned, leaning down to poke the centre of your head and coax you to lie back more against the sofa. “Sadly, it’s not as enjoyable when you’re tired. Rest and I’ll double my efforts when I’m back to make up for the time away.”

“Big talk.” You grinned, the pain seeming to dissipate slightly in the brief moment Doflamingo’s fingers were against your forehead. “If I wasn’t already lying down I’d be swooning. Go on, have fun annoying Warlords and Marines. See you when you get back.”

———

As expected the Warlord meeting was a complete bore, the only entertainment for Doflamingo came from him purposely agitating those who shared the title of Warlord with him and the Marines ‘in charge’ or leading the meeting and navigating the pirates through the halls. As you had already predicted there just so happened to be visiting dignitaries also walking the corridors at the same time. It was all theatre really. Designed to look as mere coincidence the paths were crossed. On their way to the large banquet room, Doflamingo’s curiosity was piqued at the sound of some high ranked Marines deep in conversation. Normally he wouldn’t care what they had to say but the name of the island they were talking about caught his attention. The island he crossed paths with you. It felt so long ago since that night the warehouse exploded and he came across you. Feeling nostalgic he listened in on their conversation. 

“The sickness is ramping up, they’re at a complete loss what to do.” One Marine told the other.

“The numbers are rising with each day. How did this even happen?” The commander asked in annoyance.

“The virus has a long incubation period. No one realised until the first infected finally started showing signs. We should have a better idea soon now that the source of the virus has been dealt with but it’s not looking good for those already infected. Mortality rate is already severe.”

“Such a mess but I suppose there's one thing to be thankful for.”

“Sir?”

“We lost a full unit there a while ago.” The commander explained. “They would have been infected too given how long they were stationed there. Better we lost them fighting criminals than falling to a virus.” For a heavy moment Doflamingo was rooted in the spot as he absorbed the information, processing what he’d just heard. He hadn’t misheard the name of the island, he knew he didn’t and it was reinforced when they spoke of an entire unit being wiped out. Your unit. 

Snapping into action he began moving once more and strode passed the other Warlords as they were entering the banquet hall. He ignored the Marine officer trying to tell him to not stray too far or wander around so freely. Had it been any other day he would have cut the worm to ribbons for even suggesting he couldn’t go or do as he wished. He only kept the ‘protection’ that the Warlord title gave for mere enjoyment. Kicking open the balcony door he leapt onto the railing and wordlessly left, his strings pulling him through the air as fast as he could to return to Dressrosa.

———

It had been a full day since Doflamingo had left Dressrosa and in that time you’d felt yourself feel worse and worse. Originally you’d put it up to the lack of sleep and not eating much but now you were sure something nasty was working its way through your system. You weren’t sure just how common flus or colds were in Dressrosa or if this was the season for them but anything was possible. With such a crowded city you could have caught the flu from a civilian you passed in the street or touched something already contaminated in one of the stores. You also considered the possibility of one of the pirates you killed having been sick with something and you didn’t realise you’d caught it until now. What you did know was that even with this being the beginning of the flu it felt worse than anything you’d had before.

You’d tried going to bed early and couldn’t rest even though your body felt more exhausted than ever. Everything was tense and ached as if you’d endured punishing training and battles all at once. The pressure against your lungs made even taking a breath difficult and you trembled as your temperature rushed from one extreme to the other. Your head felt like it was being crushed in a vice and stabbed, the pain growing and throbbing against your skull. The effort it took for you to push yourself up in the bed and drag yourself over to the bedside table seemed like scaling a mountain but somehow you managed to do it. With shaking hands and unfocussed eyes you grabbed the glass of water and forced yourself to take a small, painful sip in the hopes the cold liquid would soothe the mixture of fire and shards of glass that seemed to cling to your throat but it only seemed to flare the pain. You needed something to help. Even if it was getting the room to cool down you would take it. 

Struggling against your mind and body you stubbornly rose from the bed and swayed immediately. Your vision swam and the room tilted and spun so violently that your legs buckled almost immediately. In that moment you wished you had a Devil Fruit like Doflamingo’s, something that could open the window or anything to help you now. Hellbent on feeling the cool night air on your skin, you staggered clumsily to the balcony doors and fumbled to get them open. The second they did and you managed the last couple of steps to the railing you hung your head weakly and tried to take a full breath but could only manage a small, broke rasp as anything bigger would have caused more pain and discomfort. Slowly you lifted your head and prepared to make the struggle back to your bed but the sudden motion and your vision swirling at the sight of Dressrosa’s lights in the distance overwhelmed you and too weak to stop it from happening you tumbled over the railing.

