#enough for writing to re-commence

[tododeku-or-bust]

Forgot to do this earlier; I'm posting chapter 3 of Flashpoint tonight! So if you were interested in starting (or rereading; ik its been a month 😭) the link is here! Join me in my self indulgent casino AU!

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”  

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

if you still do them, is it okay you do like one shots with ROTTMNT boys and a little sibling reader?

but here’s the thing, the reader is a little pink gecko with yellow spots, they’re around 10 or 9 years old and can run just as fast as sonic the hedgehog and basically have the energy of a golden retriever, they’re like a tiny dragon and it’s adorable yet SO. FREAKING. EXHAUSTING!!

❝ pink bubbles and banana laffy taffy!! ❞

₊˚꒰🥞꒱‧ — 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐠𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

｡˚ 𓂋 🍋﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

❝l ɑׁׅ֮/ꪀׁׅ : okay i had to squeeze this one out because OHMIGOSH it is SO. CUTE!!!! i literally got soso excited when i read this because how did you know i'm legitimately obsessed with geckos?! 😭 i literally downloaded picsart to make that collage and wrote this in the span of a day or two because i got so excited aausghshdh !! fluffybun24, fluffy, darlin'. grips your shoulders and brushes your cheek tenderly. thank you. also, i'm just now realizing you asked for one shots after the fact ajsjjhd I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T REALIZE UNTIL AFTER RE-READING IT after writing this whole thing out XD DX but foremost, i must tell you that i mostly do my fandom writing in headcanon/reaction formats !! :(( one shot(s) aren't really my forte . . . albeit, i do hope this is just as good !! o7

(honorable mention: @agentturtlecupcake *HARSHLY NUDGES YOU* HEY. HEY LOOK. LOOKLOOKLOOOKLOKKOKLOKOOOKKLLOOOOOOOK. IT'S the, k-KID-🩷💛)

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ oh my goodness me, you are the simultaneous love and light, the bane and exhaustion, of everyone's respective lives.

don't get me wrong, your family absolutely adores you!!

especially since you're :(( the baby :(( aww :(((

it just, kinda freaks everyone thafuq OUT when you zip and zoom and flash everywhere

just. a maniacal streak of pink and yellow.

they don't know peace because of you. (affectionate!)

like they will be mindin' their whole business in its entirety and here you come

"*walks into the main living room* heeeeeyy, anybody seen my jupiter jim issue— [*nyooom!*] SWEET MOTHER OF G O D–"

it's not like you ever have ill intentions, tho 🥹 so it's okay.

"they're cute so it's okay!" — all of your siblings at one point, probably

while they do accept your golden retriever tendencies, it be givin' them gray hairs fr 💀✋

especially because you're so f a s t

you're there one moment then next thing they know you're halfway across the entire lair, tittering and chirping happily away.

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ so, over the course of your life, they've all developed their own designated role when keeping up with you:

raph . . .

being the oldest definitely feels the most responsible for you and acts on it! he himself has developed a sixth sense for when you zoom by and can catch you with (relative) ease every time, and has definitely saved your butt from like. accidentally crashing into a wall or smth sjsjsj

but big bubba can't prevent everything :\ so you have gotten some owies !!

but you can always count on him to be there to help you feel better.

he's your biggest bro 🥹 he always makes you feel better.

but i imagine u're also a maniacal little shit (*cough* thanks leo *COUGH*)

so sometimes you just, str8 up run away from him like ACTIVELY escape his grasp

it deffo takes some effort 😮‍💨 (petition : #saveraphfromhissiblings /lh)

"[NAME]?! Get back here, you little speed monster!!"

*cue toiny baby gecko squealing and The Daily Chase commencement*

oh yeah. it's a daily occurrence.

you stress him out 🤣😭 but it's okay. :))

(after catching you in his hands, holding you up to eye level): "Alright, you little goober. That's enough outta ya today." "But Raaaaph!!"

and then you can't really do anything because raph knows your sweet spot, your little switch, that melts you like putty - a little patch riiiight in the center of your upper back, a well-pressurized scritch is all it takes really, and oh. there we go. down for a nap !

however you simply must have your grand rebellion moments and give him arm gummy bites the entire time but he's the just personification of "😇😌"

ain't no doubting he loves you tho. adores you, really; your bright bubbliness is what makes him smile most days, and even tho your energy is a bit much for him to keep up with, and he'd really like it if you stopped fighting him for afternoon naps sometimes, i don't think he'd change it for the world.

leo . . .

is one who's fairly on par with your hyperactivity, so he's the one we all turn to when your excitement is bubbling over into something a liiiiittle too much :'))

playing tag when you're zooming to and fro is one of you guys' favorites.

but sometimes he doesn't play fair and uses his odachi to teleport >:((

and if you get genuinely upset, he just scoops you up and blows raspberries on your soft lil tummy.

he's the only one who can wear you out so he's an essential part of everyone's lives asksksjd

but bc of this

HE PROBABLY USES YOU AS COLLATERAL TO GET THINGS HE WANTS I'M NOT EVEN PLAYIN

"LEO!!! Ugghhghhh, can you please handle them?!"

"Mmmhmmmmmmm....."

"L E O ಠಗಠ! For the last time, you are NOT choosing for movie night tonight and the kind of pizza!! You've had it all week!!!"

"Ohh, suddenly I have no capability for one very specific baby cotton candy-banana pudding gecko..... Shame. Woeful, horrible, terrible, shame—"

"LEO!!!"

he's a jerk, but he's highkey your idol and he would give the entire world for you in a heartbeat, so :))

donnie . . .

acts like your hyperactivity is an inconvenience...... but in reality, he doesn't mind it.

(only when it compromises his tech. you've only had one to two incidents involving his lab before permanent damage control was done and it's been this way ever since. 😭✋)

sure, sometimes your wild nature can make him cringe on bad days, but what's a sibling if they don't get tired of your antics once every while?

it's healthy development !!

plus. he himself has his moments where his lowkey descent into madness shows its peak, so he can't really talk.

you've all got your quirks, y'know? (/ref)

in truth he accepts it as a part of you, and he loves all of you - i mean c'mon, you're his baby sibling.

and even tho he doesn't openly admit it nearly as much as the rest of your family - he really does think you're adorable.

and in more truth: donnie takes care of you a lot. like- as soon as you started showing signs of your speediness and just-consumed-five-bags-of-candy excitement levels, he completely baby proofed the lair 😭

and you can't tell me he didn't know you'd possess those superhuman levels of speed bro you CAN'T

that man is a scientist and he leaves no stone unturned, especially when it comes to his family.

he has you microchipped too sjjsjdh

[ i just thought of this just now, actually: he and leo are a team when it comes down to your genetics/biological health. donnie researches with his stem-augmented brain and studies your dna down to the very microfiber; leo adapts with his medical affinities to make sure you're the healthiest little gecko mutant kiddo you can be. <3 ]

WE MAY HAVE MADE FUN OF HIM AT THE MOMENT, because how much harm can one baby gecko do Donnie you silly fool honhonhonhon BUT HE'S THE ONLY 👏 ONE 👏 WHO CAME IN CLUTCH.

very much "who's laughing now?"

certainly donnie. my bet's on donnie.

"THEY ALL LAUGHED. THEY CALLED ME A SILLY FOOL. BUT FEAST YOUR EYES, BRETHREN. EATETH THY WORDS!!" "..... Raphie! Bonbon's doin' that crazy scientist shtick again!!" "[NAME]. >:("

on another note, i feel donnie would extend that branch of 'baby-proofing' and relate it to the gift he created for you. [ ref: s1/ep2 — "donnie's gifts" ]

maybe it was something like . . . a malleable sludge, some sort of putty, that melded perfectly over your legs whenever you were starting to get too speedy.

you were initially excited over the cute little metal band anklets gifted to you by your older brother, buuut once it activated .... :((

it made you big sads. :((

being a little speedykins was your most defining trait !! why would donbon try to take that away from you?? :(( donnie :((( donbon why :(((

.... what you don't know, (and me either tbh, we never got that 'explanation' from the inventor himself), is that donnie made it with your specs in mind.

geckos are able to climb vertical surfaces (with some exceptions of course, but for the most part !!) — when activated, those little "putty bands" would've aided in that.

because donnie knows how much you love to run around, especially climbing up the walls, but you can't stick up there forever.

was it made to simultaneously slow your ass down? yes. 🤣😭

(he's only one man what do you want from the poor guy ☠✋ your drive by's were enough to send him into cardiac arrest every time)

...... was it made to adhere to nearly any and every surface texture known to man & mutant kind? for an unprecedented amount of time? with the intentions of you having so much fun with it? also yes.

was it made with intricate care and with, overall, your best interests at heart?

yes.

but after the whole ordeal, he really did mean it when he says you're great just the way you are. :))

in your calmer moments, he likes to have you wrap around his shoulders like a fashion designer scarf and taps at your cute little tail, half as a stim, half as a gesture of affection, while he's in the lab focusing on his latest project

or even just. vibing. y'all are primetime vibey.

he finds your weight comforting. like a tiny weighted pillow.

and he'll never admit that he feels his heart nearly burst with love and pure fondness when you yourself happily curl up into your brother and fall asleep there, cooing softly into his ear.

he built a little comfort bed/pillow extension for you in his battle shell for such occasions <3

but he prefers the sibling cuddles without his shell on.

he trusts you, after all.

(i will never financially recover from this aksjddh SOBBING)

mikey . . .

is exceptionally good at matching all of your moods: your bubbly hyperactivity and bringing you to a calmer, serene state !!

how does he do it. 🧍

he catches you in his arms and strokes/scratches your back to calm you down, and it works like a charm every time !

he never has to use dr. delicate touch on you. despite being the closest in age, surprisingly, you listen to mikey very well !

call it survivor's intuition 🫠 orrrr just the fact that you and mikey are very close and in-tune with one another,

whenever he calls it quits for you - no matter how much you might whine and pout - you genuinely do tone it down.

i know i said this for leo too but i feel like mikey just has that magic touch. yenno?

no pun intended. ha.

but en ee wayz !! yusssss, mikey and [name] are the cutest little goobers.

y'all deffo get roped together being the "babies" of the family,

and despite mikey wanting to outfit that mold — mostly by means of appeasing to raph's overprotective tendencies — he babies you a bit too !!

you like to poke fun. you're observant, clever little thing. you call mikey out on it, going so far as to call him a hypocrite,

and whether you guys have a serious discussion or not is completely up to you !

but for the time being he just pets your head and affectionately tells you to hush, and keeps right on babying you.

he likes being your older brother !! so sue him !!

dynamics change the older you guys get =] so who knows what the future has in store?

you're one of his favorite muses. your color palette never fails to strike inspiration within him 🎨✨

when he catches your pink n' yellow blur in passing, he can come up with an entire idea for murals to tag around, don't play w him

he likes to do body paint on you too !! :))

(completely safe + free of harmful chemicals wbk)

probably makes flowers out of your polka dots (he definitely calls them that) or connects them to make a bigger picture.

he made an entire field of flowers and koi fish pond encompassing your back one time and you absolutely loved it.

you'll always be his little muse 💔

"[Nameeee]!!~ C'mere, polka dot! You wanna see if I can make a constellation this time?" "YAY!!!!" "Wait- waitwaitWAITWAIT SLOW DOWN—" [ *cue wii bowling ball strike sound sequence* ]

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ ahaaa. overall, you're their cute little ball of sunshine. their little sugar carnival. their little pink bubblegum and banana laffy taffy gecko baby! and — while you being.... you, can get just shy of unbearable sometimes, they wouldn't trade you for this world and all the others.

after all, what's a family if you don't accept every part of them? no matter how exhausting it is. <3 you're a handful, but that's why you've got six pairs. and as the years go on, it only grows.

@chachachannah + @sweetparty for the dividers 🩷 @cureqt for the cute emoji combo 💛 & pinterest for the pictures! [the collage is by me!!] 🥰

⟆ ˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ further author notes . . .

™ : as always, susceptible to future editing for grammatical/formatting corrections !!

i absolutely loveddd writing this!! and for the intricacy, this is the quickest i've ever pulled a request-bun fresh from the oven!! :o kudos to you, fluffy! <3 i do hope you like this as much as i did aaaa!! now i've got polka dot gecko sibling brainrot. 🥴 it's true: you never know it's a good idea until it's presented to you !!

a couple of fun facts: "sugar carnival" is a term coined by me, in reference to one of my free verse poems a while back! i, also, consider myself a sugar carnival being at most times ˶ᵔᗜ ᵔ˶ & i came up with the title on the spot after hearing + envisioning "pink gecko with yellow spots". ideal color combo, criminally underrated. fluffy your brain deserves a pedestal and i will personally create it for you with my bare hands.✋🩷💛

╰┈➤ tues. jan 23, 9:18 pm, '24.

