#I’M VERY NORMAL ABOUT EMMA | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nadvs · 3 months ago

Text

the power play (part five)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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You haven’t spoken to Rafe since he angrily left your dorm three nights ago.

You’re sitting in your booked study room, waiting for him to arrive, wondering if he’ll be regretful of your argument or be ready for round two or pretend it never happened.

Either way, you’d prefer to make light of it and move on. He may no longer be your fake boyfriend, if he really meant what he said, but you’re still going to be seeing him every week.

You hope that you can just give him back his jersey and leave what happened in the past.

The guilt that Rafe has been running from catches up to him once he walks in and sees you. He blew up the other night and you met him with understanding he’s never been given before, softness he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Let’s just get it out in the open,” you say as the door clicks shut behind him. “We fought. I was expecting a bouquet of apology roses, but maybe they got lost in the mail?”

He huffs. Typical of you to make a joke about it.

He sits down, slouched back as he unpacks his things, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. He doesn’t know what to say and is relieved, for once, that you fill the silence.

“I get why you got annoyed,” you say, “but I haven't changed my mind. This doesn’t have to be weird. No hard feelings, right?”

His jaw tenses as he sets your copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle on the desk. He got through it quickly. And he actually didn’t hate it.

He’s sure it was only because reading killed the time he’d normally had spent training, but he figures this is a good enough topic to start with.

“I finished it,” he murmurs, looking down at the paperback. “It was good.”

“Oh. Wow,” you say, perking up. “You liked it?”

He nods, earning a prideful smile from you.

“Because…?”

“It was short,” he says.

“You walked into this room, I think a month ago to the day, and looked insulted when I asked you if you liked reading,” you say. “And now you’re telling me you enjoyed a book. That’s huge. I need way more than it was short.”

“You’re being a lot right now.”

“I know.” Your smile doesn’t falter. You motion for his laptop, he hands it to you, and you open a new document. “Keep talking. What did you like about it?”

“It got to the point.”

“The prose is very clear,” you agree, typing in the note. “What’d you think of the twist at the end? Did you see it coming?”

“No.”

“This is why I love this class. It introduces you to books you might’ve never picked up,” you gush, then take a breath. “You better not be trying to trick me. You knew I’d get excited about this and forget that we argued. But I’m already over it. Okay, I’m talking too much. Your turn.”

The relief of seeing you act like you normally do has lifted the weight that’s been sinking into Rafe since the night he snapped at you.

Now that he’s with you again, confined in a room he didn’t think he’d ever not mind being in, there’s no avoiding the fact that you have an effect on him.

Against his expectations, he cares about what you think. About how you feel. And he just wants to fix this.

“You don’t know what my fights with her used to be like,” he says. “I’ve heard it all.”

You still for a moment, then rest your elbow on the table, chin in your hand as you gaze at him through compassionate eyes.

You can sympathize that not knowing what Emma said is irritating him, but you couldn’t repeat her cruel words, even if you wanted to.

“I understand,” you say, “but I can’t bring myself to tell you something that’ll just hurt you.”

“That’s my point,” he scoffs. “It won’t hurt me.”

“It could.”

Rafe sinks into the realization that he’ll just have to take the loss here. You’re not going to tell him what he wants to know, because you don’t want to wound him. Even though he kind of deserves it for his outburst.

“I know I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know I didn’t have to lose it on you like that the other night.”

“Yeah,” you breathe a defeated chuckle. “You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He fans through the book just to have something to do with his hands.

You take in the remorse etched into his handsome face and you admire that even though he can be rash, he tries to clean up the messes he makes, pushing aside his ego when he needs to.

“We’re past it,” you conclude. You look at the laptop screen again, glad this will be a clean break. “Let’s write what we can about this book first and then go back to the other essay. What else did you like?”

Rafe expected that you’d bounce back after your rift. Your positivity is so relentless that it almost tires him out. But he needs to make sure you know he uttered those words out of disingenuous impulse.

“I didn’t really mean that we should end it,” he clarifies.

You look at him again, a crease formed between his brows.

“Are you trying to un-break up with me?” you tease. “This is awkward. I already started pretend-dating one of the other guys I tutor.”

“You tutor other guys?” he asks before thinking.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” you play along.

Rafe’s chest pinches. He doesn’t know why he assumed you exclusively tutored him. He thought he was the only one you see like this, the only one you ramble to and nag and joke with. Why does he hate that he’s not?

“Come on,” he murmurs, shoving past the unwelcome thought. “I know you miss me.”

You laugh. His typical brand of humor is detached and blunt and it’s nice to see another side of him, a playful side that makes him seem warm.

“I have to think about it.” You shrug. “Okay. We’re back together. I had a feeling you were just being mean the other night anyway.”

Rafe’s lips fall into a guilty frown. Without thinking, he scratches the back of his neck, grimacing and letting out a sharply exhaled fuck as his shoulder stings in pain.

“Are you okay?” you ask, serious now.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Convincing,” you say. “What is it?”

He sees no reason to hide it. You did tell him that he can vent to you and if there’s anyone he’d complain to about this, it’s you.

He’d rather not tell anyone on the team. Not even his closest friends. He doesn’t want to look weak.

“My shoulder’s fucked up,” he admits.

“Is it from that board check the other night?”

He nods and says, “Physio said it’s a strained muscle.”

“How bad?”

“I’m benched. He’ll look at it again before game two.”

“You mean you can’t play the first game of the championship?” you surmise.

Rafe’s tight expression tells you that you assumed correctly. You grimace sympathetically.

“Did he say if you can use anything to help with the pain?”

“Heat when it gets bad,” he says.

“I’ll be right back,” you say.

He watches you rush out, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Moments later, you come back with an instant hot compress and place it on the desk in front of him.

“The library has a bunch of first aid kits,” you tell him, sitting back down.

“How’d you know that?” Rafe squeezes the package in one hand, the subdued pop cracking through the small room. “You really like it here that much?”

“A student of mine got a papercut once,” you explain with a laugh. “But yes, I do enjoy being surrounded by books.”

“Right,” he huffs, still in disbelief of how different you two are. “Thanks.”

He rests the package on top of his shoulder, comforting heat spilling through his t-shirt.

When Rafe lets out a velvety, satisfied groan, you find yourself flustered within half a second. Your mind sprints away from you. A mere sound has never made every inch of you tense like this before.

Your imagination can’t keep doing this to you, but it feels impossible to ignore the physical pull you’re starting to feel towards him.

You swallow hard and look at the laptop again, blinking.

This is bad.

You’re crossing the line and you need to yank yourself back into rationality. Rafe is a friend and all the affection he’s given you has been a sham and it’s disconcerting that you keep having to remind yourself of that.

You know he could never give you what you need in a relationship. The last time you saw him was cold, hard proof of that. He’s much too volatile to make a good boyfriend.

And that’s accompanied by a very big if he even likes you like that, which you highly doubt, given how easily you frustrate him. You refuse to overthink, to tumble into infatuation with another man who’ll just hurt you.

“Anyways,” you say, your eyes locked on the screen. “We really should get to work.”

════════

With ten minutes left of the session, Rafe’s laptop dies. You slide it towards him, disappointed you couldn’t upload the essay you’d just finished before the battery drained.

“Make sure to submit it before midnight,” you say. “Oh, and Lyla and Beck’s parents are hosting their birthday party on Saturday, so consider me unavailable for fake girlfriend duties that night.”

Rafe opens his backpack, pushing his laptop in as he mulls over your words. That sounds like the type of event you’d want him to come to.

“Do you need me there?” he asks.

“You were invited,” you say, “but I’ll say you were busy. You’d hate it. It’s an hour away, with a bunch of strangers you’d have to impress, and there’s obviously no way your ex would be there. I can do this on my own.”

Rafe stills before he speaks again.

“Do you need me there?” he repeats, more evenly.

It riled him up to see Emma leave the last party with another guy. To see his arm around her at the game. He hoped he’d be able to count on you to be by his side if he sees them together again this weekend.

But mostly, and more importantly, picturing you at that birthday party alone, in the same room with the guy who hurt you, all because you didn’t want to make Rafe feel forced into going, gnaws at him.

You stare at him, trying to make sense of his tight expression. It’s confusing that he’s still even in this room, asking if you want his help after you’ve given him an out.

“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re positive you’d be fine without him, but he’s sort of become a security blanket.

“I’ve… seen her around with some guy,” he tells you. “It’d be good to get away from campus. And I owe you for losing my cool the other night.”

“Do you even have a cool?” you chuckle.

Rafe glares at you, but it’s proven disingenuous by the small, dimpled smirk he chooses not to stifle.

“I hope I’m with you the next time you see them together,” you say. “Anyways, we can drive up together, then?”

Your eyes brighten with your smile. He doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at him like that, purely and truly excited to spend time with him.

“A bunch of friends from high school will be there, and obviously Beck and Lyla’s parents, who basically consider me their daughter,” you continue, “so we’ll need to be convincing. It’s a casual dinner, then we’ll just hang out as long as we want. Can you pick me up at five?”

“Yeah,” he says. He stands up, pulling his bag over his good shoulder. “See you.”

You watch him pace towards the door, relieved that you’ll have him there, grateful that he's doing this for you even though you’re certain he really doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you mumble. He looks at you again. You motion to his injury. “Be careful with your shoulder. And… you’re going to call me corny, but I’m really glad you’re coming.”

A few seconds of silence pass between you.

“You’re corny,” he replies.

You share a smile before he steps out of the study room into the quiet library.

Emptiness abruptly digs into his chest once he’s not with you, growing deeper the farther he walks away.

You’re unlike anyone he’s known. You don’t try to hide how much you care about him and you see things in him he didn’t know were there and you combat his temper with humor and with tenderness and with reassurance that makes him feel like he’s not irreversibly fucking up all the time.

He’s never felt like this before. Like the void he’s always trying to fill isn’t bottomless after all.

════════

Your exhale is shaky as Rafe exits the freeway with only a few minutes left of the drive to Beck and Lyla’s home.

You pull down the sun visor, gazing at your reflection. You’re suddenly quiet and fidgety after you’d chattered for most of the ride.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “And why the hell do I have to ask?”

You chuckle, catching his implication that you typically blab about what’s bothering you without him having to check in.

“I don’t know how I’m going to look their parents in the eye and lie.”

“It’s that hard to pretend to like me?” Rafe murmurs. He’s glad there’s no edge to his tone, glad he can hide that your words stung him a little.

“No,” you chuckle. “When you’re being nice, I like you. Just not like that, obviously.”

Obviously. It’s happening again, the painful crook in his core, the tangled feelings that just keep twisting together.

He used to not care if you liked him. Because he didn’t like you. But your last conversation did something to him, something that was already quietly building up, something that he needs to strip before it sticks.

After every fight he had with Emma, he sensed the palpable cracks forming between them. With you, things felt stronger once you moved past your argument.

Fuck. Why is he thinking about you like you’re his actual girlfriend, comparing his last relationship? This is the last thing he needs.