———————————————-

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[phfenomena]

❝sleeping alone ❞ || william h. bonney x f!reader

| A/N- was listening to flatland cavalry and i couldn’t resist a short n sad fic abt billy bc i’m evil

| WARNINGS- a sad man who misses his girlfriend a verrrryyy small mention of death and war.

william h. bonney x reader angst? fluff?

as billy lays alone in the hostel bed he quickly begins to regret agreeing to jesse’s proposal of this job in lincoln county. he’s almost a days ride away from you and he has no idea if you’re okay. he can’t believe he used to sleep like this every night, no one to hold.

his mind wanders to the prayers his mother used to lay over him and joe, before everything turned sour in his life. he can’t remember the last time he prayed, feeling like no one’s listening. he doesn’t need a god when he has you, but he doesn’t have you right now.

he clasps his hands together just like he did all those years ago. “i haven’t done in this in quite some time, sorry if it’s not uniform prayer. i just want my girl to be okay without me, and for her to healthy and safe. oh! and for me not to get shot. amen.” he suddenly feels very stupid and confused as to why he thought his words into the empty air would assist him at all, but anything’s worth a shot. especially when it comes to his girl.

he rolls onto his side, just like he does every night with you. he holds a pillow to front pretending it was you instead a bag of feathers. he never realized how warm you were until he couldn’t feel your warmth at all. his eyes drift close and he falls asleep to memories of you.

eight hours away by horse, you lay alone in your shared bed with billy. only it’s not shared for a while, it’s just your bed. he’s working, he loves working! you thought trying to make yourself feel better about being by your lonesome. the bed feels like it’s miles long with just your body inhabiting it. you stare at the stationary sitting on your desk, illuminated poorly with one candle.

you write slowly and methodically to billy. he won’t be home for months so you figured you’d might as well start the letters. you write paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much you miss him, how much you love him, and how quiet the night is without his laughs filling the air. you trail off and start telling him about the town gossip you’ve heard but eventually get back on track. spraying your perfume over the pages and an invisible kiss by your signature, you fold it up and press the wax to seal it.

billy and jesse walk back in the saloon below the hostel’s doors. “oh! mr. billy you’ve got a letter! from a lady” the young boy wiggles his eyebrows and hands the letter to billy. he tries to fight the smile but jesse pats his back, rather hard but a kind gesture nonetheless. “the girl of yours is already sending letters after a day? you’ve got her wrapped around her finger.” billy shakes his head laughing. “that’s where you’re wrong, it’s the complete opposite.” he confesses and walks up the stairs to read your letter in private.

he instantly notices the scent of your perfume and all of the tension in his body melts away. he’s smiling like an idiot the entire time he’s reading but holds your letter to his chest after. he walks over to his own desk and begins his own letter to you, he might not see you for months but he’ll be damned if he can’t talk to his girl.

he consistently writes to you and letting you know what’s going on and how stressful things have gotten. you’re proud of him for switching to tunstall’s side because it was the right thing to do, you’ll always admire that about him. the worry for his well-being overtakes the admiration as you quickly gather your necessities and get dressed. you’re out the door and mounting your horse within the hour, riding to lincoln. you’d rather walk to hell and back than not see billy before he gets hurt.

you reach lincoln county much faster than you expected, maybe your horse sensed the desperation leaking from your pores. you ask a kind-eyed woman about tunstall and she directs you a few minutes north. you thank her make your way slowly to your destination. as your eyes focus on the beautiful country home in the dark, your heart flutters. you almost feel sick with how anxious you are, your eyes haven’t laid on billy in three months.

you quickly tie your horse to a fence post and rush towards the door, knocking rapidly. an unfamiliar man opens the door and smiles at you. “how can i help you, madam?” he speaks confidently with a british accent, this must be tunstall. “oh well, um, i was just wondering if billy was here?” he snaps his fingers and turns his head to yell for billy.

billy’s stomach dropped upon hearing his name being called, he’s thinking it might be jesse trying to pick a fight but when his eyes settle upon you his world stops. everything slows down but his heart speeds up to impossible levels. he smiles wide and laughs while running to you. his arms envelope you and you’re drowning in his scent, squeezing so hard he thought you might’ve bruised a rib. “what’re you doin’ here, doll? did you ride here alone? do you know how dangerous that is? have you ate? are you okay?” you giggle at his ambush of worried questions and put your hand over his mouth. tunstall walks away with a grin, never seeing billy so happy.