[blackswan446]

worth it - two.

→ pairing: yan!knj x reader

→ wc: 1071

→ cws: mentions of abusive ex boyfriend showing up

→ notes: before writing: i have a feeling i'm gonna write this whole thing and be very unhappy with it :( after writing: okay! it's not bad i think :')

days became weeks, which slowly turned into an entire month, of namjoon coming over almost everyday of the week. he was there so much, he seemed to be assimilating into your family life. and the fact that namjoon only started coming over because he was a school-assigned tutor for your brother would easily shock anyone who saw them together-by now, they were practically best friends, the two having formed a close bond within the short period of time. sometimes namjoon wondered, would jiwon still be his friend if he knew the real reason he kept coming around?

technically, he didn't have to be there anymore. your brother's math grades had improved tremendously, so there wasn't any real need for him to stick around. of course, there was no way he'd be going anywhere anytime soon. his friendship with jiwon was like a one-way ticket into your private life, and despite your mysterious demeanor and your refusal to say anything regarding life outside of your house, his mere presence was enough to collect the pieces of the puzzle. all he had to do was put it together.

he wondered, whether observing people was always this easy, or if you were more of an open book than he thought. i mean, he had pieced together your entire schedule within a month! a month full of you speaking to him for 10 minutes a day, tops. the idea was laughable! sometimes, he couldn't help but feel bad. you tried so hard to fly under the radar, to stay hidden from the eyes of others, to remain a private individual. and he had come in and thrown a wrench in your plans, and you had no idea.

in a way, he felt some strange sense of heroism. he had managed to barge into your life first, and instead of it being some villain who was out to hurt you, it was just him, someone who cared deeply about you. it was obvious that you needed someone to protect you from the outside world, since you couldn't do it yourself, and since he had already broken in, it would just make sense for him to stick around for a bit (re: forever) and play the role of the heroine you so clearly needed.

as for actually getting you to trust him, it wasn't easy. you acted so closed-off, you weren't going to be receptive to any acts of affection yet. but he couldn't let his undying adoration for you go unfulfilled! he knew all your favorite things, of course, and couldn't help but leave spreads of flowers, and notes, and gifts, in all your usual spots. all the while, he was slowly (trying) to weasel his way into your life. it was going to take time, and he knew that, but for you, he was willing to dedicate his life.

one particular afternoon, when namjoon and your brother had commenced their usual hours of homework, followed by TV or a video game, the entire day was entirely ruined before it even started. the alarm bells in his head started going off immediately, when he walked in and saw your sleek black shoes in the same place they had been yesterday.

trying to move on with the day, namjoon ignored the obvious problem; the first of many stupid mistakes on his part. he should have known that something serious had happened when he saw your water bottle, the same one you brought with you everyday, on the kitchen counter. and finally, the cherry on top of this disaster of a day, you didn't come waltzing through the door at the usual time you did every single day.

head reeling, namjoon managed to keep his worry under wraps as he unfolded the possibilities in his head. were you sick? seeing as he was still able to come over without being sent home by your brother, probably not. on vacation? unlikely, seeing as your wallet was sitting in a basket by the front door. just stayed home from school? that seemed the most probable, though it worried namjoon more than the other theories. he knew, from the way you came home with armfuls of books, to the advanced classes you talked about taking, that you weren't the type to just skip school for some reason. no, something had happened.

looking at the clock briefly, back to his computer, namjoon spoke. "so, uh, where's your sister? i mean, she's usually home by now, right?" he asked, not looking up from the text on the screen. the lack of response prompted him to glance up, and meet your brother's worried eyes. "sorry, did i overstep?" he said innocently, a fake look of concern gracing his features. jiwon shook his head.

"no, it's not that. it's just..." he paused, quickly glancing down the hallway, towards your room. "she's been having some trouble with her ex boyfriend." he said, tone much more hushed and cautious compared to a minute ago. namjoon, with his eyebrows knitted together, looked shocked. what ex boyfriend?! "oh god, that's awful." he said, matching the concerned boy's quiet voice, "what...uh, what happened?" he said carefully.

jiwon sighed. "she's been getting all these gifts, lately. we thought they were from him, so we just ignored them." he explained. namjoon's heart dropped at the mention of the gifts. his gifts. the same ones he chose out with his own two hands. "anyways, he showed up here late last night, and saw the flowers and note in the garbage, and he just...went berserk. we had to call the cops, it was that bad. she's been pretty shaken up since." he said sadly, a pained expression on his face.

for the first time in his life, namjoon truly felt stupid. stupid, for not finding out about the thorn in your side. stupid, for buying all those gifts and treats and launching you further into your little bubble, and stupid, for not being there to protect you. he was supposed to be your guardian angel, that was his whole reason for doing what he's doing, and this is how it ends?! even worse, it was his fault!

masking his panic and guilt with a sympathetic look and comforting comment, the realization of what was next crept up on him. namjoon was a smart guy; he knew what he had to do. the only question was, would he be strong enough to do it?

taglist:

[multifandominfj]

A New Beginning: A Supergirl 6x20 Re-Write

Chapter Nine: Let The Planning Commence

The next day had come a lot quicker than Lena had anticipated. But she wasn’t feeling nervous; okay, she was feeling a bit nervous because she was about to ask a pretty serious question to Kara, but she was feeling excited above all else.

It was a Saturday, and the perfect day to start planning a night Kara would never forget.

“Kara?” Lena had already gotten up and dressed and made coffee.

“I’ll have the article on your desk by the end of the day, Miss Grant.” Kara groaned, rolling over in bed, conveniently the side Lena was standing on.

“Kara.” A warm chuckle accompanied with a kiss on the cheek did the trick to waking her sunbeam up.

“Lena.” Kara graciously accepts the warm, caffeinated liquid gold sitting up in bed. “Why are you up so early?”

“I have to run to the office today unfortunately. It’s nothing major, Sam is filling in for me today and I have to give her the rundown.” Sam was in town, that was true. But Lena would be meeting up with her and Alex to plan the engagement.

“Oh! I didn’t know Sam was in town. Maybe we can grab a bite some time? I haven’t seen her in ages, and I miss her.” Kara sipped her coffee with excitement.

“I will definitely ask her that. And in the meantime, you enjoy some me time. I won’t be long.” Leaning in to meet the perfectly peach pillows that were practically made to fit like a puzzle piece with her lips, Lena gives Kara a kiss just long enough to make her think about her while she was out. “I love you.” Immediately followed with her signature, room brightening smile.

“I love you too.” Like the Human Golden Retriever that she is, Kara bashfully laughed and grinned right back. “Now go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you later.” A blow of a kiss, and the door shut behind her….

RING? RING!

“Did she buy it?” Sam asked with a surprise call.

“First, are you sure you don’t have any remaining powers? Second, she did.” Lena’s grin was permanently plastered across her face. “Are you and Alex at the Café?”

“She just placed all of our orders. So they should be ready by the time you get here.”

“Thanks Sam. For helping. I know it’s been a while since…” Lena started.

“Everything with Reign, and you helping me get my life back? Lena, please. I owe my new life to you. Ruby and I are the happiest we’ve been in a long time. And we both miss Kara and the rest of the group. So two of us coming back into town…it was perfect timing. And can I just say, it's about time for you and Kara.”

“I would have to agree with you on that.” Lena’s cheeks turned a bright shade of magenta.

“Seriously, Lena. I could tell you and Kara had something special. Had my fingers crossed for a long time.” Sam’s smile could practically be heard on the other line.

“Then I knew I asked the right person to help plan the perfect engagement along with Alex. I’m about to get in the car. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

“See you then, Lena.” Her line ends, and Lena begins her drive to the Café.

And, as soon as she pulled up, both Alex and Sam were at a table, with her order already. “Fast and efficient as usual.” Lena smirked.

“Something as important as your news, requires efficiency.” Alex joked right back, handing Lena her order.

“So, what did you have in mind for the special night?” Sam pulled out a pen and paper.

“Well, I had this idea in mind where we would go for a Helicopter ride around the city, then…we’d have dinner at the restaurant where we first became friends.” Lena looks at both of her friends.

“I think my heart just turned to mush.” Was Sam’s seal of approval.

“Lena, that sounds perfect.” Alex was overjoyed. “Kara is going to love it, especially because those are both times when you met Kara for the first time.”

“Good.” Lena takes a deep exhale of relief. “What I’m going to need help with is you two making her day as easy as possible, taking her to do her favorite things; walk on the boardwalk at the waterfront, visit her favorite bookshop, that pottery shop where you can paint your own mug, plate, etc…” She then realizes. “I have to get Miss Grant’s approval.

“Go.” Sam urges.

“We’ve got everything under control. We’ll start the arrangements.” Alex gets up to give Lena a hug before she leaves.

“You guys are the best.” A warm grin and a returned hug was Lena’s response. With her sandwich and coffee in hand, she zoomed off to CatCo to see if she could catch Cat Grant to ask the blessings and permission of Kara’s biggest hero.

I really do hope you all are enjoying the story. It really means a lot, and I’m glad I’m finally sharing it. If you have any favorite parts so far, please, let me know. I’d love to hear them. 🥰

Anyway, here is Chapter Nine! Enjoy. 🙏🏻

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Other Evans Girl [Part Twenty One]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauder’s Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black x Original Female Character, Sirius Black x Daisy Evans, James Potter x Lily Evans

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, Daisy Evans, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Alice Fortescue, Frank Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix LeStrange, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Jasper Thicknesse, Barty Crouch Jr, Mulciber, Walden McNair

Word Count: 5380

Rating: Mature

Summary: Hogwarts is a safe haven, a home for many, but it’s often a place where heartache, love and complex emotions dwell and none know that better than the Marauders. Lily Evans just wants to make it out as a successful witch though the oncoming war and the ongoing advances of James Potter threaten that. Daisy Evans, her twin, has other goals. Join the Evans sisters as they make their way through Hogwarts, prepare for war and eventually find love.

Tags/ Warnings: Hogwarts, Friends, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marauder’s Era, Teenage Angst, Babies, Weddings, Dating, Crying, Loss of Virginity, First Wizarding War, Love, Kissing, Teenagers, James Potter is a bit of a dick, Hogsmeade, 1970s, Fighting, Loss of Parents, Grief, Babies, Injuries, Gore, Harm, Christmas,  The Potter’s Mansion // Daisy’s Dress // NYE Lily’s Dress // NYE Daisy’s Dress // Lily’s Ring // Daisy’s Ring

Notes: Okay so I’ve been working on updating this and I’ve finally gone through all the chapters already written before I start writing more. It’s changed a lot so I’ve decided it’s just better to completely re-upload it.  

If you want tagging let me know

LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST // LINK TO ALL PARTS

Despite advancing into N.E.W.T subjects the commencement of Daisy’s sixth year felt just the same as ever, school wise. Being back in her on dormitory after having spent the better part of a year living with four rambunctious teenage boys however was another story. It was different but nice enough. Whilst Lily had caught her up over the summer on most things that she had missed when they weren’t speaking she still felt like she was lagging behind and so the majority of the first couple of weeks back at school she and the girls were inseparable. Which was just as well as the boys seemed distant though she tried to chalk it down to the fact they weren’t sharing a space now and that Remus’ transformation had landed that first week back.

What she had noticed was that despite the distance between her and her friends Remus and Lily seemed closer than ever. Though they had been prefects together for the last year Lily’s resentment towards his friends had stopped her from pursuing anything with the sandy-haired boy. Now, after Daisy had made them write to one another instead of through her they had found that they were actually good friends. Trying to get both of her friend groups to exist in cohesion aside it was Remus had another shoulder to lean on if needed. Lily too she reasoned given that she’d lost Snape who, thankfully, had decided to keep himself to himself and most importantly, out of their way. Though she had taken note of his new found confidence, which she chalked down to his new cronies. Lily however seemed determined not to mention it.

And in a turn of events that surprised absolutely no one, Lily and Remus decided to knuckle down and do as much work as humanly possible despite being in the first few weeks of a new term. Of course this was beneficial to their projected grades but not so much for their friends who were constantly nagged into doing homework or frowned at when they acted up in class. Because of this Daisy was happy that some of her electives were now without her sister. Muggle studies, for example, was one of the only classes she had respite and it was made better by the fact that she cohabited a desk with Sirius though he’d felt even more distant than the rest of the boys since they got back.