“It just feels… official. Like I’m bringing a boy home,” you continue. “Nobody’s seen me in a relationship before and they might question your intentions and I don’t want it to be weird.”

You look in the mirror again.

“And I think I’m having a bad hair day. And a bad face day. And I kind of hate my outfit.”

Rafe can’t take your nonsense. Insinuating that you’re anything short of beautiful is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard you say.

He shuts the visor and utters, “You’re doing that overthinking shit again.”

“Okay, so, that’s a perfect example of you not being nice,” you laugh.

You know if you really liked him as more than a friend, his curtness would hurt you. It’s reassuring, the realization that your attraction to Rafe will never be more than physical.

You breathe a sigh, anticipating being with your friends again after you’ve parted ways to different colleges. You wonder if anyone’s changed in the few months since.

You glance over at Rafe.

“What were you like in high school?” you ask.

“The same,” he answers.

“So, just as warm and cuddly?” you tease.

He smirks. You smile like you do every time you crack his facade. It always makes you feel a little proud.

“Better when I started playing hockey,” he relents. “How about you?”

You purse your lips in thought.

“What do you mean better?” you prod.

Rafe’s in no mood to elaborate, stiffly repeating, “How about you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s like pulling teeth, getting this man to share anything.

“I haven’t really changed much,” you reply. He finds himself thinking that it’d be a shame if you ever did.

Rafe follows the GPS to pull into a quiet suburban street. He slows down in front of the house and parks. You gaze out your window to see helium balloons surrounding the front door and reach for the handle.

“Hey,” he rasps.

You turn your head to meet his eyes.

“You don’t need to freak out. We got this. And you…” He looks away. “You look good.”

The words are tight coming out of his mouth, like he really didn’t want to have to say them.

You start to thank him, but he’s already stepping out of the car.

════════

The party is so busy that you and Rafe disappear in the crowd. He stands close by as you catch up with your friends, remembering details about where they’ve gone after graduation, asking questions, making jokes.

When it’s time for dinner, you sit next to him at the table, diagonal to Beck, who has done nothing but flash you awkward smiles here and there.

He’s hardly spoken to you. You wish you weren’t doing it again, second-guessing if he really is jealous.

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get a chance to say hi,” Lyla’s mother says. You smile at her and sit up to give her a hug.

“There’s a lot of people,” you say understandingly.

“My kids are too social,” she jokes quietly, leaning over. She looks over at Rafe. “You must be…?”

“Rafe,” you say. His smile is faint, but believable.

“I hope you know I have to grill you a little,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says, glancing at you. “She warned me.”

He’s playing it entirely cool. You’re relieved. You had nothing to worry about. He has this handled.

“How’d you meet?” she asks.

“I’m his tutor,” you tell her.

“Always been a smart one,” she replies, squeezing your hand. “Is that what made you like her?”

Your eyes land on Rafe again, nerves pricking your spine.

“It’s… one a lot of things, yeah,” he says.

“What else?”

Rafe’s heart thrums.

“I don’t know anyone like her.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, the amusement in them replaced by a depth you’ve only ever seen in glimpses, when his guard slips a little. “And she has a good heart.”

“She does,” Lyla’s mother says, straightening to stand. “You better treat her right.”

“I will,” he says with a nod. When she steps away, you nudge his knee with yours.

“That was amazing,” you say. Your praise gives him a high.

“I’m a great liar,” he replies.

You nudge him again, laughing.

“I don’t care,” you say. “You can’t take any of that back.”

He wouldn’t want to anyway. It was the truth.

════════

After dinner, Beck and Lyla’s mother brings out an ornate cake, prompting the room to break out in song. You watch Beck and Lyla blow out the candles as everyone applauds.

“I’ll never forget what the nurse said the day you two were born,” their father announces as he stands by the head of the table, holding a glass up. “Even when they’re big, you’ll picture them this small. And it’s true.”

He looks down, nodding curtly, lips twisting.

“Here we go again,” Lyla laughs.

“He cries every year,” you explain to Rafe in a hush.

He gazes at your profile as their dad continues his toast. He was aware you knew Beck for a long time, for years, but seeing this makes it real.

He can picture it now, you spending your adolescence in this house, making memories with this family, falling for the guy sitting on the other side of the table who brushed you off, who’s blind to how happy you make everyone around you.

The night you sat on that kitchen counter in that frat house back on campus, your eyes deepened with a sadness that hardly ever comes across your face, and you told him what you saw in Beck. What made you fall for him.

Fun. Kind. Nice to everybody.

And it’s a reminder of why this fire that’s growing inside Rafe for you needs to be put out. He’s the antithesis of the guy you’re in love with. You’d never want him like that.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” their father continues. “Happy birthday.”

Rafe looks down at his plate, wishing he’d been prepared for the wave of pain that’s crashing down on him as the sounds of conversation and dishes rattling and joyous laughter ricochet across the room.

He hates to admit it to himself, but Beck has everything he wants, down to a father who’s proud of his son.

He glances over at you again, but you’re still looking at Beck, your smile both happy and sad, your eyes trained on the one person you’re doing all of this for.

════════

The party moves to the rec room after Beck and Lyla’s parents wish everyone a good night.

Rafe’s hand is in yours as you lead him down the carpeted stairs, then settle on the plush sectional couch next to him as you chat with your friends.

He always hated his impulsivity. He was just telling himself to put out the fire, but he only throws fuel onto it when he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer the moment Beck walks in.

You nuzzle in, shifting to look at him again, your noses nearly bumping from how close you are.

“It’s the other shoulder?” you confirm softly, making sure you aren’t putting pressure on where he’s hurting.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod and absorb yourself back into the group’s conversation. Your back is pressed against his chest and he hopes you don’t feel how hard his heart is pounding.

But he knows that the way you make him feel isn’t unique to him. He sees it now that you’re with your friends. You make everyone feel this way, like you want them around.

Drinks start getting passed. You look at Rafe again.

“I’m staying sober tonight,” you tell him. “Thought I should reassure you that I won’t be inviting myself over for another sleepover.”

He wants to ask why that’d be such a bad thing and it’s like he left his sanity upstairs, because now he’s wondering what the hell he’s doing wanting to flirt with you.

“Everyone’s playing,” Lyla announces as she places a box in the middle of the coffee table. “And nobody’s allowed to sit out. You legally can’t say no to the birthday girl.”

“It’s my birthday, too,” Beck says.

“Who cares?” Lyla jokes, opening the box. “It’s truth or dare. We’ll take turns picking a card and reading it out loud and if you won’t do either or you fail at a dare, you have to drink.”

“Oh, no,” you whisper to Rafe.

“Just be happy you found a way to read at a party,” he replies.

You crack a genuine laugh. His lips pull into a smile as he watches you, gratified that the joy you’re feeling right now is entirely because of him.

You feel Beck’s stare on you from his spot on the couch a couple of people away. You look up at him and he looks away and it’s like a discombobulating shove into the past, reminding you of when you’d catch him staring and let your mind run away with daydreams.

The feeling of Rafe’s arm tightening around you grounds you in reality, but it also sends a rush of heat through you and you hate that it does that.

“Truth: what's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?” Lyla reads out. “Or dare: keep your eyes closed for three full minutes. Easy. Dare.”

She closes her eyes, then points to her right. The game continues around the circle and when it’s your turn to pick, you select a card, feeling everyone but Lyla’s stare on you.

“Truth: what’s the last excuse you used to cancel plans? Dare: don’t laugh or smile until your next turn.”

“Worst dare you could’ve gotten,” Rafe murmurs.

“You’d never manage,” your friend, Marcus chuckles.

You laugh, then laugh again when you realize you just proved both of them right.

“Damn it,” you say. “You know what? I’ll take the dare.”

You put the card down on the table and exhale deeply, trying to focus.

Rafe’s eyes flit to Marcus, whose eyes stay on you longer than he’d like them to.

“Your turn,” you say to Rafe, stone-faced.

He’d rather not play this, but he’s supposed to be acting like a good boyfriend. Besides, there’s something about disappointing you that makes him feel worse than disappointing anyone else.

He leans forward, his arm lifting off of you for a moment, and picks up a card. His hand settles on your hip again as he reclines, his bicep hard against your back.

He’s only staring at the card, so you tilt your head back to read it aloud for him.

“When was the last time you cried? Or, let someone in the room write whatever they want on you with a permanent marker.”

You look at him, holding back your smile, knowing you’re both thinking the same thing. As his girlfriend, it’d make sense that you’d be the one to mark his body.

He would never admit to crying, especially to a group of strangers. The reminder of Emma’s words, of how she’d said he called her in tears, makes your stomach drop. Suddenly, not smiling doesn’t take any effort anymore.

“Dare,” you answer for him. “I need a marker.”

“I’ll get it. Someone help me,” Lyla says, her eyes still shut as she stands. She feels for her way around the room as one of your mutual friends stands up to accompany her. “Keep playing!”

The next person starts their turn, and you take Rafe’s free hand and rest his arm across his lap, gently to not tug too hard and strain his shoulder.

It’s a shock how instinctually you did it, how touching him is natural now, yet still manages to make your heart race a little faster every time you do it.

“I’m going for a meaningful one. I’m thinking my name,” you tease, running your finger up the length of the inside of his forearm, eyes travelling over the faint lines of veins, “from here to here. Sound good?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. You crack a smirk. “And you lost your dare.”

“Don’t tell,” you mumble, forcing your smile away. “You know I can’t hold my alcohol.”

When both girls come back downstairs, Lyla blindly hands you the marker. You meet Rafe’s stare before you look down at his arm.

“The card said whatever I want,” you say quietly, mischief in your tone.

He watches you lean in, eyelashes fluttering as you blink, lips pursing in thought. The wet ink hits the inside of his wrist and his stomach goes numb when you start to slide the smooth, thin end of the marker over him, your thumb gently pressing into his skin as you hold him steady.

Rafe stares as you concentrate, and he starts to breathe a little deeper simply because the way you smell has become a comfort now, a familiarity, a hit of dopamine.

You sit up seconds later. He looks down to see Room 205 written in small, black characters. Your study room.

“You’ll never forget where to go,” you say happily. “Well, until it washes off.”

You finally meet his eyes again. He’s wearing the same concentrated look you’ve seen before, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What, did you really expect I’d write something that bad?” you say as you snap the cap back on the marker.

The group continues with the next round, and when it’s your turn again, you have to choose between sharing your biggest insecurity or whispering a secret to someone in the room.

“Dare,” you decide, putting the card on the table and leaning back, lifting your chin to whisper into Rafe’s ear.

He slightly angles his head so that nobody can read your lips, shivers spreading over his skin from the feeling of your cheek on his.

“You’re probably my favorite student that I’ve ever tutored,” you say quietly.

It’s not a lie. Even with all his flaws, Rafe has given you something you’re not sure anybody else would have. He came into your life at the perfect time, came up with the perfect idea, and you’re deeply grateful for it.