“yes i rode alone, yes i know the dangers, no i haven’t ate yet, and yes i am okay. i just couldn’t take the thought of you being so stressed with the possibility of getting hurt without me here. i also figured it was due time for a visit.” you mutter softly, never taking your eyes off him. drinking in the sights of the man you love with every fiber of your being.

he quickly ushers you inside and guides you to a main room. “gentleman, this is my girl.” he introduces you and you smile and manage a slight wave. “this the girl you’re always talking about and never shutting up about how pretty she is?” billy goes slightly red and opens his mouth up to talk before closing it. just nodding at the embarrassment. you smile up at him “you tell people how pretty you think i am? you’re so sweet! that’s adorable.” billy sighs and leads you to a seat at the table and fixing you a plate for dinner.

as you both lay together that night in the same bed, everything makes sense in the world. you understand war, they just want this feeling to be safe. your eyes begin to fill with tears as you’re just so relieved and happy to be with your love again.

“i was gettin’ real tired of sleeping alone. considered climbing into bed with charlie but i don’t think he’s as warm as you.” you laugh and gently slap his chest.

all is right in the world, because your world is filled with love.

[fashionteahouse]

ultimate master list vol. 3

started: 10/12/2024

updated: 02/11/2025

-hey beautiful people this is the new master list. i hit the 100 post link limit again haha. i will still put links of •master list vol 1 • and •master list vol 2 • so you can still enjoy the stories on there! I have decided to make this master list to make my page more easier to navigate and enjoy :) i take requests so feel free to drop whatever you want because i write everyday ! the wolfpack is my preference but i will write for any other twilight characters as well :> however, i won’t write about jacob black x renesmee and quil x claire xoxo (plagiarism of my writing is NOT allowed)

Twilight saga

moodboards

esme cullen

emmett cullen

aro volturi

wolfpack imagines

paul lahote

4Æ

death of me

it’s nice to have a friend pt 2

violence

the knowing

sticky part 2

tennis court

or what

the knowing part 2

ponyboy

hold that heat

secret

jacob black

nothing yet!

embry call

cherry

i was never there

losing is the new winning

sam uley

sour candy part 3

seth clearwater

911

save your tears

jared cameron

nothing yet !

leah clearwater

mirrored heart

i wouldn’t ask you

yeah i said it

sirens

quil ateara

nsfw abc hcs

vampire imagines

edward cullen

out of your league alternative version

out of your league alternative version part two

carisle cullen

abracadabra

vampire blurbs

cullen x sensitive reader hcs

cullen x reader who breaks up with them over text without reasoning

wolfpack smut

paul lahote

g.u.y

crushed velvet

embry call

nsfw alphabet hcs

lipgloss

seth clearwater

blood and butter

wolfpack series

out of your league part twenty three

out of your league part twenty four

out of your league part twenty five

wolfpack blurbs

blood on white satin

delete forever

sleeping on the floor

vampire series

edward cullen

i wonder

i wonder part two

i wonder part three

i wonder part four

i wonder part five

i wonder part six

i wonder part seven

i wonder part eight

i wonder part nine

i wonder part ten

[penkura]

Late Night Talks

Note: Decided to write this after this week's OP episode, hope all my Law fans are doing okay. :') It'll be fine, I'm sure. This is just some cute late night talking for Law and Reader, not connected to where you belong but is connected to the OP Men as Dads series, I suppose.

“You should sleep.”

Law is only a little bit startled when you speak, laying your arm across his chest while he lays back in your bed with a book in his hand, lamp and reading glasses still on despite the time. He hadn’t even realized it was almost 2am already, only checking the clock now and feeling slightly guilty.

“Did the light wake you?”

“No,” eyes still closed you shake your head, giving a small sigh when Law brings you closer with his free hand, “A few small kicks to my ribs did it. What are you reading tonight?”

“The fourteenth volume of Sora.”