‘Now, this term we are moving onto the study of technologies! And to understand this we need to start by looking at the industrial revolution,’ Professor Burbage said, turning to the blackboard so she could write the topic upon it. Unlike the other teachers Professor Burbage wrote manually, enjoying the novelty of the task, as did Daisy who found it reminiscent of her time at primary school. The topic however wasn’t one of her favourites and so she grumbled to Sirius, who was busy focusing on a doodle he was doing on a piece of parchment, ‘ugh, I hated this topic at school. So boring.’ ‘Huh?’ he asked though he didn’t look up to signal he was listening to her. ‘This… you know this topic,’ she said, watching him to see if he would at least appear interested. ‘Yeah right,’ he said noncommittally, causing her to become irritated. She knew he’d been distant since they’d gotten back to school and like with every problem he had she figured he’d tell her eventually, but whilst it was easier to ignore when they were in a group once they were alone it felt more isolating. And if he didn’t knock it off soon she was going to get impatient. ‘What’s up with you?’ she asked, pushing the quill out of his hands and causing his doodle to go awry. ‘What’s up with me?’ he asked incredulously, scowling as he added, ‘what was that for?’ ‘That was because you’re being weird,’ she said, going quieter as she realised a couple of classmates had turned their heads for a second before looking back to the front of class, pretending they weren’t listening, ‘you have been since the start of term.’ ‘No, I’ve not,’ Sirius said defensively. ‘Like shit, you’ve not,’ Daisy said, slapping her hand down on his parchment as he tried to ignore her and return to doodling, ‘now I thought it was just because of what happened you know over the summer but I don’t think it is. I mean you haven’t said anything about your parents-’ ‘I just have a lot on my plate okay,’ he grumbled, hoping she’d drop it.

To his surprise she did, not saying anything for a moment. That was until he felt her slink her arm around his, her head on his shoulder as if hugging him as discreetly as possible. It made his stomach fill with butterflies.

‘Oh Pads,’ she sighed pulling out of the hug, ‘I get that but you can’t bottle it up and be all catty okay?’ ‘Bit hard to be catty given I’m a dog,’ he said instinctively, making her burst out a laugh which caused Professor Burbage’s gaze to immediately transfix on them and a scowl plastered on her face in warning. Daisy dropped her head, yielding to the other witch, though it was mainly to conceal the giant grin on her face as part of the normal Sirius shined through. As the teacher turned her back again and continued with the lesson she looked back to her desk mate who was watching her with a smile.

‘But you know what I mean don’t you?’ she whispered. Sirius nodded.

She was right. Since his revelation, he had tried all means of dealing with his feelings. Distancing himself didn’t work because he just wanted to be in her company more than before. Being around her and being cold and angry caused just as many problems. So in the end he had to try and quash the feelings just enough so that he could carry on as normal. And before now he had though it was working, apparently not. As she watched him worriedly he knew he had to try a little harder, to be the friend she’d come to know.

‘Or you could tell her,’ a little voice in the back of his brain whispered but Sirius shook that thought out as quickly as it had come. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that because it would risk losing her and he had already lost enough up to now. His parents, his brother, his home. If anything his friends, especially Daisy, were the only things getting him through it all. So he couldn’t risk it.

‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ he lied, ‘it’s just being back here. There’s so much work-’ ‘Since when has school work bothered you?’ she questioned, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, it’s not just that. I mean it’s hard to think of potions homework when there’s an impending war. And seeing Regulus swanning about with his new death eater pals,’ he grumbled. That too had become a new concern though he hadn’t voiced it aloud yet. Daisy frowned, ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Are you okay?’ ‘Yeah, I mean we’re not exactly close, we drifted apart as soon as I went to school but he’s still my brother you know,’ he shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she said, his words rattling round her brain until she blurted, ‘you don’t think he’s…recruiting do you? ‘It’s a possibility,’ Sirius admitted, making worry flash on her face. Panicked Sirius chimed, ‘but I wouldn’t think any of them are well you know.’ ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘S’pose he doesn’t wanna get caught. I mean I don’t doubt they’ll be laying foundations but if Dumbledore finds out he’s got followers on the inside there’d be hell to pay,’ Sirius said. ‘Yeah, yeah you’re right,’ she said, feeling only an ounce reassured. He had a point. War or no war who’d be stupid enough to try and infiltrate Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s nose. Though before she could dwell on it any longer there was a cough beside her that got her attention. Only one desk away was a very irate looking Professor Burbage, who as soon as she got their attention, ordered Sirius to move across to an empty table up at the front leaving Daisy by herself. Neither of them argued and soon enough he gathered his things and headed to the front not bothering to mention that from where he was sitting they could still see one another, sharing a smirk or an eye roll every so often.

When class was over Sirius waited by the door for Daisy to gather her things and the pair of them walked towards the great hall for lunch. Yet as they reached the top of stairs to the entrance hall they heard a commotion occurring just around the corner, and curiosity sparked, they followed it. For Daisy it was hard to see what was happening due to the gaggle of sixth and seventh-year boys huddled in a circle but from what she could see was that most of them were Slytherins, and not any of the nice ones. Sirius however seemed to get the picture, privy to more due to his taller stature, and he strode forward, parting them like the red sea until he was at the centre. Daisy scurried behind him and once in the middle she found Peter, pinned against a wall, wand pressed to his throat by a boy with a flock of curly black hair. He was tall and slender but as Daisy moved to the side she could see his steely grey eyes.

Regulus.

He was flanked by Snape and another boy from the year above who she thought was called McNair. None of them looked up as Sirius got near, not until he said, ‘let him go,’ with a gravitas that caused a shiver to go down Daisy’s spine. As did the look on his face, dark and gloomy, that was met with a menacing smile from his brother who swivelled around, his hand keeping Peter in place as he said, ‘Sirius. Come to join the party eh?’ ‘Whatever you’re doing, stop it now,’ Sirius warned, causing his brother to straighten up. Spying his opportunity Peter darted out of the way, scurrying behind Sirius. Daisy pulled him back, allowing Sirius to act as their shield, her hand slipping into Peter’s who was still shaking. It was cold and clammy as if he had been pumping sweat out by the bucket. ‘I’d like to say we know what you’re on about,’ Regulus said feigning innocence. ‘And I don’t see what it matters to you,’ Snape said with a snide grin. ‘He’s my mate and you’re-’ Sirius stared. ‘What? What am I Sirius?’ Regulus said with a quirked eyebrow, his smile widening as Sirius clenched his fist by his side, his knuckles turning white. Panic flowed through her. He couldn’t take the bait. Not here, not with so many of them. She cleared her throat, hoping he’d see sense or at least look her way, so that she could try and pull him back from doing something stupid. His head turned a fraction of an inch but he didn’t look at her, instead he unclenched his fist and said, ‘never mind. Forget it lets go.’

And before either Peter or Daisy could disagree he turned around, forcing them to walk back through the gang of Slytherins and away from this ugly mess. Relief flooded through her but it was short lived because as they got to the fringe of the group a jet of light flashed by her, knocking her to the ground. And before she even had time to figure out what was going on it was over.

As she turned herself over she found several Slytherins starting to scatter, forcing her to shield herself from the flurry of legs so that she didn’t get trampled. And when she looked up she found Sirius and Regulus were being prised apart and held several feet away from one another by a flick of McGonagall’s wand. Sirius’ eye was red from a fresh hit and Regulus was sporting a fat lip yet both had steely glares and set jaws as McGonagall came toward them ranting and raving about how irresponsible they were. She was only forced to look away as Peter appeared at her side, helping her off the ground. By the time they got close to the action they only caught the end of McGonagall’s tirade.

‘Hexing other students in the corridor! Fighting like Quidditch hooligans! You’re brothers for Christ’s sake and if that’s not something to deter fighting I don’t know what is,’ she said shaking her head. ‘He’s no brother of mine,’ Regulus said with spite. Daisy watched him, the glare on his face hard and unbecoming of a fourteen-year-old boy. It was only then did she realise how far gone he was. How his parents ‘regime’ had truly brainwashed him. It made her sad, as did the way Sirius replied, ‘likewise’ with less conviction or hatred than his brother. ‘Well, in any case, maybe two weeks detention would suffice as a deterrent,’ she said sternly, earning nothing but a nod from each boy indicating they’d accepted their punishment. ‘Very well you may go,’ McGonagall said, sighing as Regulus stomped off, shoving past Peter and Daisy as he headed to where his friends were waiting. McGonagall’s stare followed him and then landed on Sirius where her expression changed and it became more pitiful. He pretended not to see it, looking instead to Daisy and Peter and muttering, ‘come on.’

As he headed off in the direction of the great hall they followed behind, sharing uncertain looks behind his back but keeping quiet. Fortunately none of the Slytherins had come to dinner but James and Remus were there when they all slipped into their seats, their faces growing concerned as they took in the state of them. James’ concern however didn’t last all that long as Lily appeared, sitting down next to him, ignoring how he practically vibrated with excitement and instead looking at her sister with worry as she said, ‘what happened to you?’ ‘It’s nothing Lil,’ Daisy mumbled, feeling guilty as her sister looked accusingly at Sirius and Peter. ‘Dais, you do realise you’ve got blood all down your neck right?’ James said, making her hand fly up to her face, finding her chin and wand damp and sticky. With a sigh, Lily flourished her wand and uttered a cleanup spell. ‘Not going to lie but you don’t look much better mate,’ Remus said, looking at Sirius who was scowling. ‘What happened?’ Lily demanded. ‘It’s my fault,’ Peter said much to everyone’s surprise, ‘some Slytherins cornered me outside ancient runes.’ ‘What Slytherins?’ James asked angrily. ‘Reg,’ Sirius said, looking at James who frowned. ‘They wanted me to tell him where Sirius had gone after he left home. Or if he’d been telling us anything about why he went,’ Peter explained, Sirius winced, ‘I said I didn’t know but they didn’t believe me. Threw me up against the wall and hexed me and well, that’s when Sirius and Daisy appeared.’ ‘Oh God what did you do?’ Lily asked. ‘Nothing,’ Daisy protested, irked by her sister’s lack of trust, ‘we were leaving I swear.’ ‘So how did you get that?’ Lily asked, gesturing to the fading gash on her sister’s neck. ‘Regulus hexed her,’ Sirius said grimly, turning to look at Daisy, ‘to be honest I thought it had missed you.’. ‘I think it did for the most part. Feels like it caught my ear,’ she said, trying to reassure him she was okay with a look. ‘What was it?’ James asked. ‘Dunno,’ Sirius shrugged, ‘never heard it before.’ ‘Ever?’ Lily asked curiously. ‘Don’t think so,’ Daisy agreed. ‘Do you remember what it was called?’ Remus asked intrigued. ‘Septumsemper? Sectumsempra something like that,’ Peter butted in. ‘Hmm,’ Lily and Remus said at the same time. ‘Well at least Sirius hit back,’ Peter said. ‘I should bloody hope so,’ James said, though as Lily rolled her eyes he change direction adding, ‘I mean only if he was gonna hurt Dais again.’ ‘Yeah well I punched him in the face,’ Sirius said. ‘Well, I suppose that’s not as bad a flinging curses about,’ Lily said, ignoring the wry smile on James’ face. ‘Yeah I guess,’ Sirius said. Daisy placed a hand on his thigh under the table, making him look at her as she said, ‘you didn’t have much of a choice. I’m just glad it didn’t get any worse.’ ‘The fighting is not the concern here though is it,’ Sirius said, making all eyes fall on him. ‘What do you mean?’ Lily asked. ‘I mean they’re not fighting over some name calling in the yard or some quidditch squabble. They’re fighting what they see as enemies. On behalf of him. Like soldiers,’ Sirius said gravely. And as that sunk in, no one uttered a word.

✵✵✵

The first half of the term passed in the blink of an eye. After getting himself in trouble Sirius spent an entire two weeks stuck in detention or in class which meant that he missed Quidditch try outs and though James wanted to have him, McGonagall made it clear he was to pick from those who attended. He was a little forlorn at first as he as he loved playing alongside his best mate but as work started coming in thick and fast he found he was thankful for the time off not that Remus allowed him much time to relax instead insisting they spend almost every night studying.

Thankfully, Daisy provided an adequate distraction and not just because he spent most of his time thinking of her. Since their altercation she had made it her duty to keep tabs on whatever Regulus and his friends did and, having accepted his fate to pine after her from up close rather than afar, Sirius tagged along too. It wasn’t that he wanted to spy on his brother but if there was a chance he could stop him from getting in too deep, from doing something stupid, Sirius still wanted to take it. So, every night after classes had ended the two of them took to scouting about the castle just in case they were lurking about or coming through newspapers looking for anything that might be news about growing unrest. James attended when he wasn’t training and Peter came too when he wasn’t watching James train. Even Remus helped with some of it though he did disapprove that they were going through with that rather than actual work.

On a rainy October night Daisy was just finishing her dinner when she felt a ball of parchment bounce off her head and onto the table. She glanced at it before looking down the table to where the boys were sitting, finding Sirius smirking at her. She rolled her eyes but picked it up anyway, ignoring the girls as they continued their debate regarding spousal spats (Alice had invited Frank to stay with her over Christmas but he’d turned her down stating his mother wouldn’t allow it), and unfurled it, looking at Sirius’ neat scribble that read, Astronomy tower, half an hour?