He hastily cups your jaw, his hand so large it covers your cheek completely, as he tilts your head so he can tell you something, too. His lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Just probably?” he whispers back. “That’s bullshit.”

You pull back, laughing, your eyes lingering on him.

“Don’t start making out, please,” Lyla teases.

You roll your eyes and look at the group again.

“I’ll spare you all the PDA,” you reply.

“Why start now?” a friend jokes.

“Yeah,” Beck quietly huffs. An ache of confusion rattles through you.

The game carries on, but Beck’s eyes linger on you. He’s never looked at you like this before. And it makes you believe what Rafe has been telling you this entire time.

════════

You leave the party holding Rafe’s hand and untangle your fingers from his the moment you’re out of the house, the moment there aren’t any eyes on you.

Rafe’s palm is cold now that your touch is gone.

Again, he’s powerless to the way his heart does whatever it wants and doesn’t give his head a chance to catch up.

He wasn’t supposed to like you.

He never expected to.

But when he looks at you as you tread towards his car together and the hushed moonlight bathes your features in its glow and you offer him that smile that makes his heart splinter in a way it never has, he yields to the truth, unable to put up a fight any longer.

He’s hopeless. You’ve pulled him under. And he had no choice but to let you.

next >

author’s note and the yearning (that eventually turns mutual) begins 🙂‍↕️

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron

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stevesgother · 7 months ago

Text

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death

AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!

Much love ~ emma

“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.

“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”

You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.

“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”

He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.

He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”

“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.

Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.

“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.

“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”

She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.

You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.

Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.

“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”

You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”

As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”

When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”

Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”

For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.

“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.

If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,

“See you Monday,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.

She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.

“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”

“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.

“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”

She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,

“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.

“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”

“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.

You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”

Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”

“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.

Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.

When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.

Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.

A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.

You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.

Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”

“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.

When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in. A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.

You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.

“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”

She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.

“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”

She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.

“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.

“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”

“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the

orchard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.

When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”

“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”

“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”

“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.

He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.

He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?

It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.

You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.

You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”

“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”

“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.

He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.

“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.

You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.

Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.

You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.

“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”

Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”

“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.

“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.

“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”

“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.

A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.

“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.

“Thanks baby, I see that,”

She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.

“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.

“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”

You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”

He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.

“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.

“Whichever is the most juicy!”

“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.

Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.

A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.

“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”

“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”

Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.

“Can I, mommy?”

“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”

She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.

“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.

She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.

“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”

“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.

She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.

“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.

“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.

He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”

You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”

“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”

The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.

He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.

“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”

You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”

“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”

One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.

You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”

“You do that a lot,”

“I feel it a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.

Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.

You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.

There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.

Until tonight.

Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.

It was for someone new.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

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laceyhearts · 2 days ago

Text

౨ৎ SPILLING THE TEA ; HUGHES BROTHERS !

➪ summary: 3 times where y/n needs to tell her brothers about the drama going on at her school no matter where they are or who they're with, or what it'll take to tell them

➪ pairing: quinn hughes x sister!reader, jack hughes x sister!reader, luke hughes x sister!reader

➪ warnings: none (mostly proofread, improvement)

➪ word count: 1.6k

➪ emma's notes: i wasn't going to edit this bc last night i did not have the motivation but then i woke up and edited it so 😛 also this is out earlier than normal bc i won't be home so yes!

1. scheduled tea time (ft. brock boeser) ; reader: 18, quinn: 24 ; november of 2023

He should’ve expected the call; it was a Saturday, and he had no plans for the day after practice. But he was oblivious to his phone ringing in his bag, too focused on changing and gathering the rest of his things to realize it.

Just as he was about to leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder, looking back to see his teammate standing there, “Hey, uh, y/n called me? She said you missed ‘tea time’.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, his hand reaching for his phone before pausing, “Wait, how’d she get your number?”

“It doesn’t matter, just put the phone to your ear, Quintin, or call me.” The voice was mumbled, but he knew it all too well.

Brock held his hands up in surrender as he hung up his phone, leaving his captain to call his sister from his own phone.

And two minutes later, Quinn was launched into a conversation about two kids he barely knew, “Anna and Neil broke up!”

Quinn shook his head. “Who?”

“You know, Neil Castro and Anna Cunningham? They broke up, bro. They were endgame too! This is so rigged.”

“Wait, wait, who? You can’t just give me names, y/n/n.” He started walking out of the locker room, grabbing his keys from his back pocket.

“Anna is one of the girls on the team with me, and Neil is one of the guys on the football team. They were endgame. I swear I told you about them.”

“Oh, is he the one who got you all to do that one cheesy promposal thing last year?”

“Yes! I can’t believe they broke up Quinn. I have no hope for finding a relationship if they didn’t last. Love isn’t real.”

Quinn just chuckled as he got into his car and started driving out of the parking lot, “I’m sure you’ll find someone, y/n/n. Just give it time.”

“You sound like every taken girl who is trying to reassure her single best friend that there’s someone out there for her.” She groaned loudly, “Anyway. Other drama I need to catch you up on.”

“Hit me.”

“So David and Pen got together, he asked her out after her game the other day.”

“Is Pen the one who kind of looks like that chick from Pretty Woman?”

“You mean Julia Roberts? Quinn, we seriously have to educate you. And I found out that this guy likes me. Which, before you say a single word, Quintin, he looks like Jack, and I would not like to date someone who looks like my brother, thank you very much.”

“Okay then…”

“And he’s a total creep, one time Ruby found him staring at us during practice, like just sitting in the bleachers.”

“Yep, I retract my statement that I never said.”

And for the next twenty minutes, Quinn sat in a majority of silence, only making a few comments here and there as his little sister continued to ramble on about people he’s never met.

“Okay, I have homework to do. Bye Quinn!”

“Bye y/n/n.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

2. who said what (w/ the new jersey devils) ; reader: 16, jack: 20 ; september of 2021

The unexpected ringing of a phone made the rest of the guys who were in the locker room jump. Each one fumbled for their phones, Jack coming up the lucky one. However, he groaned when he saw who was calling him, “Who is it?”

“My sister.” He threw his jacket on before answering the call, “Hey.”

“Jack, oh my god!”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ Nothing. Well, that’s not true, but nothing’s wrong with me personally. I have just have news.”

“Okay…?” He put it on speaker and placed it on the bench before continuing to put his shoes on.

“So basically, I was in class today and this guy came in.”

“Wait, you’re on speaker.”

“Who’s there?”

“Uh, Nico, Kevin, Dougie, Daws, Jesper.”

“Oh, okay! Ask them if they want to hear the drama!”

Jack eyed his teammates, who all shrugged and took a seat near his phone, “Talk away, little Hughes.”

She grinned, “This guy came into class today and he had a homecoming poster.”

“Did someone ask you to homecoming?” “Was he cute?” “What’d the sign say?”

“Okay, okay, hold. Nico, no one asked me to homecoming. Daws, no, he was not cute, unfortunately. And Jack the sign said, ‘Would you be my chick at Hoco’ with food from Chick-Fil-A.”

They all nodded their heads, her answers fulfilling their questions, “Okay, proceed.”

“So Dylan, that’s the guy's name, asked Elizabeth to homecoming, but here’s the catch, he was still quote-unquote dating Layla.”

“He what?”

“I know, right? But that’s not all.”

The 6 exchange looks at each other, all slowly growing more intrigued by the second, “Go on.”

“Dylan’s about to get sleazier. So Elizabeth was the girl his best friend had a crush on, his best friend was Brandon, and Brandon was going to ask her out to homecoming with the same poster on the same day, just later.

”It doesn’t end there. I heard from Shannon, she’s my best friend. Anyway, I heard from Shannon, who heard from Brenda, who heard from her brother Liam, who heard from his girlfriend Chloe, who heard from Addison that Layla was going to break up with Dylan to ask Brandon to hoco. So I guess Layla wasn’t hurt by it but still, that’s fucking shitty.”

The boys all nodded wordlessly, trying to keep up with all the information that was being thrown at them. Jesper finally spoke, “Aren’t you just a sophomore?”

“That is totally besides the point, Jesper. But these are seniors fyi.”

“And how do you have all the senior drama?”

“One, they’re popular. Two, I have connections.”

“Connections, huh?” Nico’s voice filled her room.

“Yes, connections, Nico. I am a very popular girl, contrary to people’s belief.”

“Aww, little shy y/n is all popular with a bunch of friends.” Jack teases.

“Okay, this is not why I called. I’m hanging up now! Bye, boys.”

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“Yes, Douglas?”

“Next time shit happens I want to know, I’ll have Jack send you my number.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Uh, excuse me, I’m the captain.”

“Mhm, I’m aware. You’re all Jack talks about, it’s always Nico this and Nico that.” Y/n mocks.

“Goodbye, Y/n!”

“Bye, Jacky!”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

3. personal drama (w/ the umich wolverines) ; reader: 17, luke: 19 ; september of 2022

Luke was lounging on the couch surrounded by most of his team members when he got her call. At first, he was hesitant to answer it because he didn’t have the energy to do much, but the voice in the back of his mind told him to answer anyway.

“What’s up, y/n/n?”

“Luke! Okay, so, big news. Like massive.”

She could hear his groan on the other side, “Don’t give me that. You’re going to want to hear this. Put me on FaceTime!”

He rolled his eyes but did as instructed. He propped his phone against his water bottle. “Say hi to everyone.”

Everyone’s head popped into the frame, and she waved excitedly, “Hi! Oh! You guys are going to want to hear this, too.”

Her words caused all of them to scoot closer to Luke to see her better, watching as she talked animatedly, “So apparently, wait, do you remember Clara and Ruby?”

Luke nodded his head while the others shrugged cluelessly, Luke clueing them in on who people were “Right, so Clara and Ruby have been beefing since like freshman year for no fucking reason.”

“Language.”

“Would you stop with that? I’m eighteen, Lukas.”

“Almost eighteen, y/n. Now, continue before I hang up.

She whined, making the others laugh, but continued, “We were at practice before the game, and suddenly Ruby knocked on my car window with tears streaming down her face.”

Y/n took a sip of her water before going on, “And what happened was that Clara was talking shit about me and Ruby was not having it so-”

“Wait, what’d she say about you?” Rutger chimed in from behind Luke.

The girl only shrugged, “No clue, still trying to find that part out. All I’ve heard is that it was pathetic and douchey, so probably not something vary good.”

This caused all the boys’ eyes to narrow at her, “Are you lying?”

“What, no? That’s preposterous.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Tell us.”

“She called me a slut.”

This only made Luke bark out a laugh, “That’s impossible. You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.”

Y/n blushed a bright shade of red, murkiness, “That’s besides the point, Luke. And why do you always have to embarrass me in front of your friends?”

She buried her head into her hands, not daring to look at them. The boys chuckled before Adam spoke, “Don’t worry, we still find you adorable.”

She only blushed harder at his words, Luke hitting him in the arm, “Dude, that’s my sister.”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, y/n finally remembered why she called them in the first place, “Right, anyway, back to the entire reason we’re talking in the first place.