“Gotta keep ahead of Rosi?”

“Hmm,” Law hums a bit and flips a page, not fully paying attention to the book, he’ll have to start this chapter again tomorrow, “Not really, but he likes to talk about it when I pick him up from school. I’m just refreshing myself on it.”

“Oh, please, like you don’t already know what happens.”

“Hey its been a while since I’ve read it. I need to make sure it’s still age appropriate too.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Laughing softly, you pat his chest which makes Law chuckle a bit in return, “He’s so smart though, especially for an eight year old. I’m sure he understands it all anyway.”

“He gets it from you.”

“Nope. Gets his looks and smarts from his father.”

“[Y/N]—”

“At least Cora has my eyes. Speaking of, your daughter would like a trip to the park later today.”

“Oh would she now?” Law raises an eyebrow at the ‘your daughter’ part, wondering what she did this time.

“Mm-hm, specifically asked for her daddy to take her too.”

“Asked?”

“Asked, had a tantrum, whatever you want to call it.”

Law just sighs and shakes his head, not that surprised hearing your nearly three year old had a tantrum earlier that day. Of course it’s common for toddlers, but normally you have nothing to report with Cora when Law gets home and she’s happy to be held and tucked into bed later in the evening. Her tantrums and fits are rate, but seem to happen more lately, he wonders if it’s due to his being at work until late or your pregnancy, but tonight is the first time it’s been mentioned in a while. Maybe he needs to try and talk to her alone.

“We should all go then. Take a walk as a family.”

“Mm…”

“[Y/N]-ya?”

It doesn’t surprise Law to see you’ve fallen back asleep just as quickly as you’d woken up, but he gets it, you’re more tired lately being so close to the end of your third pregnancy, to finally meeting your baby again. He’s as quiet as possible while he closes his book, setting it and his glasses to the side before he adjusts to having you in his arms as he lays down fully beside you. Law whispers a goodnight to you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead with one hand on your stomach to feel the little kicks that had woken you up in the first place before he soon falls asleep himself.

Even though morning is going to come soon, he’s grateful for the late night talks you two still have, even after all these years and now about to be three children. He’ll never get tired of them.

[denjjisgf]

untitled 2.03

eren jaeger x reader

SYNOPSIS ✧˚⋆｡ when the end of the semester gets busy, you find yourself swamped with grading papers. if only you could get some time away from your needy boyfriend.

CONTENT WARNINGS✧˚⋆｡ general: 18+ minors dni, (afab) grad student reader nsfw: somno/cnc, m! masturbation, oral (f! receiving), squirting, panty sniffing

W/C✧˚⋆｡ 2.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE✧˚⋆｡i was thinking about this post while writing it (nsfw gif!!)

finals week on campus is nothing more than the school buildings being powered by stress and caffeine as students and professors scramble to meet deadlines. it’s your final stretch. its been a nonstop course schedules and years of thinking, “is this even worth it?”, but this past year, you were accepted into university x’s graduate accelerated course. you were just a stack of 1st years’ papers and a couple eren-free nights away from graduating.

“i don’t know why i have to suffer when it's your fault for assigning the homework to begin with,” he’s tugging at the hem of your shirt as you pour coffee into a mug. you're both off today- free from classes and work- and situated in the breakfast nook of your “shared” apartment. shared is a loose term the two of you choose to describe your living situation. you find stray socks that don’t belong to you under the couch and he buys new hangers to hang up his clothes in your closet.

“i know, but we both know i'd get no work done with you here. i’m absolutely drowning in my students final papers.” eren separates from your hip to pull open the fridge, grabbing the creamer from the door, "so stay away for just this weekend. please?" he twists the lid off and begins to pour some into your mugs, "what am i supposed to do in the meantime?" he pouts.

he sets the carton onto the counter with attitude, the liquid sloshing as it hits the sides aggressively. with bed head and a frustrated knit of his brows, he looks like a spoiled child, you can't help but laugh, "i trust you'll find something to do with yourself. you're resourceful!"

you hear him huff, unsatisfied and extremely discouraged by your firm stance. he drops it and for the rest of the morning, you two sipped from your mugs and soaked in the sun, tucked under bed sheets.