Daisy looked up and nodded at him, receiving a nod in return. She hadn’t thought it too distracting only when she looked back the girls had paused their debate and were now watching her carefully, their eyes flitting to the note in hand. Daisy tucked it in her pocket and said, ‘sorry what did I miss?’ ‘Lil was just saying maybe I offer him to come for New Year’s,’ Alice said, wondering if the conversation was continuing given the way Marlene was now watching her friend. ‘Yeah that could be-’ Daisy started though Marlene interrupted her. ‘What was that?’ she asked flatly. ‘What?’ Daisy asked, looking at her friend only to find her watching her with a steely glare. Since coming back to school and rekindling her friendship with the girls it had been going well though she couldn’t deny that there had been a definite distance from Marlene. At first Daisy had thought it was because she didn’t want to be around Sirius but now it felt like something else. Like she didn’t like her being his friend though she didn’t know why. After all, Marlene had never had a problem with them being friends when they were together so why would she now?

‘Sirius wants to meet up later,’ she shrugged, attempting to steer the conversation back to Alice and Frank but Marlene wasn’t budging. ‘What for?’ she asked curiously, her eyes narrowed as she looked at her Daisy friend across the table. ‘Dunno,’ Daisy shrugged, ‘he probably needs help with his potions homework again.’ ‘Since when did you even do your own?’ Lily said, making Alice chuckle for the first time that day. ‘I’m very studious I’ll have you know,’ Daisy mused. ‘Yeah, I’m sure all those study sessions with Sirius have really been insightful,’ Marlene said snidely. ‘What?’ Daisy said, looking at her friend with clear shock at her tone. ‘I’m just saying you two have been studying a lot lately,’ Marlene said. From across the table, Alice placed her hand on the back of Marlene’s and said, ‘Mar, don’t.’ ‘Don’t what?’ Daisy said. ‘Nothing,’ Marlene said, standing up abruptly and gathering her stuff with gusto, ‘enjoy your studying.’

And with that, she clambered over the bench and strutted out of the Great Hall with Daisy’s gaze following her until she disappeared through the open grand doors. Baffled Daisy looked back at her friends and said, ‘what was that about?’ ‘Nothing,’ Lily said quickly. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ Daisy said, her eyes narrowing as Alice replied, ‘you should ask Mar.’ ‘Come on Al,’ Daisy said, a niggle in her stomach when she saw the look Alice gave Lily before looking back at her. ‘Look, it’s nothing to do with me. And if Mar wanted to tell you she would but come on it’s not hard to work out is it?’ Alice said. Daisy looked perplexed as if she hadn’t the faintest idea of what Alice was insinuating. ‘You’re not exactly subtle I think is what Alice means,’ Lily said. ‘What are you talking about?’ Daisy asked, still lost. ‘What I mean is that if you’re going to mess around with her ex-boyfriend, maybe it’s not the best idea to do it right under her nose,’ Alice said bluntly, which was totally out of character for her. Daisy watched her agog for a moment before she spluttered, ‘I’m not, we’re not, I mean Sirius and I we’re not…you know.’ ‘Well that’s not what Mar thinks,’ Alice said. ‘Well she’s wrong. Honestly, Sirius and I are just friends,’ Daisy said firmly, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the idea of it all. Though she didn’t know why considering it was the truth. She and Sirius were just friends, in fact, she hadn’t even thought of him like that since the start of the year. And even then she’d pushed it out of her mind for Marlene.

‘Well, you need to tell Mar because I think she feels put out by how close you two are now,’ Lily said. ‘I guess,’ Daisy murmured, ‘I suppose I didn’t think she’d mind. Her and Sirius feels like a hundred years ago.’ ‘Yeah but still, seeing him be friendly with someone else must sting,’ Alice reasoned, ‘I mean if Frank and I broke up and he started being chummy with some new girl I’d be devastated.’ ‘I guess but it’s not like I’m just his friend. I’m close with all the boys,’ Daisy said, glancing down the table to where Sirius was laughing at something James had said, making her heart thump a little faster. When she looked back Lily was watching her dubiously. So, before she could say anything else and back her into a corner where she might have to think about something she didn’t want to Daisy grabbed her bag and said, ‘I’ll speak to Mar later. I’ll see you guys in a bit?’

And before either of them could agree she launched herself over the bench and out towards the entrance hall. As she made her way outside though her mind kept replaying the conversation wondering just how long Marlene had been thinking this way. Did it really look like she and Sirius were a couple? It wasn’t as though they acted any differently now they were back at school. Or had they simply grown closer in the months she’d spent isolated from the girls making their presence back in each other’s lives feel even more striking? As she thought about the complicated ins and outs of a female friendship she found herself longing for the easy company of boys. Not that the boys were less complicated to hang out with, she had the scars to prove it, it was just that they tended to shy away from those awkward, deep feelings the way the girls did.

She was still in her thoughts when she got to the entrance hall, running smack bang into Sirius who had gotten up once he’d noticed her leave, and was now looking down at her with a grin as he said, ‘in your own world there Dais?’ ‘What?’ Daisy said, trying to quell the thoughts that were flashing through her mind after her conversation with the girls. Sirius’ brows knitted together in concern which made Daisy automatically divert the conversation. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking about the essay that’s due for potions,’ she said, pulling her arms out of his grasp since he hadn’t noticed he was still clasped hold of her. ‘Oh, thought that was only due next week,’ Sirius said. ‘It is, I just need to get a jump on it,’ Daisy lied. As she started to walk up the stairs, followed closely by Sirius, she tried to navigate the conversation past her lies and started to question him about why he wanted to meet her tonight. He looked as though he was going to answer her but paused, glancing around the corridor they were now on for anyone listening. There was no one there but he placed a hand on her shoulder anyway, pulling her into an alcove which made her heart hammer in her chest, as did the way his voice lowered as he said, ‘it’s Regulus.’ ‘What about him?’ she asked. ‘He’s up to something or at least his friends are,’ Sirius said. ‘Well, we know that,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘I know, I know, but I think he’s trying to tell me what it is,’ Sirius said. ‘What? Why?’ Daisy asked, perplexed. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to do it,’ Sirius said with hope in his voice. ‘Or maybe he’s luring us in for something else,’ Daisy said, quashing what little hope her friend had almost immediately. As his face changed she noticed how harsh her tone was yet before she could apologise he nodded and started walking again, thanking his lucky stars that they didn’t have to look at each other much now that they had reached the astronomy tower staircase and so were forced to walk single file. But when they reached the top Daisy stopped in her tracks realising that they weren’t alone because there, perched on the edge of the railing, was Regulus.

‘What’s he doing here?’ she asked, whipping around and looking at Sirius who was looking shiftily at his feet. ‘He has a name,’ Regulus said irately. ‘Reg,’ Sirius said in a warning tone. ‘Did you know he was going to be here?’ Daisy asked glowering. ‘Dais, it’s not what you think,’ Sirius said defensively. ‘So he’s not a scumbag Slytherin?’ she said with a quirked eyebrow. ‘Well, I’ll not contest that,’ Regulus chuckled. ‘Let me handle this,’ Sirius snapped at his brother. Regulus held his hands up, feigning self-defence, but Daisy ignored him, stalking off towards the other side of the tower with Sirius hot on her tail.

He didn’t say anything, watching her as she looked over the vast landscape in front of her, but she only let the silence linger for a moment before she looked at him and said, ‘well go on. Explain yourself.’ ‘Well whilst we’ve been investigating them it turns out they’ve been keeping tabs on us. They weren’t concerned but the more we pried the more notice they were taking and this was being relayed to their parents and,’ Sirius said, feeling his throat go dry. ‘And?’ Daisy pressed. ‘And He was taking note of us. Regulus came to me because he was going to tell our parents what when had been doing-’ ‘Charming,’ Daisy scoffed, ‘so much for brotherly love eh?’ ‘Reg only said it to throw off Mulciber. Turns out that letch was going to give Him all our names. Reg didn’t let him though, he told me and that’s why I wanted to speak to you and him,’ Sirius explained. ‘I’m confused,’ she said. ‘What my darling brother is bungling to say is that I don’t want your lot involved,’ Regulus said, hopping down from the railing as they turned around, cutting Daisy off before she could say anything, ‘and before you start it’s not because I think our side is right but because these people mean business. They’re not school kids. They’re soldiers and the more you interfere the worse it’ll be.’ ‘So what you want us to let you crack on and let you do whatever you feel like so we don’t get hurt? Not bloody likely,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘He just wants us to be careful. He’s warning us-’ Sirius sighed. ‘For his own good,’ she snapped. ‘For my brother,’ Regulus corrected, ‘look we’ve not often seen eye to eye, in fact, we never have really, but that doesn’t mean I want him hurt over something like this. Stay out of our business and there’ll be no issues.’

And with that Regulus strutted across the floor and down the spiral staircase. When Sirius looked back at Daisy she was staring at him, her mouth in a tight line. Sirius felt his stomach lurch.

‘So what now,’ she asked, ‘you want us to stop trying to stop the war because the other side threatens us.’ ‘No,’ Sirius said, trying to keep his tone even, ‘I just think we should lay low okay?’ ‘And what let them convince first year muggleborns to off themselves,’ Daisy baulked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sirius sighed. ‘I’m not being ridiculous!’ Daisy said, feeling the anger bubbling in her. She didn’t know why the idea of him siding with Regulus hurt so much but it was like a knife to her gut. As he put a hand on her arm she yanked it away making him frown, ‘you don’t get it do you?’ ‘Get what?’ he asked confused, ‘Dais, I’m thinking about keeping us safe-’ ‘Yeah but you’re always going to be safe aren’t you! Because you’re not different. You and James, you can pretend to understand but how can you? You’re pureblood.’ ‘Dais-’ ‘And even if you pretend to sympathise you’ll never know how it feels to be without magic. How mundane life is. You all take it for granted but we don’t and yet we’re still thought of as lesser for knowing something else. And you’ll never understand how scary it is to think of someone wanting to eradicate us all from existence just because of that,’ she said, feeling a lump in her throat. Sirius dropped his gaze ashamedly, ‘so no, I’m not just going to roll over and let the mini death eaters do what they want so He doesn’t find out. I’m not scared of him, you know. And you shouldn’t be either because it’s alright to say we’re friends and that you care about us but what does matter if you’re not going to fight for us when we need you to.’

And before Sirius could do anything she was disappearing down the astronomy tower steps. He bolted after her but he couldn’t keep up and by the time he reached the bottom step he couldn’t tell which way she had gone.

SIRIUS BLACK/SERIES TAGS

@maeisafangirl @mysteriouslydelicateface @caitlin1996 @imthebadguyyy

[screamqueenkrueger]

I meant to post this earlier, but the weekend really sucked the life out of me.

How do I begin something like this? I'm not usually one for writing story times about the things I do. Nothing seems interesting enough for that.

And maybe to a lot of people this isn't either.

But a dream of mine came true this weekend, and this is how it all went down

3 months ago my poor coworker thought he was bringing me exciting news, and he was! I was just not mentally prepared for it.

"Robert Englund is coming to Indy in August!"

"Fuck!" I started to panic, I almost cried, I scrambled to check dates. I was staffing another con at the end of August. Could I make it work? I hadn't saved any money!

Whew HorrorHound was the weekend before the con I staff, I could squirell enough money away for his signatures, now it was time to just stew in the intermitten anxiety for the next 3 months. Would I actually get to meet him this time? Would I make it? Or would I be too little too late again? Would he do another con after this one? Is this my last chance? I don't know the lay out, where he'll be. The VIP passes had already sold out. I got early entry, but would that be enough?

Sooner than I thought possible the time was upon me. I'd had art I'd draw printed out, ready for him to sign, and I had my fursuit head I wanted him to sign as well.

Only one problem. I had to go alone. The Husband had army obligations. The aforementioned coworker could only come with me on Saturday. I had to face this task on my own. Normally I'm a little ball of anxiety, but Robert was all I wanted. I could do it for him.

So Friday I get up, already buzzing with anxiety. Early entry doesn't open until 4 so I have some time to prepare, and as I have a fee errands that could be ran, and busy myself with that, instead of sitting around and staring at the clock. I take, maybe, a little too long. By the time I get to the convention center it's around 3:45 and the place is already packed.

Uh oh.

Well this is okay. As long as I hustle I can make it to Robert's line. It's going to be a long wait, but that's okay. That's what I'm here for.

Nothing else matters to me but getting in front of Robert Englund.

At exactly 4 the line starts moving in. They have a pretty organized and we go in one section of line at a time. As soon as I'm in the vendor hall I hustle my ass as fast as I can power walk to the back. I didn't run. I probably should have, but lord help me if I had fallen.