“Ruby yelled at Clara, like badly, but then she talked to Caldwell, one of our coaches, and she’s not in trouble, so that’s good. But jeez, I swear yesterday couldn’t have been more chaotic.”

“Well, thanks for the update?”

Even though she knew his voice was sarcastic, she still smiled, “Anytime. Now I have to go tell Jack because I know he’s getting out of practice, and the last time I told him something, Nico and Dougie were there and they wanted to know everything.”

HUGHES BROTHERS MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; OTHER MASTERLISTS

JOIN THE TAGLIST ; MY NAVIGATION

#˚ ༘ ✶ ꒰ laceyhearts’ writing ! ꒱#˚ ༘ ✶ ꒰ hughes brothers ! ꒱#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes #jh86 #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #lh43 #luke hughes x reader #hughes brothers #hughes brothers x reader #hughes!sister #hughes!reader

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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 15

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose. Also Discussion of toxic media/fandom.

Also, this is the first time of me trying to write fake articles/transcripts...so be nice, please?

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Podcast Transcript: The Paddock Report

Episode Title: Silverstone Predictions & Paddock Whispers

Hosts: Jake Carter and Emma Turner

Jake: Alright, moving on from the usual weekend predictions—there’s been a bit of... let’s call it energy coming from McLaren lately. Obviously, Silverstone is always a big one for the British drivers—Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, and of course, Lando Norris. But I have to say… there’s something going on at McLaren, and specifically with Lando, and they are being very tight-lipped about it.

Emma: Yeah, something is definitely brewing over there. And I’m not talking about car upgrades…There’s been this weird… I don’t know, energy? Around McLaren. Like, normally, they’re very open with their media content. They love a good teaser, they love stirring up excitement. But this time? It’s like they’re trying not to say something

Jake: Which, historically, means something is up. Because let’s be real, McLaren PR loves a good hype moment. But this? It’s different. They’re trying really hard to keep a lid on it.

Emma: And it’s not contract-related, as far as we know. Lando’s locked in. It’s not a last-minute driver swap. So, what are we thinking?

Jake: My money’s on a personal announcement.

Emma: Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is a WAG situation.

Jake: You think Lando’s finally gone public with someone?

Emma: Maybe? Or at least, something’s happening where they know the media will ask about it, and they’re trying to get ahead of it.

Jake: Or, hear me out, it’s even bigger.

Emma: Like… marriage? A secret engagement? A baby?!

Jake: Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Emma: All I’m saying is—McLaren never keeps things this quiet unless there’s something big brewing. And whatever it is, we’re going to find out very, very soon.

Jake: Exactly. Whatever’s happening, we’ll find out soon enough. But mark my words—Lando Norris is hiding something.

Max Fewtrell on Stream

Chat is an absolute disaster, filled with variations of “Max, spill” and “Lando girlfriend when???”

MaxFewtrell: You lot are relentless. Actually relentless. I should’ve put slow mode on.

Squints at the chat.

MaxFewtrell: "Max, we saw the dog." – Congrats, you have eyes. Very impressive.

MaxFewtrell: "He literally said 'my girlfriend’s dog' on stream, explain yourself." – Okay, first of all, I don’t have to explain anything. Second of all… yeah, that was funny.

Grins as chat goes feral.

MaxFewtrell: "So he DOES have a girlfriend??" – I mean, I’m not saying that. But I’m also not not saying that.

MaxFewtrell: "Hard launch when?" – You guys are so impatient, honestly. Maybe soon. Maybe this weekend. Maybe you should all stay very, very tuned.

Leans forward conspiratorially.

MaxFewtrell: But hey, I’m just some guy on Twitch. What do I know?

Elizabeth Treshton on Fantasy, Fame, and Finding Magic in the Real WorldBy Jolene Cooper

When Elizabeth Treshton first started writing Season of Fate, she had no audience in mind—just a story itching to be told.

“I was twenty, home from university for the summer, and just writing for fun,” she recalls. “I’d sit in my dad’s garden with a notebook, scribbling away, thinking maybe one day I’d finish something just for myself.”

That “something” became a literary sensation. The Seasons of Fate series has since sold millions of copies worldwide, with a devoted fanbase that dissects every detail, from character arcs to hidden lore. The upcoming film adaptation of A Spring of Secrets and Thorns has only heightened the excitement, turning Treshton into one of the most talked-about authors in romantasy today.

And yet, she still seems a little surprised by it all.

“I don’t think I ever fully processed how big it’s gotten,” she admits with a laugh. “Every time I see someone with my book, I have to resist the urge to ask if they’re enjoying it.”

The Unexpected Rise

Treshton’s writing blends intricate world-building with deeply personal, emotionally charged relationships. Fans praise her for crafting characters who feel real—flawed, fierce, and achingly human, even in a world of magic and myths.

“I love that romantasy lets us explore relationships in heightened, dramatic ways,” she says. “It’s adventure and escapism, but at the core, it’s about love—whether that’s romantic, familial, or self-love. That’s what really draws people in.”

She credits her love of grand storytelling to her lifelong obsession with Formula 1, of all things.

“I grew up watching F1,” she says. “My dad was a huge Ferrari fan, so I was basically raised on race weekends and heartbreak.” She grins. “I think that’s why I gravitate toward emotionally devastating storytelling.”

Writing While Living with Epilepsy

Treshton has been open about her journey with epilepsy, something she’s lived with since childhood. It’s a condition that affects her daily life, including her writing process.

“There are days when I can write 5,000 words without stopping,” she says. “And there are days when my brain just says, ‘Nope, not today.’”

She’s learned to listen to those limits. “For a long time, I thought I had to push through everything. But then I realized that rest is just as important as work.”

Her service dog, Mara, plays a huge role in maintaining that balance.

“She’s my shadow,” Treshton says, glancing down as Mara, a brown Labrador, dozes beside her. “She keeps me safe, but she also keeps me grounded. If I’ve been working too long, she’ll put her head on my laptop and sigh dramatically until I take a break.”

Mara has become a beloved fixture in the Season of Fate fandom, with fans drawing art of her as various mythical creatures from the books.

“I love that people adore her as much as I do,” Treshton says. “She deserves all the attention.”

A Love Story of Her Own

For someone who has built a career on writing sweeping, emotionally charged romances, Treshton has always been remarkably private about her own love life.

When asked if her stories are inspired by personal experience, she hesitates for a moment, then smiles.

“Not at first,” she admits. “I used to think love was something that only happened to other people. Not me.”

She pauses, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. “Turns out, I was wrong about that.”

It’s the kind of answer that will undoubtedly send fans into a frenzy, but she offers no further details. Just a quiet acknowledgment that, for all the fantasy she’s written, real life has its own magic too.

What’s Next?

With A Winter of Ash and Starligh, the final installment of Season of Fate, set to release later this year, and the movie adaptation moving forward, Treshton’s world is only getting bigger.

“I’m excited,” she says. “A little terrified, but mostly excited.”

And as for what comes after that?

She grins. “I guess we’ll see.”

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justcruisingaroundrevived · 4 months ago

Note

The yandere Pete love letter was SO GOOD!!! Could you please do Jerry or Bill next? ❤️❤️❤️

This Invasion Makes Me Feel Worthless, Hopeless, Sick

Summary: You’re infecting Bill’s mind…and he hates it

Word count: 990

TW/CW: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, stalking, implied wet dreams, mixed signals,

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This was so fun to do (cause I think Bill’s love letter would be very, VERY stalkerish)

Reblogs are appreciated!

I keep seeing you in the halls, you know? It’s weird. All of my life, normies have been in the background of my life. Still remember the time I lost my Superman cape on Halloween cause fucking Brad and his bullies tore it up and hung me up in the tree. My mom had to get me down, and she scolded me! Saying I care too much about those “childish” hobbies and “You should just grow up”. What the fuck does she know? Only started to act like this when it was clear my dad’s late night leaving meant she was stuck with a parasite.

Don’t get me wrong; you’re exactly like that. Noticed you in my math class, being over excited to answer the questions and anxiously looking at your notebook while taking notes. You know, you shouldn’t even be in calculus if you’re so nervous?! At least when I read my comics in class and the teacher calls me out, I can answer confidently. At least I CAN GET THE FUCKING ANSWER RIGHT?!

Whatever. The point being that you don’t stand out to me, or at least you shouldn’t. Like the others, you blend into the background, and I stay as the underdog.

However, how the fuck do you know about X-Men and Squirrel Girl?! The stickers on your locker indicate that you actually read that shit, and that’s something to gawk at! You? Having normie friends, doing normie activities and being just fucking normal, actually liking the same shit I did?! I’ve spent weeks of my life, reading the latest editions and waking everyone up because I noticed a mistake with my copy? The same shit I waited online at midnight for, kicking and screaming because they said they had enough copies for everyone, but ALL OF A SUDDEN didn’t when I came through the door?! Like, it’s not my fault little kids don’t know what hit them on the way out!

What’s worse is that you keep appearing to me as fucking Emma Frost. Her blonde hair being replaced with your (H/C). You’re lying on my bed, teasing the FUCK out of me. What’s worse is that it’s in her Hellfire Club outfit.

I can forgive Wonder Woman, Lara Croft, Trinity and even Tasha Yar (it was a wet dream with her) but Emma Frost?! She was sacred to me, until your fucking being invaded my dreams. I can still hear your voice saying “Come to bed, honey” in that stupid fucking voice! Your finger beckoning me to come…and I did.

Despite all fucking instincts, I FUCKING DID! I went over to you and ravished you like a fucking fool. It didn’t even look like those porn videos, but an actual sappy romance scene! Just two people crashing lips together!

…you’ve invaded my mind. You’re controlling me like Professor Xavier did to Magneto in the cartoon. Every time I see you walking in the hallways, the thoughts I formed in my brain just melt away, and all I’m left with is you. You’ve imprinted me. Every last capacity of my brain has been invaded by your existence.

It’s gotten to the point where the club mocks me, especially that fat piece of shit boulder! I can hear his nasal laughter while he talks about me being “whipped”! FUCKING WHIPPED! The only thing whipped are pussies and normies, AND YOU’VE TURNED ME INTO THAT!

You’re not even that interesting! You get up, take a 5 minute shower (usually doing your face and body), put on that expensive skincare only available at Sephora, eat the breakfast your mom usually makes (pancakes with a toast is your go to) and then head out!

You stop for a coffee (iced with 2 sugar and cream) and head to school. Going to your locker on the third floor (the twelfth one) and talking to your friends (your locker is so strange…it’s like someone molded you to be my other half….even the way you talk about the latest comics…)

I only have you for third period calculus, and you’re so strange. Always paying attention to class and actually responding to what the teacher says. It’s like you actually like being in class. Strange….

I hate your friends. Seeing them near you is like bugs crawling in my spine. I hate them. I hate them so fucking much. I hate how happy you seem with them, the way your hand gently pushes them jokingly….that should be me. I want that warmth in your eyes, that soft touch you can bring. Still remember how you offered me a pen when I couldn’t find any. I’d admit, I grip onto your hand when I accepted…you smelt so fucking good. Like a floral, clean scent. You would look so beautiful in my collection. My most prized collectible. And I can show you off, cause I caught you. You. YOU!