you didn't hear any lip from eren for the rest of the week. you were honestly shocked- not once has he listened to you so easily, with such little resistance. he had to be up to something, you thought. but you let that worming feeling of suspicion recede into your thoughts and brought your tasks to your forefront. you got a full eight hours of sleep every night for the first time in ages.

on saturday night, you ordered yourself some take out, set up a pillow fort on the couch, and readied yourself to grade the stack of research papers sitting on the coffee table. halfway through the folder, your eyes began to feel heavy, the words blurring and floating off the pages. you had been at it for hours, the sun long set. shifting your work off your lap and onto the floor, you let your head hit the cushion and drifted off to sleep.

you had a key made for eren months ago. he never used it, choosing to pick you up and go home with you on most days, so he never needed it. but on the rare chance, he'd let himself in to surprise you with dinner or tidy up after a long day. tonight, when he slipped his key into the keyhole, he caught his heartbeat in his throat, turning the knob so slowly, urging the hinges not to creak as he snuck into your place.

he knew he wasn't supposed to be here. you had specifically asked him to stay home for the weekend and let you be. but it was saturday and it was late. it had been so long since he spent a weekend alone, in bed, alone, and the tickle that pulled his abdomen tight and made his cock jerk at the thought of you guided him here.

slipping his shoes off, he straightened them along the wall and walked softly to the living room. he smiled to himself, his chest warming with adoration at you curled on the couch. you just looked so cute!

his eyes traced your face, locs of hair framing your sleeping face and the slight open of your mouth puffing sweet exhales. he was in love all over again, like seeing you for the first time, he let the butterflies settle in his stomach. you rolled to your stomach and let one leg roll off the side of the couch.

eren swallowed, this time, his gaze latched to the little exposed skin peeking out from under the blanket. in an instant, he dropped to his knees, crawling to the edge of the couch. his hand skated across pages and he panicked, hoping the shuffling sound wouldn't wake you while he reorganized your work stuff and slid it out of the way.

eren felt silly getting so worked up over your bare leg, like a virgin, his mind raced. he was dizzy on your scent filling the familiar apartment, dizzy from your figure outlined under the blanket, dizzy from the painful ache of his cock. he let his palm fall to his lap, languidly jerking it over his sweats to alleviate himself.

he imagined you waking up, overjoyed to see your boyfriend, not angry at all that he let himself in and started jerking off to you sleeping, and smacking kisses over his face and neck.

after a few minutes, teasing hands dipped below the waistband of his sweats. eren toyed with the idea, taking a sigh as he watched you sleep and pulled his fully hard dick out of its confinement. he dragged his finger to collect the precum beading at his tip and continued to fuck into his fist, trying his hardest not to let the wet squelching stir you awake. he was panting, a fist in his mouth to hold in his weak moans. it had been so long since he'd seen you (not even week), he was dying for your touch, to feel you in his grasp, it was driving him crazy.

so he let himself go closer and pulled the blanket up over your side, carefully, and let it fall off the couch. long abandoning his cock, he let his hands roam your lower body. eren was grateful you were on your tummy, you must've felt him coming, he thought giddily.

he let his hands run along your legs, kissing at your ankles and making his way up. situating himself on the floor and between your legs, his hands made work of dragging you closer to the edge until your knees were resting just over his shoulders and your cunt was at eye level.

his cock bobbed against his abs, red and angry, and his chest hot with desire. he fought the urge to touch himself, if he wanted to jerk off, he could’ve just stayed home! he came here for you, he told himself, he wanted a taste of that sweet honeyed slick you were keeping from him.

he let himself go. he let his fingers toy with your shorts, massaging your thighs under the fabric, letting himself re familiarize with the curve of your ass. curious fingers slid to tug at the fabric and in one swoop, he was freeing you of your pajamas. he slipped them off each leg, his nails dragging against your skin to watch the way you shiver in your sleep.

all that stood in the way was your underwear now. eren sat and admired the wet spot growing between your legs, soaking the fabric. his breath was shaky as he was tried to keep his cool, but it was getting harder for him to want to hold back. you were whimpering with every touch now and eren could feel your skin getting hot.

it was risky taking your shorts off completely, he thought, worried you'd wake up any minute. he was getting bolder with his actions, and you were reacting so well to him, he was sure you wouldn't mind if he took it another step farther. so he planted kisses against your skin, pushing up on his feet to get closer to your clothed cunt. his fingers worked to shimmy the band of your panties lower until the material was slipping off and onto his face.

he let himself breath in the scent, his mind fraying as he pressed your panties to his face. his tongue wet the fabric and he groaned when he finally got to taste you. his hands were still on you, pulling your cheeks apart as he stared with fervor at your tight holes inches away from him. eren knew he was getting rough, a little too rough if he intended on keeping you asleep the entire time.