But there he is! His line isn't cut off! Maybe this is it! My heart is pounding. I love to stand to what I perceive as the back of the line then...oh no...staff are approaching me.

"Are you hear for Robert Englund?"

"Yes" I say, holding my fursuit head tighter to my chest. Please don't tell me I have to leave. I'll wait as long as I can. Is all I can think in that moment.

Thankfully he just gently ushered me and a few others out into the hallway. They were moving the line out there so that the vendor hall wasn't too crowded. I was relieved they would allow me to still wait, and I was near the front of this line! And so commenced the waiting.

I made small talk with a few of my line mates. It was going to be an eternity, so I figured it may be a good idea to make friends. And I do! The group in front of me really liked my fursuit head. I showed them a picture of what the rest of him looked like, and explained how he was inspired my Freddy Krueger, and that I wanted Robert to sign one of his horns. One of the women had actual stills from Freddy Vs Jason in a frame that she was going to have Robert sign. That blew me out of the water. How rad was that!

As a group, we settled in for the long wait. Every inch we moved felt like a mile, and once we were in the line at Robert's booth, it felt like we had cleared a giant hurtle, but the wait was just beginning. We passed the time talking about what we really enjoyed about horror movies, what scared us the most, and what obscure movies we had seen and really liked. It was hard watching those who had gotten VIP tickets wait a fraction of what we had until then, with a mile of a line still in front of us.

At some point, Robert had to leave for photo ops. Some people left, but a majority of us stayed. This group of people were some of the nicest I'd ever met, people were walking in and out of the line, able to come back because their line mates agreed to hold their spot in line for them. While he was gone we were told to get comfortable, so we did.

I think this is one of my favorite memories from this weekend. 3 of us settled down, aitting on the floor, I'd said if my phone weren't half dead I'd play a Nightmare on Elm St. for us. The woman beside me said, "Mine's at 90%!" So she turned on the movie and since I was in the middle I held the phone so that we could watch. At one point another woman peeked through the curtain.

"Which one are you watching? I heard the music!"

We told her the first one and we all laughed that she recognized the movie from the sound ahead of us in line, and that we were watching a movie while waiting to meet Mr. Krueger himself.

An hour later Robert was back, so we got back on our feet. Time was creeping closer and closer to the close of the convention. I was so close by now, about halfway, but I was beginning to get anxious all over again. What if it moved too slow? He had to stop signing at somepoint. There were still VIP people waiting to be seen, taking time away from us, the peasants.

I couldn't be too mad at them, though. I'd have been one of them if the tickets hadn't sold out. We were still moving, so I tried to focus on how close we were getting. The guy in front of us at one point turned around and said, "I think it's going to happen guys."

We were one line length away at this point and my heart was really pounding now. He was there. I could see him. Hear him speak. The friend I'd made in line was so sweet, rubbing my back, telling me I'd be alright. I didn't quite feel like it, but I knew she was right.

Then we were at his table. I paid for my autographs, watching the guy in front of me get his things signed, and knew this was it! He was right in front of me. My friend asked me if I wanted to give her my phone so she could take pictures. All I could say was "no I'm good! I just wanna be in the moment!" Truthfully I was shaking and so scared I'd fumble my phone and drop it. She took pictures on her own phone and sent them to me on Facebook. She was so sweet and I am so thankful for her.

IT HAPPENED.

5 and a half hours later I was standing in front of Robert Englund. I had the art I'd agonized over for months out and when I slid it in from of him I almost couldn't believe this was happening.

"I drew it myself." I told him, so giddy I sounded like a child. I was handing the love of my life my own art for him to sign, and I'd gotten a second printed out to give him.

"This is amazing work." He said, silver sharpie gliding his name across my work. I was on the moon. "This one is for me?" He clarified, sliding the second copy out.

"Yes," I told him. My smile was so wide it hurt. I set my fursuit head on the table after he'd carefully set aside his copy.

"Now this is a first." Did I make Robert Englund say that? I sure did! Light of my life! Man of my dreams!

He signed my fursuit head and handed it back. I said thank you, then wobbled off. My dream had coke true! I am just so thankful I got to meet this horror legend. This man helped shape the horror we enjoy today, and I am simply blessed to have been able to share this moment in time with him. I only wish I had been more maybe a decade or two earlier.

[svailana]

Sacrificing your Dignity for Gold, It’s More Likely Than You Think

Characters: Hidan Kakuzu

Word count: 1400

Tag: bottom kakuzu, kakuzu pov, in media res, crack?, pwp, monkey’s paw

*explicit*

I was originally writing this for April Fools Day but I’m not really to happy with it. So I’ll post it casually instead of to ao3

“Come on Hidan. We’re finally done with the mission. So hurry up and show me how to make gold.” His eagerness was clear in his voice.

“Alright already! Stop nagging me you old bastard! Man greed really clouds your mind. Or are you secretly some kind of slut?” Hidan snapped at him.

“Shut-up! Like I’d let you touch me under any other circumstance.” Ugh, he was sacrificing a lot of dignity for this, but to unlock alchemy it was worth it. He stripped quickly, leaving his hood and mask on. He ignored Hidan’s whining and unlaced his back. Then sent his hearts out, ordering them to go scout around.

“Oh, Kakuzu-chan… you don’t know what you're getting into. But don't worry, I’ll cure your gold fever.” Hidan’s voice was hoarse. He suppressed any sense of pride the realization gave him. Hidan watching was making him itch, the faster this was finally over with the better, hopefully it wouldn’t hurt. He heard Hidan sigh before dropping his pants.

“I’m not going in dry even if you are a bastard. You’re not burning are you old man?” Confusion was a temporary reprieve from rationalization, but he did need to answer.

“What the fuck are you blabbering on about?” Now Hidan started raising his voice.

“Are you clean? You don’t have a fucking std do you!” Insulted by the insinuation he snapped back.

“Fuck you! Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“How the hell should I know? You’re the slut fucking for gold!” If they weren’t in the middle of nowhere, their argument was definitely loud enough to be overheard. He felt rage building in the pit of his stomach. But before he could yell at Hidan or call it off, he felt something squirting onto his butt. So it began, then he would commence his practice of stoicism, and take it with as much dignity as he could salvage.

He felt Hidan prodding around and noticed with some small amount of satisfaction that his dick was barely the size of a finger. He almost laughed, but remembered he was a stoic. He felt more slimy stuff squirt onto him, but instead of finishing Hidan kept messing around back there.

“What’s taking so long?” He heard Hidan suck his teeth.

“Stop rushing me! I haven’t even started yet. Even if I wanted to, I can’t just shove my dick in. I’m stretching you out first. The way you're sucking up my fingers is really riling me up...”

“Finger?! Why is your finger in my ass?!”

“Do you know what foreplay is? Have you just been going around shoving your dick in people! What the fuck is wrong with you?” This was utterly ridiculous. Why hadn’t he just beat the secret out of Hidan?

“Who the fuck wastes time with shit like this? That’s what’s wrong with your generation.”

“See, I thought the reason you haven’t felt the touch of a woman in decades was because you’re too cheap to pay for it.” He slipped in another finger. “Turns out you're just shit in bed.” Arguing during this was very crass, but he couldn’t let Hidan get the last word.

“Go fuck yourself! I used to pull all kinds of honeys back in my day! Once I hit forty they couldn’t keep up any- ah!” Pleasure shot through him. Evidently Hidan had found a sensitive spot in his butt. He was ashamed to even have one. He tried to return to stoicism and fought against Hidan focusing on that area.

“Ha ha, there we go.” Hidan had the nerve to chuckle to himself. He tried to will his body to resist the pleasure. But despite not having been touched his penis was responding enthusiastically. And even his legs started to tremble.

“Even if you’re trying to be quiet I can tell you love this. You’re so sensitive back here. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Shut up! Of course, ah ah ah nooot! I have my pride as a ma- ah man” Fuck the bastard had baited him. Hidan slipped in a third finger and focused them all on his spot. Unable to play it off he just returned to being silent. He tried desperately to regain his composure in preparation for the main event. Just because he was skilled with his fingers that didn’t mean he was good with his dick, right? Finally Hidan pulled his fingers out, but seemed to hesitate.

“You’re still bitching? You're taking me in so well though.”

“Shut up! You stupid pervert-” Before he could go into a tirade, Hidan started pushing in, blowing the air out of him. It was too big. At least that fiddling earlier was worth something. The mild discomfort morphed into pleasure once Hidan’s dick pressed past his sensitive spot. It was thick enough that even without being focused on it felt stimulated.

He took a few shuddering breaths, desperate to maintain his dignity. For once his mask was a hindrance, but he’d rather keep it on.

Instead of just going to town, Hidan seemed to be hesitating. He felt him rubbing his back. The touch was entirely too intimate and he wished Hidan would just get it over with.

“Has your body adjusted yet? I don’t want to rip your stitches.” Hidan rubbed his back while he talked. He wasn’t teasing him, yet his pride couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not weak. Whatever you do, I can take it.” Hidan kept rubbing different parts of his body gently.

“Yeah yeah. How about this? If you’re too tense you’ll break my dick in half.” There was no bite to his words, but it didn’t help him calm down either.

“Would you be more comfortable facing me?” Hidan offered, thinking he was being kind. Instantly his guard was up against him.

“NO! Shut-up, just get it over with! Don’t complicate things, I just want my gold.”

“Well this would be faster if I was enjoying it. But even though you fucking asked for this your being difficult.”

“So what? Aren’t you a man? A warm hole should be all it takes. Just pretend I’m a kunoichi with huge knockers or I’ll transform whatever's easier.”

“That’s not the problem!” Hidan shouted, pulling out. “Are you dense or just being bitchy? Fuck it! If we do this, we're gonna do it my way. So you’ll just have to wait till our next break between missions.” It was like a tower of cards were knocked to the floor. Hidan couldn’t back out now.

“Psh, your cute factor can only take you so far.” Hidan said, pulling up his pants. “Besides, taking gold makes a while, it’d be better to be indoors.”

[kijew]

Torah Tumble #1

Okay, so when I sat down to write this post, I actually had something entirely different I wanted to write about and that was a specific PIECE of torah I read today and how the various commentaries shaped how I read it and what it meant to me. Now that I've got all the squishy, gushy stuff out of my brain (for now), this is what I was ORIGINALLY going to write.

So, this is part of the weekly torah portion on Sefaria. It's also part of the larger story of Jacob and Esau, which I've been picking at over the course of the week.

I learned the basic story as a child in Sunday School like every other Baptist kid but just like when I re-read a book I loved as a child, my adult mind catches different aspects of the story. In particular, my memory really only held onto the basics: Jacob was the younger twin, the prettier twin and generally the craftier twin, as well as being their mother's favorite. Esau, as the older twin was also hairy and more outdoorsy, less intellectually nimble and favored by their father, Isaac. Jacob tricked Esau out of his birthright by selling him soup when he was too hangry to think it through, then again robbed him of a blessing from their father by tricking the elderly Isaac into thinking he was Esau. As I kid, I remember thinking that while Jacob was really smart, he was kind of mean, too, but he was being held up as the hero of the story. I always kind of felt bad for Esau.

And that's all I could have told you about Jacob and Esau if you'd asked me who they were.

This verse caught my attention today because I had forgotten that Esau held a grudge about this. It makes perfect sense that he would: his own twin stole from him twice. But the idea that he would genuinely desire to KILL his own brother shook me a bit.

So I opened up the commentary to look over what other scholars across the ages have said. Since I still only speak English, I'm limited to which ones I can read about, but what I got made me sit and think.

“Esau hated Yaakov on account of the blessing;” there are some commentators who do not consider the words: על הברכה in our verse as referring to the blessing that Yaakov had “robbed” Esau of, but they consider these words as Esau’s complaint about the blessing that he did receive from his father, i.e. that he would always have to fight for his survival, על חרבך תחיה, “you will live (only) by the sword.” He placed a great deal of trust in that blessing. We would then have to understand our verse as follows: “Esau hated Yaakov, as from now on he had an assurance that by means of the sword he would always survive.” --Chizkuni Genesis 27:41:1

Esau was sure that his father would not live long enough to sire another son who could avenge Yaakov when he would murder him. --Chizkuni Genesis 27:41:2

As much as he might hate his brother, Esau does not blame his father. He places trust in his father's blessing but still feels he should wait until after his father's death to kill his brother. That might be because he didn't want to cause his father pain or from a practical sense to avoid retribution for murdering Jacob, but it shows a depth of thought that I never gave Esau credit for.