I hate you. I want to crawl myself into your skin and become you. See how you function…see how you deal with this day to day life. You’re so intriguing.

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

I hate you. Just stay the fuck away from me.

-William Alan Dickey

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville club #bill dickey #eltingville bill #eltingville #bill eltingville #yandere bill dickey #the eltingville club bill #bill dickey x reader #eltingville comic #eltingvile club #yandere tec #eltingville club x reader #tec x reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere character #yandere

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writing-mlm · 6 months ago

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sharky the writer you are.. 🙏 could we get another scott x male reader where the reader is a more dominant figure? like kinda playing into the fact scott says he likes people stronger than him and tells emma “you know me, ms. frost. i live to serve.” doesn’t have to be super smutty or anything but sub scott has been on my mind since i saw the cover for the 100th anniversary special where emma pulls a riding crop on him.

Get a room

Summary: After recovering from being held hostage, Scott uses training as an excuse to get under you. Pairing: Scott Summers x Winged!Male!reader Wc: 1.6k Tags: no smut, very sexual though, some medical talk because Scotty is injured, Scott is a loser when it comes to displays of strength

Scott Summers; family man. The kind of guy you can happily bring to meet your family; the type of guy who’d stare your father's gun down with a smile and still shake his hand with a firm grip.

Cyclops; the leader. The kind of guy who commands a room without entering it; the type of guy who’s fought his whole life and will continue to do so.

Scotty; your love. He’s Scott Summers and he’s Cyclops. He’s a man with an incredibly complex upbringing with too many feelings to unravel in one lifetime.

You know him inside and out, boring his soul into yours like a warm hug. So it’s to no one's surprise when you’re put in charge of the extraction team to get him and other mutants out of wherever they’ve been held captive for a week now.

The large metal keys clank to the ground as the door swings open. Breathing a sigh of relief when you see Scott is there, you take a moment to compose yourself and look around the room. It’s just an empty room with a tiny window at the top and Scott in the middle. You frown, seeing that he is tied up in some weird dungeon in the middle of the ocean.

But he’s otherwise unharmed.

He looks up at you, a ghost of a smile resting nicely on his face.

“That pose looks good on you,” You grinned, running your fingers along his arms flexed behind his back, pinning him to sit on his knees.

“Just help me,” He groaned, tugging at the metal cuffs but they didn't budge. Snapping the chain with a tug, you carefully grab his wrists and break the metal connecting them together. He shudders and rubs his wrists; sure they’re going to be sore for a while. “Thank you,” He says as he stands up.

“You can kiss me later, this place is about to blow up— can you open the wall?” He blinks but grabs onto you and blasts the cement wall. It explodes and you cover the two of you with your wing, the thick white feathers blocking the rubble and dust. It oddly sounds like rain hitting an umbrella. When it stops, you shake the wing off and grab him before diving out.

Scott smells the salty sea air as you’re barreling towards the water before you spread your wings and shoot into the sky. He tucks his head in, fearing the air will blow off his shades until you land inside the jet. His feet touch the metal and he unwraps himself from you but still holds onto you for support as you guide him up to the cockpit.

“That’s everyone,” You huff. “Took me a minute to find Scotty.” Rubbing his head, he clears his throat- a silent plea that he needs to look professional right now - and thanks everyone on your temporary team. Not a moment later several explosions can be heard in close succession and then the sound of heavy stones hitting the water.

He settles onto his normal seat on the jet while you check over everyone; providing snack boxes to all of them because you’re sure they were starved in that place.

Once you’re back at the mansion, you drag Scott into the infirmary. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea but there’s not much he can do to convince you to let him go.

“I’m fine,” He insists while Hank checks his vitals for the third time. It’s been an hour of him sitting there in the uncomfortable hospital gown.

“You have a greenstick fracture on both of your arms,” You correct, flipping through his chart. “Your blood pressure is dangerously low, you’ve lost seventeen pounds in two weeks, and your hips and knees were dislocated— they’re still dislocated.”

“Then heal me, angel,” He grins but winces when the pressure band expands on his arm. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“Charming, but you need your fluids first. Hank will start an IV drip once he’s done with that and then I’ll transfer you up to our room, ‘kay?” He sighs but nods.

“Can I at least help you?” He asks just before you leave. “You still have bits of concrete in your wings.” Thinking about it, you see Hank give a noncommittal shrug.

Sitting on the bed between his legs, Scott helps pick out the rubble from your feathers. His careful fingers preane and pry, dusting and gentle fixing. It doesn’t bother you, your wings and feathers are strong. You hardly feel it when someone touches them. But he still takes such good care of them when you can’t.

After he’s done, Hank cleans up his arm and you watch as he starts the IV drip. He doesn’t need to tell you the instructions for Scott; you’ve done this enough times and gotten through half of your residency to know how to handle an injured Scott.

Scooping him up, he looks away but holds onto your shoulder with this non-IV arm. He’s ever aware you’re carrying him with one arm, the other holding the monitor and drip bags the whole way up from the basement to the second floor.

Oh, how he envies Kurt for having blue fur.

—

When Scott fully heals, which takes longer than he likes because you refuse to heal his hip until he’s put back on the weight from before, he goes back to normal. Almost immediately he begs for a fight; a training exercise— anything. He literally gets on his knees begging because you’d rather spend your afternoon outside than in the stuffy training room. But how can you deny your Scotty? Especially when he’d taken your orders while injured like a champ.

“C’mon Scotty,” You coo, trailing your finger along the length of his jaw, stopping just before your finger left the tip of his chin. “I know you can do it, just a little more.” He grins, his lips wobbling as he struggles against your wings. He grunts, feeling you put more pressure down on him.

“That’s my boy,” You tease, watching him squirm and huff under you. You’re not even touching him, hovering above his stomach with just your wings pinning his chest to the ground. “You can last longer, right?”

“I can,” He nods rapidly, breathless. “I can take it.” His eyes dart from the white feathers to your teasing face and he blows air from his mouth. You lessen the grip, causing a soft whine to escape him, his hands clawing at your pants.

Originally, he wanted to prove that he could escape from under you without his beams. You disagreed, naturally. Because he benches maybe three hundred while you bench four times that, but he was incredibly insistent. A part of you knows he’s getting off to this, though.

“Good boy,” He moans, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip before he gives up, chest heaving as he relaxes against your grip. Giving up, he rests on his elbows before staring up at you as you scoot up, sitting on his chest. Like putty underneath you, he stares up, resting his head on your leg. You run your fingers through his hair, the sweat from the edge of his hairline makes his hair awfully messy.

“Can you two stop train-fucking already?” Emma scoffs as she walks into the training room with some students. You roll your eyes and lift yourself up, hovering in the air while Scott quickly stands up and gives the students a quick acknowledgment.

“We’re preparing for tomorrow’s lesson,” He tells her but he’s unable to deny the red that’s spread across his face.

“Hopefully it’s less sexually charged.” She teases and you laugh, knocking her with your wing before you drag Scott out. There are other rooms where you practice— actually practice this time. Scouts honor. But Scott just wants to finish up his workout so you join him. He’s on the Stairmaster while you’re using the leg press.

The height advantage he has allows for him to watch you as he tries to beat his record on that horrible machine. He watches as your legs tense under the heavy plates, how you’re not holding onto the bars but rather on your phone. It’s crazy but the lack of acknowledgement of the weight makes his legs wobbly and he holds onto the handles for balance.

“You okay, Scotty?” You ask, hearing the sloppy foot placement and the near slip. “Need a break?” Immediately the idea of beating his record is thrown out the window and he shuts down the machine.

“Mhmm,” He nods and climbs down, making his way over to you. He goes to sit on the floor but you place him over your lap, smiling up at him. Your phone is tossed to the floor, and all of your focus is on him.

“Do your legs hurt?” You ask, feigning being oblivious to the real issue as you work on massaging his calves. “I wasn’t too harsh earlier, was I?”

“No,” He holds your wrists, keeping your hands there. “You weren’t. Yes, they hurt a little.” You hum while you shift a little and watch as his eyes close before he looks down at you.

“What? I have to be in the right position.” You defend yourself as the door to the gym opens. He looks up while you continue your reps, using your wing to wave at whoever walked inside.

“Must you two always be touching each other?” Storm chides as she walks past the two of you. Scott grins, resting his arms on the plate behind your head so he can watch her head over to the treadmills.

“I need a spotter for the leg press, Ro!” You laugh at the poor excuse, looking up from Scott's chest and at his neck where you press a soft kiss. He hums, closing his legs further on your thighs.

“And you know me, Ororo, I live to serve.”

#x male reader #x reader #scott summers x you #scott summers x male reader #scott summers x reader #cyclops x male reader #cyclops x reader #x mutant reader

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burreauxwrites · 6 months ago

Text

“LOATHING” - (joe burrow x oc)

CHAPTER THREE - “thru the phone”

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ (MDNI)! perv!joe, a wet dream happens, joe has a voice kink, jerking off, over the phone stuff…joe is just really horny this chapter 😭

winnie sighs as she walks into her physics class, spotting a seat next to joe and getting her things out. she had been pushed and almost trampled by all the tall students roaming the halls. it was annoying, but thankfully, she made it.

“god, winnie,” joe snickers, looking at winnie’s disheveled and frustrated appearance, “you look like you just woke up.”

“well. i did. but also, people roam the halls with no sense of awareness,” she groans, putting her book on top of her desk, “or urgency.”

joe chuckles, knowing that winnie hates getting to her classes. even when they were in middle school together, winnie struggled with transitioning between classes.

“yeah? well, that’s the life of a student for you.” he nudges her shoulder, getting a small smile from her.

oddly enough, there’s something about winnie. he’s not sure if it's the fact that she styles her hair, or if she does a bit of makeup, or if it’s her fidgeting. maybe it’s the small pout she does when focusing. but she looks…pretty. really pretty.

joe watches as kaori continues getting her things out, deciding to take a brief moment to speak up.

“hey…you got a volleyball game today, right?”

winnie looks at joe, nodding with a smile. “mhm…why?”

joe grins, raising an eyebrow. “i’m gonna come and watch.”

her gaze softens. truth be told, she really did want joe to be there. she would never say that part out loud, of course. that’s straight up embarrassing. but hearing that he’ll be attending the game did make her heart swell with joy.

“really?” she asks, leaning back in her seat, “i’ll hold you to that.”

“trust me. i’ll always be around if it means i’m supporting you.” joe affirms, his eyes gleaming with a specific fondness to them.

for a moment, a brief moment, the both of them were locking eyes. they may have been looking at each other for longer than necessary, but they couldn’t look away. it’s like they were magnetized.

the bell rings, interrupting their moment. despite this, they share a brief smile, their faces both being bright red.