"you know i can't live without this," he stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them, then brought them to your pussy messily. he lets them roam without intention; he didn't want you feel good yet, he wanted you so worked up, you needed to feel good. he smiled when you moaned softly at the sensation of his tongue, the warm stripe of his saliva hot as he swallows the sticky precum collecting with every pulse of your pussy.

he lapped up everything you gave him. his fingers worked nonstop, molding your ass between them, pushing his face further between your legs. it's not enough, he was growing tired of waiting, tired of being gentle, and tired of hearing you so quietly moan his name, he needed you to scream it. he moaned when his tongue dipped into your tight hole and you clenched down at the intrusion. your slick poured over his tongue and his eyes rolled at the taste.

"to think you thought you could keep this from me," he groaned as he roughly grabbed you, rolling your plump ass cheeks between his hands, kneading at the fat and landing a harsh slap against it. you jerked awake at the impact, legs locking in fear and eyes foggy with sleep. you tried to get away, squirming on the couch, only to be held tight in someone's grasp. your heart raced and goosebumps raised on your skin, anxious of the situation you were in.

"good morning, sweetheart," he cooed with another smack of your ass.

eren. of course it was him. your body was hot and your head was light, every nerve and sensation focused on eren between your legs. his hand clapped against your ass again, this time harder than the other two and you yelped at the pain. his thumb was circling your clit, each time it dragged down, the pad of it pulled its hood back and sent chills down your spine.

with you now awake, eren felt no need to go gentle on you anymore. he smiled into your pussy and pushed two fingers deep, letting them curve down to caress your g spot. you were grinding down into his hand and stringy drips of slick and saliva made a mess on the couch cushion.

his mind was thick in fog, his vision narrowed on the sweet pull of your cunt as his fingers plunged in and out, deeper in and watched them strain to pull out. his cock was begging to be touched, pleading for eren to snap and shove his length inside of you, but he couldn't tear his lips away, his moans buzzing against your clit and making you tremble.

another slap against your ass, another roll of your hips, and eren was cumming, thick ropes spilling out from his cock and spreading messily on his lower abdomen. his face flushed bright red and he was panting against your pussy, still eating you out while he came. fat droplets dripped onto the carpet below him while he let out whines, his balls drained empty.

but he couldn't stop, he had waited for you all week, and after all you were so stressed, he wanted to be of some use. he winced as he grabbed his softening cock in his hand, jerking it a few times to get himself hard once again. you were grinding along his tongue now, he could tell with each needy drag that you were chasing your orgasm.

"well would ya look at that? all you needed was a little relief- dontcha feel better now baby," he said teasingly, smiling like a fool with every kiss against your ass. his hand was furious as he overstimulated you, the flat of three fingers rubbing your cunt raw in mind numbing circles. each slow drag of his palm, the middle finger catching to hook inside of your hole, slipping in so slightly before pulling out with pressure.

your muscles felt tight, the strain in your calves burned, willing you to collapse into his touch, crying, "stop- mmph- i can't take anymore!" your lewd slick was everywhere, coating his hand, your plush thighs, and left your skin cold as the air hit it. you ached, grasping at straws and for your breath, for any moment to think straight, "e-eren, please," you hiccup. he took his time; slowly, he breathed against your skin and selfishly inhaled your scent.

he plunged his fingers inside of you, long enough to make you throb around them but too short to feel any pleasure, he teased you relentlessly. and he grinned a shit eating smile, lost entirely in the loud squelch of your cunt. he spat on your clit and let his fingers work fast on rubbing circles.

your chest flushed and you felt the familiar coil pull tight in your gut, you were so close, it hurt. eren was all too much, his fingers still dragging against your walls. each pull had wetness spilling from your hole and into his greedy mouth. your legs were about to give out, they were shaking around his head and your back bowed when he pushed you deeper into the couch, his hands coming around your waist to hold you in place.