יקרבו ימי אבל אבי, "the days of mourning for my father are not far off." Esau referred to the time after his father's funeral when the days of mourning commence. He was afraid to murder Jacob before his father would be buried since the dead are reputed to be aware of what goes on as long as the grave or coffin has not been sealed (Shabbat 152). --Or HaChaim on Genesis 27:41:1

Superstition or more savvy than I thought?

he wished fervently for the day of his father’s death which was expected soon as else why did he already bless his sons? He planned to kill Yaakov after the mourning period after his father would have passed. He did not want to kill Yaakov while their father was still alive, so as not to be responsible for Yitzchok dying as a result of grief over having lost his son. --Radak on Genesis 27:41:1

This supports that same desire to wait so he isn't responsible for Isaac's death of grief. Is that because he loves his father or simply doesn't want the responsibility/consequences of his actions?

I could go on but I feel like my thoughts dried up on me suddenly. I may write more or I'll just leave this one hanging.

But yeah. I'm in love with torah.

[newyorkprelawland-blog]

“Thinking Out Loud”- In Tune with the Law

By Emma Babashak, Columbia University, Class of 2024

July 23, 2023

In a highly publicized copyright case, pop singer Ed Sheeran was acquitted of allegations that he copied Marvin Gaye's song "Let's Get It On" when creating his song "Thinking Out Loud" in May 2023. The federal jury's verdict, delivered after a two-week trial in downtown Manhattan, marks a significant victory for Sheeran and the music industry at large.[1]

During the trial, Sheeran took the stand and testified that "Thinking Out Loud" was independently composed in collaboration with his longtime friend and co-writer, Amy Wadge. Sheeran also explained that the song was inspired by the enduring love stories the two writers had observed among older generations in his and Wadge's families.

The central dispute in the case revolved around a shared syncopated chord pattern in both songs. The family of Ed Townsend, Gaye's co-writer, filed this lawsuit. The family argued that this chord progression was the "heart" of "Let's Get It On" and claimed that Sheeran had unlawfully appropriated it. Sheeran and his legal team, however, acknowledged the similarity in the chord patterns but instead contended that the chords were basic and widely used building blocks in music and in many other songs.[2]

After almost three hours of deliberation, the jury concluded that Sheeran had independently created his song and dismissed the claims of copyright infringement. Following the verdict, Sheeran expressed his satisfaction, stating in a prepared statement read outside the courthouse, "I am obviously very happy with the outcome of the case. At the same time, I am unbelievably frustrated that baseless claims like this are allowed to go to court at all."

Sheeran further accentuated his role as a songwriter and his determination not to be taken advantage of, stating, "I am just a guy with a guitar who loves writing music for people to enjoy. I am not and will never allow myself to be a piggy bank for anyone to shake."

The trial, which commenced in 2017 and experienced delays due to the COVID-19 pandemic, explored the issue of originality in pop music and its implications for copyright law. In recent years, the music industry has witnessed multiple high-profile cases testing the boundaries between inspiration and plagiarism. This lead to concerns that the distinction between these two concepts is becoming increasingly blurred.

In 2015, Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams were found to have infringed upon Gaye's "Got to Give It Up" with their song "Blurred Lines." However, in 2020 Led Zeppelin won an appeals court victory over the alleged infringement of the song "Stairway to Heaven." The contrasts with legal decisions in these cases have provided guidance on how copyright applies to works involving "commonplace elements."

In Sheeran's case, the plaintiffs argued that although individual elements like chords might not be subject to copyright protection, the specific selection and arrangement of those elements in "Let's Get It On" were original and distinctive enough to warrant legal protection. Sheeran's defense countered that the plaintiffs failed to meet the high legal threshold required for such protection.

During his testimony, Sheeran grew increasingly frustrated and combative when confronted with allegations of copying. He vehemently denied borrowing from "Let's Get It On" and used a guitar in the witness box to demonstrate that while the chord progressions in both songs were similar, they were not identical.

One peculiar aspect of the trial was that the jury never heard Gaye's original recording of "Let's Get It On" since the case only involved the compositions underlying the songs, rather than their recordings. Copyright for older songs like "Let's Get It On" is limited to the sheet music submitted to the United States Copyright Office. Consequently, the defendants provided a computer-generated re-creation of the song based on the original sheet music, while Sheeran's own studio recording was played multiple times.

According to Jennifer Jenkins, a law professor specializing in music copyright at Duke University, Sheeran's victory is significant for all songwriters, as it upholds the copyright protection of original and creative elements while preserving the fundamental building blocks shared by countless compositions.[3] This verdict helps clarify the legal boundaries surrounding musical inspiration and provides guidance for future copyright cases. The trial has not only highlighted the complexities of copyright law, but it has also shed light on the challenges faced by songwriters when the line between inspiration and imitation is blurred.

______________________________________________________________

Emma Babashak is currently a rising senior attending Columbia University. She is majoring in Operations Research - Engineering Management Systems and minoring in both Economics and Psychology.

______________________________________________________________

[1] https://apnews.com/article/ed-sheeran-copyright-marvin-gaye-52a4f756f070a72f21a943659aeb132e

[2] https://www.cbsnews.com/newyork/news/ed-sheeran-trial-verdict-not-liable-copyright-infringement-marvin-gaye-lets-get-it-on-thinking-out-loud/

[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/04/arts/music/ed-sheeran-marvin-gaye-copyright-trial-verdict.html

[theemptyvoice]

This Sucks

This sucks.

Let’s get that name-drop out of the way right now. No coy little dance around it, or a big old wink, or a tired old actor looking for a paycheck looking directly into the audience’s soul as they say, “What are we, some sort of [REDACTED]?”

Can the people perpetually screwing up the DCU sue me for just saying Suicide Squad? Screw it. What is this, some sort of Suicide Squad? It’s a bad movie and a worse line and they should remember it, then go tongue Gunn’s butthole clean or whatever.

But that’s not really what this is about, though that can suck too. Despite popular belief (i.e. Donald Trump’s constant deflections back when we had to think about him every day and presumably still now, even now I don’t have to subject my eyes to his neon orange face), multiple things can suck and need fixing. Like the DCU and late-stage capitalism. My aching joints and climate change.

Like just about everything.

But you don’t need some anonymous stranger on the internet telling you the world sucks. You know that, or at least you should. If you don’t, why are you reading this Elon/Bezos/3rd- Culturally-Relevant-Rich-Person? I feel like this comment should be followed by a witty and biting remark about how terrible these people are, but what can I do that their constant need to flee from their mortality and the fact they don’t matter in any meaningful way hasn’t done already?

Run-on sentences, like running away from your problems (that problem just being one big one called the planet Earth).

I’m not bitter, we’re bitter. And angry, and disappointed, and all those other good dad-talk emotions. Hungry, I guess.

Segue. Not the scooter.

The world is having a bit of a… year, you might say. A few years. Riots, protests, climate chance, abortion, trans-rights, gay rights, book banning (isn’t it ironic Fahrenheit 451, THE book about banning & destroying books as a tool of fascism, is banned?), war, tensions rising, fusion energy (I mean, this one’s good), the rise of megacorporations (that’s the Amazon that’s still around), racists, antisemitism, pause for breath, re-commence panic attack, the growing junk field orbiting our planet (did you know about that one?), animals & insects going extinct… the list goes on.

Religious extremists. Sorry, just wanted to throw in that last one. Oh, and healthcare.

And here we are. I’m an asshole writing what probably is starting to sound suspiciously like a manifesto (Don’t worry, I’m not violent. I’m just a pretentious writer). You’re the asshole reading it. Or maybe you’re really nice, I don’t know.

It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Saying that’s probably a bit of an understatement, but that’s the gist. All these problems, no idea what to do, politicians sitting on their asses.

So few things seem to actually happen on a government level, so let’s start there. Politicians. Lazy, corrupt, but I’m being redundant. And unfair. They aren’t lazy.

Lazy people don’t fuck the lower class on a daily basis. Lazy people don’t pass horrible legislation to remove the free lube and condoms to make the fucking more comfortable. Lazy people don’t ship buses of refugees to a political rival’s house so they can try to fuck all the refugees at the same time to make do with time restraints.

Based on these points, you can see it’s not fair to call politicians lazy. Or stupid, for that matter. It’s actually a bit of a problem, because it makes it easy to underestimate them.

Oh, they’re incompetent. Oh, they don’t know what they’re doing.

The people who have a vested interest in money and the law-making ability to pass bills to create more money for themselves know exactly what they’re doing. When a bill gets pasted and you go, that’s dumb (and probably violates some basic principle of human rights), it’s not there because the senate, or the house, or whoever the heck is stupid. It’s because they know what they’re doing, they’re malicious and greedy enough to do it, and they genuinely do not care about you.

Let’s take abortion as an example. Show of hands, who believes Roe v. Wade was overturned on the principle of good Christian virtues or increasing individual state liberties?

Those of you who raised your hands, there’s not a kind way to say this. But there’s a less mean way, and I’ll try that. You’re not stupid for thinking that. You’re not stupid for hoping for and believing in a better version of humanity, and more specifically a better version of the people in power. But you are wrong. I wish you weren’t, in some ways.

Thought exercise: who does it affect the most?

If you said women, that is correct, but it’s not the whole story. Say, for instance, a woman in a state that has vilified (and more legally important, outlawed) abortions wants one. Well, that doesn’t really stop her, does it? She could just drive to a nearby state that allows it… and seriously, let’s not get into the Texas nonsense. Let’s keep it simple for the example.

Easy as pie, right?

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. A for effort.

There are so many reasons why that isn’t possible for a lot of people. Who are the people it isn’t possible for? Who can’t afford to take that time off work or to travel to another state?

And let me beat you off at the pass—I mean cut you off—poverty isn’t a choice. If it was, we’d all be rich.

Like, say, the rich people who made it so that ruling was overturned. The rich people who can afford to circumvent the shitshow they created without repercussion. Those who definitely do not believe in God ™, or practice God’s Virtues ™.

For them, religion is a tool. Believers are pre-primed to trust them and rally to their cause should they say the right few buzzwords and maybe say Hallelujah once or twice.

And because I don’t think religion should be free from criticism, here’s some shade to be thrown your way. Maybe don’t base your whole personality around a couple thousand-year-old book. Or if you must, temper it with the knowledge that it was translated by people with an agenda that doesn’t necessarily agree with yours. Tell you this much, the reason why there was a long stretch of time where only priests were allowed to read the bible and interpret what was God’s Word ™ isn’t because they were the only special little boys ordained by the holy light of literacy.

For those who get upset when Christianity is maligned, easy now. If your religion can’t withstand this basic scrutiny and the playground-level insults I have the capacity for, it ain’t worth much.

Life ain’t worth much these days either. Why doesn’t that bother religious folk more? Stepping partially back on the abortion train, I don’t mean your lip service paid to the Holy Church of Soothing Your Ego. I mean the people here, and now, struggling beside you to survive in a world that has only grown more hostile as of recently.

Now more than ever we need to band together. None of these issues can be solved alone, but the good news is that they can be solved.

Lotta people would have you believe they can’t be. It’s a fun little trick called learned helplessness. In less psychological terms, it’s despair. You feed people a steady diet of horrible news via doomscroll, break up the monotony with entertainment, then slowly watch as their desire to change the world for the better evaporates like your chances with that celebrity you have a parasocial relationship with.

Weaponized helplessness. For those who haven’t learned to be helpless, riot gear will work. Suppress the peaceful protests with violence and let the violent rioters right on in.

It boggles my mind sometimes why those in power aren’t more afraid of that. Just sitting there, terrified of the day the filthy masses below (their words, not mine) realize that society’s all in their heads. Maybe they are terrified of that. Maybe that’s why they crackdown so hard, work day and night to suppress and oppress and defeat. Maybe that’s why a lot of them want to flee to space (spacespacespacespacespace), even though the technology’s not up to snuff yet.

Maybe they are terrified. I hope they are, that thought makes me a little happier.

In this meaningless world, I’ll take it. A little spark of joy keeps you warm for longer than you’d think, ‘specially when it comes at the expense of those screwing you over.

Voice signing out, or whatever. Callsign. Catchphrase.

[nationalrecluse]

RULES & GUIDE

RULES

Do's and Don't's. Make sure to re-read them when a change is announced.

General RP etiquette is expected (don't godmod, don't force things on me without discussing it OOC & getting my explicit consent, be polite to mun)

You, the mun, must be at least 19 years old to follow my blog. Muses can be any age.

Have your muse be in their late 30's at the minimum if shipping ensues. (doubtful!)

No disturbing shipping dynamics (pedophilia, incest, necrophilia etc) in any shape or form allowed.

Don't involve me in your drama. I don't participate in call-out culture. I don't care. I won't care. I don't spend nearly enough time on the internet to care. Don't bother with me if this is bothersome to you.

I am NOT available on discord. Even if I've given you my discord, you'll have better chance at talking to me by shooting an IM.

Don't pressure me for replies. Remind me about our interaction if I haven't replied or liked your post within 2 weeks of posting them. I'll do the same.

GUIDE

In-depth information about how I run my blog.