———————

winnie was warming up with the team as more and more people filled the gym. saying she was nervous would be an understatement. nonetheless, she’s aware of what she needs to do. after all, she finally made the team! this was the exact moment that she’s been waiting for.

as she practices hitting and serving the ball, she notices joe walk in with his friends, ja’marr and justin. his hair is styled with a few curls against his forehead, and he is wearing a sweatshirt with some black joggers. though his outfit is simple, winnie finds it…attractive?

no. snap out of it winnie. now is not the time to be ogling your friend.

as she continues warming up, her friend alina noticed her staring.

“winnie,” she asks, “you don’t happen to like joe, do you?”

with a pause, winnie holds the ball, looking at alina in shock; she wasn’t expecting that question from her.

“no. we’re just friends. why?”

alina rolls her eyes, “just friends my ass.”

in an exasperated sigh, winnie serves the ball over the net. “we are! we go way back. we had a falling out, but we rekindled our friendship.”

“and? i just saw the way you looked at him.”

huh. she did? winnie didn’t think she was that obvious. nonetheless she shrugs. “i mean. it’s normal to find your friend good looking.”

“well,” alina pauses, looking at joe for a minute before looking back at winnie, “you do know that you’ll have to deal with emma, right? she’s crazy obsessed with joe.”

she scowls a little at that. that was a very true statement. winnie isn’t dumb; she’s aware of the fact that many women are attracted to joe on campus. and sometimes, he plays into their attraction. it was something she never ever understood, but she just knew that it was something that he did.

as far as emma goes, she stops at nothing when it comes to getting what she wants. she’d beg, borrow, steal, lie…whatever it takes. but winnie doesn’t get why that bothers her so much. her and joe are only friends, so even if emma does want joe, she shouldn’t care…right?

with a small shrug of her shoulders, winnie speaks, “she can have him.”

alina scoffs, knowing that winnie is putting up a front. she doesn’t press on the subject anymore though.

meanwhile, in the stands, joe was…struggling. ja’marr and justin were laughing about something, probably a dumb instagram post or video. but he couldn’t help but focus on winnie as she warms up.

the way her hair is tied back and her stare is so focused. it’s attractive to joe. but even worse (or better), it was something about those shorts she was wearing. they hugged her curves in the best way possible, leaving nothing to his imagination.

in a way, joe felt guilty for being the perv he was being. this is his friend he’s thinking about. but with winnie looking the way she does? he’s a goner.

“joe…? joe!”

snapping from his thoughts, joe looks at justin and ja’marr. “huh…?”

“you good? you were staring hella hard at winnie,” justin chuckles.

“eh. can’t say i blame him.” ja’marr shrugs, causing joe to slap his hand against his chest roughly.

“i was not staring.” joe denies, shaking his head and folding his arms.

justin puts his hands up. “i’m not judging, man. i mean, she does look pretty good from here.”

joe huffs, waving their words off. “okay, guys that’s enough. i was looking for a very brief moment.”

and as if on cue, justin and ja’marr share a glance at each other. without words, they seem to agree that joe isn’t being smooth like he thinks he is.

———————

their hands were all over each other’s bodies, their lips floating across the other’s skin. the feeling of winnie’s nails dragging along joe’s arms made him shiver, his spine tingling from the excitement and pleasure.

“god…joe,” winnie gasps, straddling joe’s lap as the two sit on his bed.

joe chuckles, his hand on her hip slowly drifting down to her panty-clad core and rubbing very small circles. just small enough to suffice, but still be a tease. and the sensation makes her legs jolt slightly, her lips slightly parted as a breathy “oh, fuck” leaves them.

“you have no idea what it does to me, seeing you in your cute little skirts and stuff,” he whispers, watching as winnie begins to grind against his hand slightly, “or…maybe you do have an idea.”

he takes his free hand, cupping her breast gently under her bra. a soft hum of approval at the soft, supple skin, his thumb massaging her nipple. “the way you act so innocent and nonchalant…but you and i both know what you want.”

winnie’s body trembles at joe’s teasing words and touches, her mind cloudy with nothing but thoughts of him. thoughts about his hands and his lips, thoughts of his eyes piercing into her.

“joe…please,” winnie mewls, looking at joe with a dazed, love drunk look.

“please what?” joe, smirks, leaning in towards winnie’s ear, “if you want me to fuck you, then you better say it loud and clear.”

and with that, winnie wastes no time, nodding and looking at joe, “yes…yes, please, joe! i-i want…need you to fuck me so bad,” she begs, her breath hitching with every pinch and touch joe leaves on her sensitive frame.

“alright, princess. but only because you asked so nicely.”

as joe hooks his fingers around winnie’s underwear-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

joe shoots up from his bed, looking over at his clock on his nightstand and groaning. he slams his hand on it, turning it off and rubbing his hands over his eyes. he looks down and…

holy shit.

whatever that dream was, it did a number on him. he groans, looking at his morning wood in frustration. having a wet dream about your friend and now having to deal with a boner because of it was not on his bucket list.

he looks down and notices that winnie is calling. and so, he picks up the phone.

“hey, winnie…what’s up?” he asks, still drowsy and annoyed from his dream.

“not much, just…wanted to talk to you. i know we have a physics test soon and i was wondering if we could go over some stuff?”

of course, winnie was up early. studying. but she sounds so pretty and charming, like usual. it pisses joe of to no end, but it also…arouses him.

“sure,” joe nods, his hand slowly, oh so slowly moving down his body, “care to tell me what you remember so far?”

“yeah,” winnie answers, and joe can hear her rummaging through some notes, “so, we’re going over thermodynamics…”

joe would occasionally nod and go along as winnie spoke, hooked on every word she’d say. and he knows that this would be a perverted thing to do, but he can’t help it. not when winnie sounds so perfect.

his hand gently wrapped around his cock, and he swipes some of the pre-cum off the tip. he lets out a small groan as winnie continued going over her notes, stroking his length. the reality of what he’s doing causes his cheeks to turn red, but he doesn’t feel like stopping; he’s too entranced by her to stop. and plus he needs to release some tension from that wet dream.

“there are four different thermodynamic processes, and-”

“fuck…” joe moans, perhaps too loudly. because there’s a moment of lingering silence. “um-”

“joe…are you…jerking off?”

shit. he’s been caught. he can’t lie. winnie isn’t that dumb. she may be a virgin, but she’s not stupid.

“um…yeah?”

“oh…” winnie murmurs, though she doesn’t sound disgusted. rather…intrigued? she eventually speaks, “uh…so should i keep speaking, or…?”

“god, yes…keep talking,” joe nods, sounding a bit desperate, not that he cares.

though joe couldn’t see it, winnie’s cheeks were dusted over with a slight pink shade. she’s never had anyone be aroused by her voice, but it feels…nice? and besides, it’s joe.

“okay…so as i was saying, there’s four thermodynamic processes…”

soon enough, winnie could hear joe’s heavy breathing through her phone. the way he mumbled out small hums and curses made the hair on her body stand up. the thought if having such an effect on someone was a different, but good feeling. even if it was just a friend.

with a loud groan, joe finally comes, riding out his orgasm as spurts of cum land on his stomach and wrist. once he finished, he sighs, resting against his pillow.

“so…you good now?” winnie asks, waiting for joe’s response.

“yeah,” he pants out, “i am…thanks for helping out with that, baby.”

baby…? the name caused winnie’s heart to thump, and she didn’t know how to respond, other than a small “you’re welcome.”

joe looks at his phone, his eyes widening. “shit. i’m supposed to meet justin and ja’marr for breakfast,” he says, quickly sitting up and using some tissue to wipe himself off. “i’ll talk with you soon, okay, winwin?”

“okay…bye!” winnie replies, to which joe bids his farewell too, and hangs up.

as for winnie, she sits on her bed with her notes. her face is warm and her legs clenched together.

it seems like she too has her own little problem now.

we are so back guys :]

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe brrr #joe burrow x oc #joey b #joe burrow lsu #joey burrow #nfl #joe burrow bengals #lsu joe #lsu!joe

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lmlknn · 5 months ago

Text

Big Brother

Pairing: Sano Brothers (More Izana) x Male! Big brother! reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, violence, I don't know if it counts as a warning but mention of cigarettes.

Summary: You are the older brother, what happens when Shinichiro dies and you were unfortunately in the foreground?

English is not my first language, any spelling or grammar mistakes please let me know!

You could consider yourself a lucky person; although your first memories had not been the nicest, you could still say that you were satisfied with the direction your life had taken.

You were the oldest of four siblings, but you only lived with three of them. You loved them all; you loved the moments when you would leave work early to run to Shinichiro's workshop and be able to talk about the course of the day.

Izana was a little more difficult; he was distrustful, but he was happy to have two great older brothers. You enjoyed the afternoons when you went out, and there were sometimes when you invited Kakucho, Izana's best friend.

Also, when you got paid, you would go to the convenience store and buy several doriyakis for Manjiro, or Mikey, as he wanted everyone to call him since Emma came into their lives.

Oh, Emma, you loved the times when your little sister would come and ask for help to comb her hair.

But if there was one thing you loved more than all of this, it was when everyone (except Izana) would get together to watch some silly movie on TV.

It didn't matter what movie he chose; you were happy seeing the soft smiles your brothers had on their faces.

Mikey had a group of friends that he often met at the park in what they called "gang meetings."

You knew Keisuke from before thanks to your grandfather's dojo, as his mother had insisted on putting him in some activity in the afternoon to control her hyperactive son.

Sometimes, you helped him study, as he was easily distracted and didn't understand things later.

With a smile, you left work; today was one of those days where your schedule allowed you to leave earlier than usual.

You got on the bus bound for Shinichiro's motorcycle shop; you had the idea of being able to plan Mikey's party well, since his birthday was tomorrow.

You were lucky because you found a place to sit on the bus, watching the road with the smile still plastered on your face.

However, throughout the day you felt a sense of discomfort; you didn't know exactly what it was due to; it was more like a feeling that something bad was going to happen, but you ignored the feeling.

Nothing could go wrong now, not with your younger brother's birthday so close, nor with your boss promising you a well-deserved promotion.

Minutes later, you arrived at your destination, changed a bit, and found your brother fixing another motorcycle with a cigarette between his lips.

"Hello, hello, how's everything going, Shin?" You announced your arrival in a soft voice. It was rare for Shinichiro to be alone; normally he was accompanied by Takeomi, but now it wasn't important.

Shinichiro stopped his movements so he could take the cigarette out of his mouth and answer you. "Hello, Nii-san, everything was fine around here. How was work today?" You moved to the counter, setting down your belongings gently.

"Everything was fine today, Shin" you replied with a smile. You sat next to Shinichiro, looking closely at the motorcycle your brother was fixing.

“You’re doing a good job,” you praised him while putting a hand on his hair. Something your brothers shared was the eternal love they had for your pats on the head; they didn’t understand it, but it felt different than when someone else gave them one.

“Nii-san, do you know what you’re going to give Mikey?” Shinichiro asked, changing the subject of the quiet conversation they had shared.