he could tell you were close, you moans were short and quick as you gasped for air. in the corner of his eye, he could see your hands grasping for stability on the cushion as he finger fucked you to heaven.

he pushed a third finger in and you both moaned at the stretch. a strange sensation filled your womb and you felt your body go cold. your entire body seized up in eren's hands, but he continued his assault, slow strokes of his fingers now faster. your hands shot down to shove his hands away as you came, clear liquid shooting out from you as you cried in pleasure. your mind felt blank as your body went rigid, and eren fought with your fingers to let his own back in your cunt. he desperately craved the feeling of your clenching down on him.

he selfishly swallowed your cum, letting his face get drenched in you. his cock was hard now, again, as you tried to regain your breath. you rolled onto your back and shot him a look of disapproval, "what the fuck, eren?!" still between your legs, he squirmed up from the floor and to lay on top of you.

he pouted and nuzzled his head against your chest. "i just missed you, that's all," he said, his bottom lip pushed out and puppy dog eyes at work. you tossed your head to the side, away from his gaze, and sighed, "still i thought i told you not to come over. don't you ever listen?'

despite your scolding words, you couldn't help but deny you missed your boyfriend. however, he complete disregarded what you said all the time and gets away with it every time! you're weak to his efforts of persuasion. so when you turn to meet his gaze, unfaltering and only full of love, you smile and lean in for a kiss.

[sugrhigh]

SUGRHIGH’S MASTERLIST

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layout by wife @fawnchives

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a little ab me—

likes: horror, women, youtube, matt sturniolo, diet coke, writing, sports, art, tattoos, music, reading, long drives, nighttime, weed

dislikes: early mornings, math, the government, ohio, slow walkers, bigots

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my works (nsfw posts marked with *)

chris

feelings mutual *

boy next door two three four five * six seven * eight nine ten eleven *

rumors

touch it *

can’t sleep *

jealousy, jealousy *

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hotbox two *

halloween

first of many *

all yours - roomie!matt (pt.5) *

backstage

the boy is mine *

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texts w roomie!matt two three four *

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snaps w dealer!chris *

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blurbs/headcannons

dad!matt/chris

family ties (dad!matt/chris)

riding matt *

matt x cheerleader!gf

[zerocoded]

summary: imagine you are also a doctor at akso hospital and you are married to the hottest man in linkon city: dr. zayne or where only you can make doctor zayne rest.

authors note: my first post for love and deepspace because i've been obssessed and also my first work in 18 months lol, pls be kind because writing has traumatized me for eight years now シ (i've played this game everyday since i started playing and suddenly i'm poor). i found this beautiful drawing on pinterest, credits to the beautiful owner.

warnings: touch deprived doctor zayne • reader is a badass doctor • sfw content yay

word count: 1.3k

you lost track of dr. zayne’s success the moment his office became crowded with more awards than family photos, his house came to be emptier and his headache frowns became more frequent. as his lover and wife, your first instinct was to bring the issue up on your next pillow talk and make him take a break from work. as his colleague, your worried glances over a surgery table could only do so much. 

“did he go another night without sleep?”, the question lingered in the air as your eyes met for the first time this morning. the outside banter of a crowded akso hospital was left behind the double doors of his office as you made your way to his table, white coat swinging in the air as you walked towards him.

“liar”, your first attempt at communication was surprisingly effective considering the man's ruined attention span lately, “i waited for you last night. did our house become a tourist attraction to you, dr. zayne?”.

“good morning to you too, my lovely wife”, his response was calm as usual, the tone of his voice focused and serene.

“we agreed on a maximum two-night shifts per week”, you made a c-turn at his office table and crossed your arms when he finally looked at you under his specs. 

“i’m sorry, my love, i’ll make it up to you on the weekend, i promise”.

standing by his side, he leaned back on his office chair and spun until he was facing you. the tiredness under his green eyes is evident to you. even his hair was a little more unkempt than usual, the black strands pushed all the way back so his vision was cleared. absentmindedly, you trace his forehead with your hands trying to tame the few strands that had fallen over his eyes.

your husband was hot as fuck.