Only aquainted with the anime and very vaguely with the manga

Donovan is married to Melinda and they don't seem to have a good relationship. I'm iffy about shipping outside of their marriage, so please be aware that I will treat every single romantic ship as an extra marital affair.

I'm open to write as many genres as my RP partners are, but I have a strong preference for drama. Anything triggering will be talked about extensively OOC and placed under a read more and tagged appropriately.

Please don't assume you know Donovan's war plans if your muse doesn't have a good reason for it. (He'll have to take you out, and I'm not talking dinner!)

I'm open to have different muses play collaborative roles in Donovan's life. Just discuss it with me.

I play Donovan as heterosexual and aromantic. That said, erotica isn't a focus on this blog and neither is romance. That's not to say that neither won't commence.

I HC that Anya can't hear Donovan's thoughts because of the scars he has across his head. My HC is that has implanted something in his head to prevent subjects from Project Apple (+ others, including Anya's lab) from having access to him.

Super duplicate friendly!

I am an ESL writer. I do what I can with what I know at the moment.

My blog is low activity as a default. I will reply to what I have muse for in the moment.

[gradientdescent-does-it-all]

Train time has commenced! I have lots of thoughts about this prompt, not necessarily anything coherent enough to put into a draft, but this has turned into a rich vein of inspiration for character motivations. Random thoughts re why an otherwise unfailingly nice guy might hate YOU:

Guy keeps a lid on his feelings in the name of professionalism - actually doesn’t ‘like’ everyone else but only respects you enough to let a bit of true emotion show

You’re amnesiac and guy is the only person who remembers something terrible you did in your past life

Guy is genuinely nice and it drives you nuts so you work really hard to antagonize him

#2 is a nice classic soap opera trope - imagine if Wyll Ravengard somehow was the only person in camp to recognize the Dark Urge from the past?

#1 is very grounded in like… professional settings, where a strong expectation of cordial behavior is in place and every disagreement is expected to be wrapped in layers of etiquette that stifle any expression of one’s actual feelings. Being nice is automatically assumed to be fake but it is the baseline expectation for all interactions with everybody. You can only show any negative emotion to someone you deeply trust enough to let the professional facade slip. I, uh, kinda live this one in my day-to-day but I have no desire to write real life office fiction. I do fantasize about working with someone who I trust enough to say “that’s fucking stupid” when they say something fucking stupid at work, though.

#3 - classic playground shenanigans. I could see Astarion doing this to Wyll. Astarion probably worked pretty hard to earn that infamous “how’s the rat diet” jab from Wyll, if we’re being honest.

I’ve got more Train Time booked next week, so you know what that means: 8+ uninterrupted hours for writing!

Reblog if you wanna help motivate me to finish a thing by publicly committing to this in front of as many strangers as possible.

[arabellaflynn]

Advent Calendar 06: Don't Copy That Floppy!

Greetings, and welcome to Advent Calendar 2022! This year we're being self-indulgent and rambling about video games.

As usual, the Advent Calendar is also a pledge drive. Subscribe to my writing Patreon here by December 15th for at least $5/mo and get an e-card for Ratmas; subscribe for $20/mo (and drop me a mailing address) and you'll get a real paper one!

I hope you're all having a happy winter holiday season. Let the nerd rambling commence!

In the beginning, nobody copy protected software. If you were buying Big Iron like a PDP-11, you got everything you needed to run the computer from the manufacturer. If you wanted something else, you wrote it yourself, and obviously if you wrote it yourself, you could do whatever you wanted with it. Will Crowther charged nothing for ADVENT, and made no effort to keep anyone else from copying or modifying the source code -- culturally, that just wasn't a thing. Anyone who had access to a mainframe or mini-computer to play the game probably also had enough access to program a game themselves, and the notion of keeping them out of ADVENT's guts was ridiculous. The idea of third-party copyrighted commercial software didn't exist until 8-bit microcomputers started landing in the homes of people who didn't care how they worked, and just wanted them to do neat things.

Early copy-protection on computer games, as mentioned, was external. Diskettes (in the US; cassettes elsewhere) were mainly positioned as storage for the end user. They were supposed to be portable, interchangeable, inexpensive, and easily-duplicated. This made them problematic for commercial publishers who didn't want people running off copy after copy of stuff they were trying to make money off of. By packing games with tchotchkes like feelies, code wheels, LensLok prisms, or just a boring serial number, they at least ensured you couldn't get the game to work without some access to the packaging. I remember playing The Island of Dr. Brain and having to grub around in the included EncycloAlmanaTionaryOgraphy to find a password every time I started it up. 

Beyond that, there wasn't a lot that could be done, other than prey on the conscience of casual pirates with pieces like the embarrassingly 1990s PSA, "Don't Copy That Floppy". It was roughly as effective as the MPAA's 'would you download a car?' campaign. I guess they didn't anticipate that a lot of the public, given the chance to duplicate a car with no significant effort or impact to the original item, would say 'yes'.

On the console side, piracy was deterred by making the physical media difficult to duplicate. Atari, Nintendo, and Sega all went with a cartridge format, where the program code of each game was permanently embedded on a chip called a ROM (read-only memory) inside the plastic shell. These were not impossible to duplicate; my father worked with EEPROMs (electrically erasable programmable read-only memory -- a kind of ROM you can write and re-write), and we probably had everything we needed to copy the program ROM from a game cartridge in our garage. Few people would have had these, though, and fewer people would have bothered. Even Dad didn't, and Dad was the sort who devoted considerable time and energy into figuring out how to copy Macrovision-protected VHS tapes, strictly because the gatekeeping annoyed him.

Console and computer publishers alike got a reprieve with the advent of CD-ROMs, but it was brief. CD-ROM was in development as far back as 1982; the Yellow Book standard was first published in 1983, and the technology demonstrated at a consumer electronics show in 1984. The Philips CM-100, the first consumer CD-ROM drive, was available in 1986, but the format was not mainstream enough to put games on until the early '90s. The Orange Book standard for writable CD-Rs had already been published, in 1988, and by 1995 you could get a CD burner for under $1000, which was cheap enough to make small-scale piracy a reasonable business venture. I recall the family getting a tricked out 486 PC with CD-ROM multimedia package in about '93 or '94, and my big gift for Christmas '99 was an IDE CD burner for my desktop computer, replaced in 2002 with a $200 drive that could deal with CD-RWs. So yeah, the security of an "uncopyable" CD did not last long.

Knowing this, a lot of software publishers implemented their own copy-protection schemes. Some, like SecuROM, were available ready-made from outside vendors and merely slapped on top of the commercial game. These off-the-rack solutions had the same problem as hardware security -- once cracked, they stayed cracked forever, and the crack transferred to anything that used the same version of the program -- and sometimes added an additional layer of "what the actual fuck, did nobody think that through?" 

Others opted to simply code into their game checks for legitimacy of the software. If an authentic retail copy of the software was running, everything would be normal. If the game failed the check and was declared a pirate copy, the programmers could implement whatever consequences they felt would be most effective. 

Or funniest. Usually they went with funniest. 

The bulk of a game's sales happen right after its release, so they didn't need to keep the pirates at bay forever, they just needed to delay and annoy them for a month or two for the extra work to be worth the effort. So over on the PC you get Crysis Warhead's hilarious chicken gun, Serious Sam 3's unkillable scorpion stalker, and Alan Wake and Quantum Break slapping a jaunty eyepatch on your main character. And on the original Playstation, perhaps the most infamous piece of console anti-piracy fuckery ever made, Spyro the Dragon.

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[slightly-smarter-nat]

If your requests are still open, could you write one where Natasha got really drunk at one of Tony’s famous parties at the compound, and when R helps the Russian to her room. Natasha would ask R to stay tonight, which she does, and Nat reveals she has feelings for R? And then R is caught off guard and because of the alcohol in Natasha’s system, her walls are down and she’s emotionally vulnerable and disheartened because she thinks R doesn’t love her back? But R reveals she in love with her too and hopes she remembers in the morning. And Nat does and it’s a very fluffy ending. Please and thank you! I live your fics!!

Drunk On Love || Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst- ends in fluff; mentions of alcohol consumption; explicit language; intoxicated characters; mentions of painkillers. If I have missed any warnings, please let me know.

Word Count: 9027 words.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request anon, I apologise it’s so late. I kind of went off topic with the request, so to the anon that requested this fic, if you would like me to re-write it more specifically to the request, I’ll happily do so. I hope you all enjoy! Please note this is an au so some character’s behaviours may be different to what is expected.

Please do not repost (on here or any social media platform), copy, translate or take ownership of my work. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3.

Masterlist

*Italics/boldness indicate dialogue from the show the Reader and Natasha are watching.

‘Anna please, I-it’s not what it looks like! Me and Martha are-‘

‘What Daniel? Good friends? Platonic or romantic? God, you can’t even make your own mind up until you’re both under each other doing god knows what.’

‘Hey, that’s not fair. You know I loved you, yet you threw me to the curb like I was a piece of trash-‘

“You know what is trash, this show.” You remark towards Natasha as the two of you mindlessly watch TV after promising yourselves to have a relaxing, once in a lifetime day off from being world saving heroes.

Natasha glares towards the screen, concentrating on the drama unfolding in front of the two of you- and attempting to keep up with the current storyline of the show, “You’re the one who put it on, and besides it’s rather entertaining when you figure out what the hell they’re talking about.”

You laugh at her words as you shuffle further into the cushioned couch; throwing your feet up on the coffee table in front of you to replicate the optimum comfort position of complete and total relaxation, “In my defence, there was nothing else on and- wait Martha is walking towards the kitchen where Daniel and Anna are arguing!”

Natasha instantly grabs an Ash shaded pillow from beside herself to hug in support and in anticipation of the drama that is about to commence, “Oh god, this can’t be happening.”

Part of you notices the rare and yet delicate occurrence of Natasha being completely relaxed enough to let out this side of her. A side you often see and cherish; knowing your best friend trusts you enough to see what she’d consider and definitely deny to be her ‘soft side’.

However, escaping from your thoughts, you subconsciously drop your feet back to the carpeted floor as you lean forward towards the TV, losing yourself in the chaotic scenes on the scripted, yet somewhat addictive new reality show playing out.

‘Please, just hear me out-‘

Daniel’s plea is silenced with a deafening strike across his face-delivered by a vengeful hand belonging to Anna.

Having lost yourselves in the show, Natasha and yourself release a gasp in unison; not expecting the rather hysterical character to deliver such a harsh statement through her actions, opposed to her words.

As you study each pixel conforming on the screen in front of you with a newfound interest, you unfortunately start to pick at the skin encasing your nails- a nervous and unbreakable habit you have yet to overcome.

Natasha’s ears pick up on the telltale signs of your destructive actions, knowing the unique clicking sound resounds when you’re in deep concentration or in deep trepidation in concern with something.

“Y/n/n, you’re doing it again.” Natasha gently scolds your habit, causing you to snap out of your TV induced trance and notice your now red and broken skin. You silently curse yourself as the irksome stinging sensation makes itself known on your now raw skin.

Natasha shakes her head as she guides her gaze back to the TV screen, “I thought you were using that nail polish I gave you to stop you from dissecting your nail beds?” You groan at Natasha’s question, knowing she’ll refuse to drop the topic now that she is aware of its occurrence once again.

Harvesting a deep breath, you center your tone before answering the red head, knowing she’s only trying to support you, “I did… but I ended up picking it all off during Steve’s latest briefing on our upcoming mission schedule.”

Natasha smirks at the irony of your conflicting actions with the mechanism designed to refrain you from messing with your nails entirely, “Okay, I’ll cross that one off the list as a failure. What about using bandages across your nails?” Natasha moves through her mental list of ways to help you kick your unwanted anxious habit, knowing it’s becoming an insecurity of yours.

In sync with Natasha, the two of you raise your feet from the ground and bury them underneath your bodies as you move to address each other further, “I tried that one already, they just irritate me throughout the day. Plus Parker thought it was double-sided tape and had the audacity to think I was replicating his ‘sticky fingers’ situation.”

Natasha lets out a low chuckle at your statement, though not hesitating to guide her amused gaze towards your stern one.

However, only a few seconds pass before the two of you break out into laughter; never having a dull moment between the both of you.

“Well, I know one technique we haven’t tried if you’re up for it y/n?” Natasha says evenly, keeping her gaze locked on yours.

You can’t help but fidget under her gaze, long forgetting the show on the TV, but happily becoming lost within Natasha’s ethereal sea of green irises, “W-what is it?” You practically whisper, studying her face intently as you await her suggestion.

Natasha silently reaches for one of your hands, delicately brushing over your skin as she encases her hand with yours in a supportive manner.

You watch her actions in surprise, sure you’ve held hands with her before, but this time you’re convinced that the initial touch of her skin on yours was electric.