“Well, I’m sure of one thing: surpassing your gift is going to be very difficult, Shin,” you joked lightly.

Both of them got up from the somewhat uncomfortable position; the motorcycle Shinichiro was fixing was Mikey’s next CB250.

It was already late; they were going to put away all the tools they had used. Although Shinichiro’s original idea was to throw away all the tools and go back home, you didn’t allow him to do such an atrocity. How could you let your brother leave the room in total disarray?

Reluctantly, both of you stayed to tidy up the place until the sound of something breaking alerted you.

You were going to leave first, but Shinichiro got there first. The store was already dark since they were already leaving.

—Is that you, Keisuke?

—Kazutora, no!

It was the last thing you heard before a loud bang. You ran out, scared by what had happened with your brother and the one who seemed to be Keisuke.

With horror, you watched the scene unfolding in front of you. A metal bar hung from Kazutora's arm; horror was reflected on Baji's face, and, as if that weren't enough, a pool of blood surrounded Shinichiro's prone body.

"Shinichiro!" you screamed, full of terror. You no longer remember well what happened next; you know they called an ambulance, the police also arrived, and soon a crowd had formed.

You were still in shock; Shinichiro's blood painted your hands and clothes. You left at the same time that the police handcuffed Keisuke and Kazutora.

Baji cried and asked for your forgiveness, but Kazutora repeated like a mantra, "It's Mikey's fault."

You remember hearing Manjiro's screams asking for an explanation, but you were not in a condition to give him an adequate answer.

They took you to the police because your testimony was essential to know what sentence would be given to Kazutora.

But you could not say much; you only remembered the image of Shinichiro bathed in his own blood, lying without moving a single muscle.

How had all this happened? At what point had your paradise become this?

You just wanted your brother back. You wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare, open your eyes, and find your siblings in the dining room, probably arguing about what breakfast they were going to make.

You wanted to go back to those good times…

Después de esa fatídica noche, nada volvió a ser igual para la alegre familia Sano. Se distanciaron más, su vida giraba en torno a seguir trabajando, y pronto las actividades de sus hermanos quedaron relegadas a un segundo plano.

Fue doloroso para tus dos hermanos restantes, ya que también te distanciaste de Izana.

En una sola noche, la familia Sano había perdido a dos de sus pilares…

#tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #male reader #shinichiro sano x male reader #mikey x male reader #manjiro sano x male reader #mikey x reader #izana kurokawa x male reader #izana kurokawa x reader #emma sano x male reader #emma sano x reader

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 2 months ago

Note

I hope you’re happy.

I can’t stop thinking about sorcerer Stan and I absolutely don’t have time to write the aus I’m thinking of.

Because I’m just imagining if he clicked and didn’t have support.

Princess Stan au- he clicks before the whole dragon thing, maybe when Rico traps him in the chest, and Ford heads down south to investigate reports about some evil spirit in the shape of a man wantonly destroying everything

Normal au- he clicks sometime during his drive up to Gravity Falls and is just so out of it when he gets there. Probably breaks the portal without thinking of it while Ford is right there

I have essays to write! You stole all my brain space!

I'm very happy >:)

If Stan clicked with no support, he'd be casting for as long as he had that battery (if on a path of whatever he clicked with). Once it goes out, or he loses it, then the magic exhaustion's gonna hit bad :) Especially if hes not close to the wellspring to help him recharge faster and more naturally. At this point in the story the only reason they gave the battery back is because Stan was so magically depleted they needed the extra jump, and then he's limited to bed time use just because they need to exhast him so he'll actually sleep. Relying on it long term is not good for anyone.

Ford hears about some spook down south and jumps at the chance to investigate a magical anomaly of this caliber. It could be a wraith, or a ghoul, or some other creature thats' been mistaken for something spectral. So they get to the last place it's been sighted, look for clues and find!

Nothing. There's no evidence of some monster of magical creature. Just human tracks, around inhuman feats of destruction. There's no explanation Ford can find, and none of the bait he's using works. Gets so frustrated until he spills all his findings to fiddleford, who squints and just goes 'sounds like a sorcerer with a bad click.'

Ford discovering the first Sorcerer in generations, hearing all these rumors and Fiddleford telling him 'sounds like a sorcerer' would be so exciting for him. A sorcerer! Who needs help (judging by all the stories and what Fiddlefords told him about how they work)! Ford's going to swoop in and help this poor individual out before they get hunted down and killed for all the destruction they're being compelled to do.

Then he finds them, and its Stan. Stan, who has no idea whats happening to him, no idea why or how he's bending reality to his will, only that he needs to keep breaking things. He's tired and sick and confused and really, does Ford need that metal guy? Or fingers? Or anything and can't Stan just smash a little more? He needs to do it or else he's pretty sure he's going to explode. Its not a pretty sight, especially since Stan hasn't had the time to fully recharge his reserves just wakes up, does magic until he collapses, then repeats it the next time he wakes up again. Which is not good! That battery isn't safe for humans for a reason, and Stan relying on it is just making him sicker.

At that point it becomes a race to drill any rune into his skull before he gets burned out and dies. Extra angst if Ford hasn't discovered the wellspring yet, so its him, Fiddleford, Emma-May, and a sickly Stan living in Fords wagon on the run from both the wizard authorities hunting Ford down for suspected illegal wizarding and from the various parties interested in the first sorcerer in centuries. Stan's not helping here, as he's so far off the deep end he's barely coherent and just wants to keep breaking things. Spends the whole time tied up in the back and gagged while Fiddleford frantically tries to teach him anything.

As for a canon Stan sorcerer... hmm..

Stan doesnt click on the way up, but he's close to it. He's tired, exhausted, on the run and last bit of rope, but Ford needs him. Ford needs him, and Stan's going to help him. Going to go back, and they'll fix it and be brothers again. Just so long as he doesnt break anything else, not like everything else in his life he's touched.

So he gets there, and its mostly the same, except they get to the basement that is just humming and singing with magical runes and power, and Stan, who is so very close to taking that step, is transfixed by it. Lets assume magics gone mostly the same way, in that it faded, but unlike Princess Stan now its coming back. Its surging back to life, and wizards are already casting verbal spells but there hasn't been any sorcerers yet, because all the old bloodlines are so faded and dry there's nothing for the runes to click with.

Except now Stan's here, and for whatever reason he's managed to find himself with a huge magic reserve, and is a second away from clicking. And Ford is saying something, something important, and Stan's trying to listen, trying to finally be there for Ford, when he hears the 'first worthwhile thing in your life' and

BREAKS

Because really? this is it? This is all Ford wants from him? To go even further away? To never see him again? To swoop in and run an errand, then good bye Stan? Just call him like a dog, and not treat him like a brother? The one person Stan thought he ever had any kind of chance for some kind of positive relationship, and all Ford sees is someone to come and kick whenever it suits him.

And to top it all off, Stan's getting his brain blasted with some kind of deep truth about the universe, about how destruction and creation are interlinked and can't be defined or done without the other. Fords yelling about something and all Stan can see is that giant portal behind him. That giant portal that Ford cares more about than his own brother, his own family.

What would it look like if it fell to pieces?

Isn't even aware of what he's doing, Fords voice a distant buzz, just has his eyes locked on all those whispering runes and writing some weird symbol in the air and thinking about the whole thing coming apart.

Then it does, one screw and nail at a time, in the form of a golden glow thats coming from Stan and might be Stan? And Fords still yelling, but all Stan can see is the wave of metal parts crashing to the ground, and all he can feel is this deep warmth he hadn't realized was there before getting sucked out of him.

Then something hits him in the head and he blacks out. (its Ford, who saw all the yellow, saw Stan not reacting and using some kind of strange magic to tear apart his portal, and panicked hit Stan in the back of the head with the journal. That, combined with the huge amount of power Stan was pumping out to break the portal, just instantly ko'd him)

Since Stan was not accidentally draining himself or suffering mega trauma from a dragon slaughter, it does not take him three days to wake up. It takes him, like, ten minutes, and in that time Ford has already tied him up in a panic, because what? What was that? And also why and how dare he and really Stan! Always breaking things and what did Bill promise you! And Why did he want to break the portal because Fords really stumped on that one.

Stan has no idea what just happened, who Bill is, or if breaking the portal was good or bad. All he knows is that a sleep deprived scientist with only ten minutes does not make good knots, and he needs to write that funny symbol on as many things as possible pronto. Breaks out, instantly uses it on the nearest surface, gets whacked in the back of the head again. This loops at least two more times, before Stan finally yells at Ford for hitting him, and how he has no idea what his brothers talking about or whats happening just that he needs to write that symbol on as many things as possible, because its telling him to.

Now Fords dealing with a pissed off Bill and a baby sorcerer without knowing anything about how sorcerers work. Bill Knows though. Bill would be happy to take this one off his hands in fact. Stan broke his other portal, but he's pretty sure he can use him to make another one.

All he has to do is teach him the right rune after all, and unlike princess Stan Bill doesnt have to be nice :)

Hope that helps your brain space!

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #princess stan #dragon ford #fiddleford mcgucket #bill cipher #sorcerer stan

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always-a-slut-4-ghouls · 2 years ago

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Every once in awhile I remember this one weirdo in the YouTube comment section that saw my very emotional response under a video about a child mummy and said something like “lmao you fucking looser libtard. The kid died thousands of years ago, you and your stupid feelings, blah blah” and I roasted the guy in the replies, and a bunch of other people shamed him because “what the actual fuck? We are being emotional about a child mummy. What is wrong with you?” To the point where he just deleted his comment and I’m like, why though? What did he have to gain from replying to someone’s emotional response to a documentary about a child mummy and just, mock them? Because they found the act of a family caring for their dead two year old moving? Why???? You are literally just setting yourself up for a verbal beating. It wasn’t even in a political video, it was a DOCUMENTARY about a CHILD MUMMY. I can’t comprehend how that seemed like a good idea? Or why it was an idea at all? It was funny to see him get the verbal shit beaten out of him, but why would you respond like that in the first place??? Did he just go around YouTube trying to find people talking about feelings so he could try and, what, shame them politically??? Literally what was the point? Beyond comprehension.

#emma posts #genuinely bewildered #all i did was talk about how young the child was and how the family cared for them and the care they put into their burial #and how touching that is and that us seeing this was remarkable #and some other emotional poetic kinda shit #and he like. took offense? to a fairly normal comment on a documentary?#everyone roasting the guy was admittedly very funny. but how did he expect anything other than a group roasting?#a CHILD MUMMY documentary evoking feelings was triggering to him???#why? one of the weirdest times someone has come at me like that #usually it is something you can sort of tie back to politics though #a long dead two year old isn’t that???#I’m just going to assume he was like 14 or something #a documentary about an ancient toddler is where he does it though???

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mummyemmatojames · 1 month ago

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54. The End of James’s Punishment: A Bittersweet Wrap-Up

Hello, dear community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an update on our MDLB and FLR journey as James’s week-long grounding comes to a close. It’s been hard on both of us, but the pull-ups became so special for me—adding a layer to our dynamic I adored. Our check-in as equals revealed he’s not on the same page, though, and I’m gutted. I’d love your help figuring out how to bring my soggy little monster back in a way that works for us both.