“what is it this time?”, you don’t waste more time reminiscing about his beauty even after a deadly night shift, as dr. greyson told you as soon as you got here this morning, and turned to his computer so you could examine the documents he was looking at before you interrupted him. 

the props of also being a brilliant doctor were that you could win your husband over logical arguments now and then, so you didn’t waste time and started scrolling through the pages with a precise eye and a dangerous closeness to a touch-deprived zayne beside you.

his hands started roaming over your hips as soon as you leaned over his table to study the special case he was eyeing, the grip on your waist proving to you that even the stoic dr. zayne also missed his wife's touch after a long day of work. or night - you should say?

“primary cardiac tumor?”, you mumble over his desk, attention divided between the computer screen and zayne’s caress on your skin.

“yes, on the posterior side of the left atrium, you can see it on the fifth slide”, his grip on your hips tightens as you reach for the computer mouse and lean a bit more over him, trying to locate the fifth slide he was talking about.

before that, said doctor demands your attention, “you smell good, princess”, his husky tone reaches your ears and you let out a smile as you feel his face getting closer to your covered arm, gaze still locked on the screen before you. 

“that’s what happens when you go home to take a shower, you know”, you couldn’t help but retort, ignoring his curious nose sniffing your shoulder away and his left hand shamelessly sizing your bum behind you. “evol surgery on an eighty-three-year-old patient?”, your frown didn’t go unnoticed by the surgeon and he finally detaches himself from you to explain more clearly - hand still on your ass, mind you.

“we talked to the family and that’s what they agreed upon”, he says - tone raspier than before, “i’m just revising the case for greyson, he said he wanted me to take a look first”.

of course he did, zayne is the epitome of reliability in and outside of work. you just wished he ate his meals on time and listened to you now and then.

“if this is the reason you left your wife alone in your house overnight, i’ll seriously murder that rat”, you went back to crossing your arms and standing beside his office chair, the visible pout on your lips moving the heartstrings on your husband’s chest.

zayne lets out a chuckle.

“you shouldn’t threaten your colleagues like this, princess, people may think i married an assassin”, his little smirk and firm grip on your waist were a deadly combination - you thought to yourself-, his timbre so light and sincere you couldn’t help but think that he must have been tired as hell.

“that brat spends more time with you than with me. are you two a thing now?” you ignore his advances and pretend to reject his touch. 

“an emergency popped up the second i started the car. yvonne went running to me before i got out”, his voice turned more serious and you took a step further, decreasing the distance between your bodies, “thirty-six, coronary artery bypass graft, had to perform resuscitation mid-surgery because his blood pressure dropped randomly”.

you nod, a pout still visible on your face. when you feel both his arms circulating around you and bringing you closer, you can already smell the fragrance of forgiveness in the air. 

“are you tired, baby?”, you couldn’t help but worry, glad that you were the only person on this planet that could detect zayne’s lies. he could be stubborn as a toddler sometimes.

your hands leave your sides and you tilt his chin up so you could see his eyes.

you take his glasses off and put them on the table. zayne’s eyes instantly closed from exhaustion. you run your fingers through his eyebrows and try to relax his facial muscles, kissing his forehead and smiling.

“i can do another one if they need me”, he says, tone whispering for only your ears to catch. you let out a little smile over his response, knowing he was telling the truth. 

“couch nap?”, you happily offer him the idea, looking over the big couch he had in his office next to the city view. you let out a squeak as soon as he stood up and took you with him, carrying you towards the couch like you weighed nothing.

“fucking finally”, was the only answer you got before zayne was dropping you on the couch and taking off both of your coats, leaving you free to cuddle in the not-so-big space. you also giggled when he went to his office door and saw him locking the room, smiling big as he returned to you.

the perks of being the chief cardiac surgeon at the hospital was that you got a big office where your pretty wife could come and distract both of your stressed forms between breaks. zayne was grateful you shared the same passion of saving lives as him.

“are you free tonight?”, zayne’s mouth was so close to your ear you couldn’t help but freeze when he leaned over you.

“do you have plans for me? are you inviting me out of pity, doctor?”.

“just asking my wife if she will be at home tonight, since i’m not the only one who tends to spend nights working at the hospital”. he pressed his body closer to your back.

“well, i should be done by 7, the question is if you are going to listen to me for once and take a day off?”, we interlace our fingers over my chest and i hear a chuckle behind me.

“as they say, happy wife, happy life, i’m not arguing on this anymore, princess”.

“yeah, you better”.

author's note: pls, i would love to hear what you think of this chapter! sorry for any misspelling. send me a request • my masterpost