The Grounding Recap: A Tough Week

The week of toddler rules—7:30 PM bedtime, permission for everything, pull-ups at night—ended last night. It was a consequence for James’s drunken chaos at our friends’ dinner, and I held firm: two water bottles, nursing, formula before bed to ensure he used the Drynites, changing him each morning. For me, it was transformative—seeing him soggy and vulnerable, waiting for Mummy to care for him, lit up my nurturing side. I couldn’t get enough, scrolling endlessly online for cute patterns and finding excuses to keep him in them—like insisting he wear one for his naps, which he took a few times this week. It added so much to the dynamic for me, deepening that tender, in-charge feeling I love.

But it was hard on James. Night seven wrapped with him still compliant but visibly worn—sulky at the early bedtime, quiet under the permission rules, and tense when I’d slide the pull-ups on. He didn’t fight me outright, but I could feel his frustration building. I softened it where I could—cuddles after good behavior, praise for his chore chart—but the punishment hit him hard, just as I’d intended.

The Check-In: His Anger, My Disappointment

Yesterday was our monthly check-in as equals (early than normal due to the grounding), tea in hand on the couch, and James let it all out. He was very direct — “The toddler rules were so difficult, Emma,” he said, voice tight. “I hated asking for everything, the early bedtime was brutal, and the pull-ups… they were humiliating.” He brought up the store trip specifically—standing in the baby aisle, picking out Toy Story pull-ups while I browsed—calling it “embarrassing” and saying he felt exposed, even if no one said anything. “I know it was a punishment,” he added, “but it was a lot.” He didn’t mention the drinking that started this—just focused on how rough the week felt for him.

I listened, letting him vent, then reminded him why it happened: “You acted like a drunken toddler that night, James, embarrassing us both. The grounding was meant to reset you—it was a consequence, not fun.” He nodded, sheepish, and admitted he gets why I did it— “I messed up, I know”—but said the pull-ups are very embarrassing. That gutted me inside—I’d been soaring on how special they felt, and he was sinking under the weight of it.

I told him I’d loved that part— “Seeing you in pull-ups, waiting for Mummy, was so cute and vulnerable for me”—hoping he’d see my side. He softened a bit, saying he likes when I care for him, but it was hard being “soggy and helpless.” We ended the check-in on a quieter note—our usual adult closeness bringing some warmth back—but I’m disappointed. The pull-ups lit something in me, and he’s not there with me on it.

Where We’re At: Back to Normal, But I Want More

Tonight, he’s back to his usual routine—7:30 PM bath, nursing (no formula tonight, just me), 8:30 lights out, no pull-ups. He’s relieved, I can tell but I’m missing my soggy little monster already. The grounding worked—he’s reset, humbled, and alcohol’s firmly off-limits now (we agreed on that)—but I’m gutted to lose that pull-up magic. It’s not about punishment anymore; it’s about how it made me feel as Mummy—nurturing him in this raw, dependent way. I need to find ways to get that back fast, but in a way he can handle.

I’m thinking of easing them in outside punishment—maybe a “Mummy’s choice” night once a week, framing it as comfort instead of consequence. I’ve got the right size now (after the Toy Story flop), and I could pair it with extra cuddles or his favorite Lego time to soften it. But after his check-in anger, I’m not sure he’s ready—or if he’ll ever be.

What Do You Think?

I’d love some wisdom from the community—how do you bridge a gap when you love something in the dynamic that your partner doesn’t? Have you brought pull-ups back after a punishment, making them a positive instead of a negative—how did you sell it? For those whose little ones found them humiliating, did they warm up over time, or did you let it go? And if you’ve got ideas for recreating that soggy, vulnerable vibe without pull-ups—something James might lean into—I’m all ears. I’m gutted he’s not on the same page, but I want us both fulfilled in this.

Thank you for being here through this rollercoaster week. James is still my little boy, thriving and sweet—I just need my soggy monster back in a way he loves too.

With all my love (and a bit of longing), Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

#mdlb relationship #mdlbmommy #ab dl mommy #ab dl lifestyle #diapered little #ab dl diaper #goodnites

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thealtoduck · 1 year ago

Text

Being a mutant and joining Xavier’s school…

X-Men x Male Reader

Warnings: Justin Timberlake shade…

Summary: You’re a mutant and you’re invited to attend Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters…

(A/n: I gave you Emma Frost’s powers because i’m lazy)

(A/n 2: Yet another unplanned fic… i’m so sorry)

(A/n 3: I was gonna write more but word limit…)

——

It all started in school, everything was normal.

You just heard the regular chatter of the students. Then suddenly you heard EVERYTHING, every thought of every single person in the school. You quickly went in to the men’s bathrooms, locking yourself in a stall.

Your head pulsated as if it was about to explode, you felt as if it were on fire. You didn’t understand what was happening. You curled up in a ball on the toilet trying to keep the voices out as tears streamed down your eyes. You have had similar headaches before but never like this.

After about half an hour the voices stopped, you were shaking and sweating, did you have some kind of fever. You got up from the toilet and left the stall. You went to a sink and cupped your hands and splashed some water on your face.

You readjusted your shirt that had gotten a bit messy. You looked in the mirror and noticed something strange, your left hand looked weird, it was glistening looking like some kind of glass. You quickly lifted your hand in front of your eyes… it looked normal.

You then made sure you looked decent before you left to go to the nurse’s office. You told her what had happened about your splitting headache and seeing weird stuff in the mirror. She took your temperature and looked you over, but everything seemed completely normal.

You were scared of the idea of having to go to class and getting another headache in front of everyone. Luckily for you, the school nurse was very nice and wanted to make sure you were okay, so she called your mom and asked if she could come pick you up.

You got in to your mom’s car and she looked at you worried. ”Hi sweetie, are you feeling okay?” she asked. ”Yeah at the moment at least” you said and explained. She was understanding and started driving the two of you home.

As she was driving you started hearing things again, your mom sat quiet, you looked around no people. Then they started growing louder and louder. ”Hey, let’s see what’s on the radio” your mom said pressing the radio button.

And like the flip of a switch, you felt a cutting pain in your head making you lean forwards and groan loudly. ”Oh, come on Y/n, Justin Timberlake isn’t THAT bad” you mom said. Slowly realisation crept up on her that it wasn’t about the pop star’s music playing.

She quickly pulled over the car trying to make sure you were okay. But she soon realised your pain wasn’t going away, so she immediately started driving towards the closest hospital. She also turned off Justin Timberlake, you might be in pain but you didn’t need to be tortured

Even at the hospital the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with you, but they recommended you take some headache medicine and to get some bedrest over the weekend. You tried but the headaches came on and off, keeping you from falling asleep.

While trying to rest the doorbell rang, you walked towards the door and opened it. You were met with a bald man in a wheel chair and a woman with long red hair, you didn’t recognise either. ”Can i help you?” you asked.

The bald man spoke up and greeted ”Hi, my name is Professor Charles Xavier and this is Doctor Jean Grey, mind if we come in for a chat?”.

Oh god… you had become a medical spectacle you thought to yourself.

You let the two in and served tea for the three of you. ”So, why do you want to speak with me?” you asked. ”Well Mr L/n, have you ever heard of mutants?” Professor Xavier asked.

”You mean those guys on the news with those freaky powers that everyone are afraid off?” you questioned. Professor Xavier nodded with a smile and said ”That’s one way to describe them”.

”You’ve been experiencing painful headaches recently, right?” Doctor Jean Grey asked. ”Y-Yeah” you said unsure, had your parents already called in medical experts to examine you…

”We have reason to believe you are a mutant, who has recently developed the power of telepathy” the professor explained. You sat in silence a moment, only being able to then utter ”I… What?”.

”It’s a gift that will let you read and see inside the minds of others” the professor continued to explain. You stood up and found yourself saying ”You should both leave, you’ve found the wrong person… I-I… I’m not a mutant you must be looking for someon- ahh!”.

You were cut off in the middle of your sentence by another sudden headache making you fall to your knees, holding your aching head. The Professor rolled closer to you and put a hand on your head and suddenly the pain eased.

”What did you?…” you asked confused looking at the professor. ”I used my freaky mutant powers to mute your powers slightly, to make them more manageable” he explained with a small smile. ”Look at Jean” he told you and pointed at the doctor.

”Now try to look inside her mind to see what she’s thinking” he instructed. You did as told and looked at the red haired woman, then without her opening her mouth you heard her say ”Hello Y/n” making you stumble backwards.

”How did you? How did i?” you questioned in complete shock. ”How about you sit down and we can answer all of your questions” Professor Xavier suggested.

So turns out you were a mutant.

It scared you but you decided to gather your courage and tell your parents about it… not a good idea. They got terrified of the idea of their son being a mutant and told you to go to your room.

So once you got to your room you made the impulsive descision to run away from home. You were worried what your parents would do… would they call the cops? Is being a mutant a crime?… Professor Xavier had given you his number. So you grabbed your phone and called the number.

He picked up. ”Hello, this is Charles Xavier” he greeted. ”Hey, it’s Y/n, i’m calling about your offer… you really have room for another student?” you questioned. ”Of course, we do” the professor answered kindly.

You packed a suitcase and climbed out of the window, silently sneaking away from the house. You took a bus leading to new york where’d you’d be picked up. A car was waiting when you got off the bus, Doctor Jean Grey was standing by it.

You got in the car and she drove the two of you towards the school. ”Are you nervous?” she asked, you wondered if you looked that obvious or if her own telepathy gave her a hint. You nodded.

”Don’t be you’ll fit right in. We might be a school but we’re also like a family, we take care of each other” she assured you. ”What about my powers? What if i accidentally hurt someone?” you asked. ”We’re gonna make sure you learn to control them, the Professor has dampened your powers and we’ll unlock them little by little, it shouldn’t be an issue” she explained comfortingly.

The car the pulled up beside a fancy looking mansion. You couldn’t help but be awed seeing it. It looked almost magical. You got out and got your suitcase, Jean led you to the enterance. It was just as impressive on the inside.

She showed you your room which you would be sharing with another student named Peter Rasputin, who according to Jean could turn his skin in to steel.

She gave you a tour of the rest of manor, introduced you to some of the other students and then left you to explore and get settled in. As you made your way around you were greeted and welcomed by the other teachers of the school.

The other students looked curiously at you as you passed, probably wondering who you are and what your powers are.

That night you also got to meet your roomate Peter who Jean had told you about, he was tall, handsome and very muscular. He was also very kind as he greeted you. As the two of you got ready for bed he asked ”Considering we’re sharing space now, do you mind if i’m sleeping shirtless?”.

”No, i don’t mind, do you mind if i do?” you returned the question. He gave you a quick flirty look up and down before saying ”No”.

#x men x male reader #x men x male!reader #marvel x male reader #marvel x male!reader #male reader #x male reader #x male!reader

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