Natasha gently pulls the hand taken towards herself to place on the cushion obtained earlier, “This way, if you try to do it again, you’ll have to go through me in order to do it.” Natasha says with a tilt of her head, attempting to ignore but most likely enjoying the heated blush working its way up your neck and across your cheeks from her actions.

You attempt to stagger out a response, knowing your feelings for Natasha are ever increasing, yet part of you wants to deny them in fear that she doesn’t return your affections- in turn the current situation is proving that task difficult. Natasha isn’t exactly the most open book of all, deciphering her feelings towards others is a challenge in itself.

Having words fail you, you allow yourself to bow your head slightly and escape her curious gaze. What she’d do to have a moment to hear your thoughts on her outgoing movement- little did you know, her heart is near enough hammering out of her chest, fearful that you’d reject her motion of love in the most subtle way she can ponder without giving you an opportunity to outright decline her care.

“Y/n-“ Natasha finds it within herself to push you for an answer to silence her tormenting thoughts. That is until she hears the bellowing voices of Yelena and Kate travelling down the hallway and into the living area where the two of you are currently occupying.

Your gaze snaps towards the former Widow and Archer, loosening your hand away from Natasha’s in fear of creating a tense, yet ecstatic questioning session from Yelena at the contact-knowing Yelena is desperate to see you and Natasha become a couple. You’d hate to create a false sense of hope, not only for Yelena, but for yourself too.

Though, Yelena has never shied away from creating ‘coincidental’ circumstances of you and Natasha being paired up for every training session; team task and missions. That cannot work wonders between the fears surrounding rejection surging through Natasha and yourself; but it has made you somewhat closer.

As you turn yourself on the spot to give the two women your undivided attention; you fail to see the flash of hurt run across Natasha’s features at your effort to distance yourself from her in the presence of her Red Room Sister and Kate. Her hands now feel cold from the loss of your warmth that she so desperately craves.

Kate takes quickened steps to reach the back of the couch before Yelena, who wanders over with her hands nestled in a pair of the many pockets decorating her impressive and rather practical hunter green vest.

“Hey guys, what are you two up to?” Kate asks curiously as she goes to lean across the back of the cushioned couch to spy what plays on the screen central to the room.

You smirk as you go to reply to the Archer, “Oh we’re just watching some lame show-“ Before you have a moment to finish your explanation, Kate eagerly and enthusiastically interrupts your words.

“No way! You’re watching ‘Heartbreak in New Asgard?! I love this show!” Kate exclaims as she attempts a graceful clamber over the backing of the couch to lumber herself in between you and Natasha.

You groan in discomfort as she uses a tightened grip on your head to assist herself over- allowing Yelena’s disturbed gaze to land on her disheartened sister, “Sestra, are you okay?”

The saddened features tainting Natasha’s face snap back into that of a stoic nature, displaying an unreadable resting face for the Widow, shielding herself from further pain of sympathetic questioning she’d rather escape, “I’m fine, why are the two of you here?”

Natasha quickly dismisses Yelena’s concern, sending a pang of turmoil through the blonde assassin with her miserly tone. However cryptic Natasha may be, Yelena never fails to notice a shift in Natasha’s demeanour; though she also knows never to push Natasha to open up, she’ll come to her when she’s ready- she hopes.

Yelena clears her throat as she eagerly moves her gaze away from Natasha, “Kate Bishop and myself are planning on working on some well needed combat training. Isn’t that right, Kate Bishop?” Yelena teasingly directs towards her newly acquired friend, knowing Kate’s impressive and enhanced Martial Arts are in no way of a comparison to Yelena’s extensive Red Room training-yet.

Kate moves to rest her elbows on her knees, leaning forwards in fondness of the show commencing, “Huh? Yeah, yeah sure whatever you say Yelena. Sounds awesome.” Kate mumbles out in response, not caring to take in the conversation playing out between the Widows, but directing her entire attention on her favourite guilty pleasure.

You wave a hand in front of Kate’s face, laughing at the way her vacant expression signals out your action to follow along the show, “I think we’ve lost her.” You announce, causing Yelena to groan.

“Ugh, you are impossible Kate Bishop.” Yelena lets out, knowing a mass effort will now be required to remove Kate from her current area of fixation.

“Anyway, we wondered if the two of you wanted to join us. You can see how well I kick Kate Bishop’s ass. My current record is under two minutes.” Yelena proudly announces to Natasha and yourself; secretly hoping it’s enough to entice the two of you to join the training session.

You go to respond positively to the question put forward, until you catch Natasha’s eye; part of you wonders if the furrowed gaze is begging you to reject Yelena’s offer and stay with her a bit longer. Having a sudden urge to bask in the lone company of Natasha, you conform your answer.

“Thank you Yelena, but Natasha and I are having a chill day so no training is allowed- Romanoff’s orders.” You say in a light manner, hoping to not offend the younger Widow, but assert your promise to Natasha.

Natasha releases a relieved sigh, though she adores Yelena, she knows she has a better chance of moving things forward with you if the two of you are alone.

“Sestra, maybe another time we can see your self declaration of superiority over Kate’s skillset.” Natasha addresses Yelena, hoping no offence has been caused towards her sister on her part.

Yelena can only smile in response, knowing her offer was likely to be declined in favour that the somewhat undetected, yet mutual pining between her sister and her friend would advance into something more.

“I’ll hold you to that Sestra.” Yelena moves to bring Natasha into a heartfelt hug; striking the opportunity to whisper supportive words into her Sister’s ear in the hopes that she will lift her dismal mood.

The words remain unintelligible to you, until your attention is peaked from Yelena blowing a wave of nuisance air into Natasha’s ear; causing the redhead to shove the blonde away with an amused mumble of ‘grow up’.

Yelena chuckles in giddiness, never passing the opportunity to tease her Sister in the most troublesome way she can muster to think of, “Okay Sestra, okay we’ll get going and leave you to whatever this is-“ Yelena waves a finger between Natasha and yourself, earning an eye roll from her Sister; “Come on Kate Bishop.” Yelena attempts to remove herself and Kate from the situation.

Kate waves Yelena’s words away with a dismissive hand, “Shhh, it’s getting to the good part. They’re about to make up.” Kate lets out with her enrapt gaze remaining upon the TV.

Yelena releases an unamused sigh as she goes to lift the Archer up by the purple collar of her combat gear; causing Kate to follow the forceful tugs from the couch she wishes to remain on.

Kate releases several protests of annoyance at Yelena’s incessant tugs; grasping the message that it was in fact time to leave.

You and Natasha shake your heads at Yelena’s antics, she never fails to amuse the two of you.

Just as the two women move to leave the room and bid you a goodbye, Tony Stark decides to grace the room with his presence.

Yelena moves to nudge Kate, stifling a laugh enough to let her words out, “Oh, look Kate Bishop, it is the grown man that I made cry the other day. How exciting.” Yelena teases, never one to shy away from putting Tony in his place from his vulgar words.

Tony firmly shoves his hands into the compact pockets placed on his custom made jacket, giving his throat a clear in the process, “Belova, a pleasure as always.” He sarcastically remarks as he moves towards the couch; ignoring the shared amusement being vocalised by Kate and Yelena on the way to their destination.

Tony removes one of his hands to bring it towards your head, ruffling your hair into an unwanted mess as he goes to address you, “How’s my favourite Avenger doing on this fine day?” Usually when he directs such a title to yourself it’s because he wants something from you- you dread to think what it could be this time.

You groan in irritation as you slide away from his vexing movements, “I was okay until you showed up Tony.” You grumble as you try to style your hair down from its now hectic state, courtesy of Tony Stark himself.

Tony smirks in response, loving the practical sibling rivalry the two of you unknowingly created from your friendship.

As Tony is an intelligent man, he knows not to replicate his actions of greeting with Natasha, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to display an unfriendly manner to his pestering ways.

He nods his head in Natasha’s direction in greeting, “Widow.”

Natasha folds her arms with a gentle sigh in response, “Stark.” She simply lets out, loving the way she can intimidate Tony with just her presence alone.

You stare at Natasha in wonderment, “Okay, you’ve got to teach me how you do that.” You say in reference to the successful taming of Tony that Natasha can so easily manage.

Natasha smirks in pride, grasping onto that small essence of rendering you stunned. That is until Tony invades the conversation.

“You love it really, y/l/n. Anyway I have some very exciting news to share with you y/n.” Tony announces as he rubs his hands together in motion of hyping up his upcoming statement.

You twist your facial features slightly in curiosity, and a mixture of hesitancy, “Oh god, what have you done now?” You question in uneasiness.

Tony scoffs at your words, “What makes you think it’s something bad, in fact I am offended at your negative tone towards my ingenious idea-”

Natasha picks up the conversation from her point of view, “In all fairness Stark, as of late, your plans have ended in complete and utter chaos- no offence.”

Tony waves a dismissive hand towards Natasha, “Offence taken. Anywho, before I was rudely misjudged, I’ll tell you what I need you for. Tonight I’m throwing a totally kick-ass, ‘you have to be there’ party and you’re coming; no arguments.”

You drop your mouth in protest, “Wait, what?! No way, why?!” You practically stutter out, failing to recall even putting your name forward for this extravagant idea.

Tony rolls his eyes as though the reasoning would have become obvious to you upon revealing his request, “Okay, I may, or may not have announced that you’d be a guest of honour per se to show off our newest Avenger to some of the board members at some new, rival tech company trying to out-do my image. Regardless, your ass better be there or I’ll have J.A.R.V.I.S wake you up every morning at 2 am for two months.”

You shake your head in annoyance, “Not like I haven’t been on the team for ten months already.” You mumble alongside a dramatic shift of your body and folding of your arms for good measure.

Tony shrugs at your statement, “You win some, you lose some kid. Widow, you are of course invited, and by that I mean you have to be in attendance also.”

Natasha widens her eyes as she goes to object to Tony's offer, “No, I was serious when I told you I would not attend anymore of your ridiculous charades that you so adamantly hold for no reason. I’m not going; in fact, I have plans.” Natasha simply claims.

The ending of her statement catches your attention, causing you to snap your gaze towards Natasha in a questioning manner- she hasn’t mentioned any unknown plans throughout the entirety of the day.

Tony smirks in a mocking manner, “Let me take a wild guess and put forward that it will include something as mind-blowing as your current activity of choice. I would never have thought you’d stoop so low as to resort to watching trashy TV on a weekday Romanoff.” Tony clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth several times to add to his disapproval of Natasha’s refusal to go to the party scheduled.

Natasha shrinks into herself lightly, choosing to contain the thought in her head that she may or may not have been considering catching up on the series later on in her room, “…no, plus y/n put this on. I’m not interested in the slightest.” Natasha firmly rejects the idea of being engrossed with the show, avoiding suspicion.

You turn to Tony with a smile, knowing that if you’re going down in regards to Tony’s party, Natasha is going down with you, “Don’t listen to her, it’s her most favourite show in the entire worl-“ Your exaggerated statement is put to a halt once you feel a firm strike to your chest, originating from Natasha’s pillow being swung towards you in hopes of silencing your teasing.

“That’s enough out of you y/l/n.” Natasha playfully scolds, grabbing the pillow once more to place back on her lap.

Tony shakes his head as he attempts to refocus the conversation, “Romanoff, I can assure you that this party will be one to remember. For all the right reasons of course; give me one more chance to prove it to you. If I’m wrong, I’ll even watch whatever monstrosity is captivating you all so much on the screen. What do you say Widow?”

Natasha bites her lip in thought, part of her wants to join in on the fun of having the team together for some drinks and a bit of dancing. Though she also wants to have an easy night as previously planned with you.

Tony attempts his best pout, unintentionally putting Natasha off the idea more with his odd choice of convincing.

You reach over to nudge Natasha’s knee with your hand to gather her attention, allowing her gaze to fall to you, “I’ll definitely go if you go. That way we can still hang out together and control the hectic levels of fun I’m sure Stark is so desperate for us to have.” You say lightheartedly, hoping to convince Natasha to join you.

Natasha thinks on your words for a moment, deciding that a night in your company will be perfect, no matter the setting.

With that notion in her mind, she gives you and Tony a nod of approval, “Alright, I’ll be there.”

If only Natasha knew what she was getting herself into.

———-

*The Party*

You harshly throw yourself down into a sitting position on one of the many couches decorating the frenzied, yet remarkable party playing out within the Compound.

Through your heavy actions, you earn a distasteful glare from Yelena as she mumbles several curses in Russian before addressing you properly, “Watch yourself y/n, you nearly made me spill my beer; this jacket isn’t cheap you know- well so the guy told me as I stole it from him-“

You raise a surprised eyebrow at her words, earning an eye roll from the blonde, “Oh come on, I am totally kidding… well not entirely, I needed information, he wouldn’t give it to me, blah, blah you know how the story goes.”

You let out a light laugh at her words, failing to see where the story was heading, and opting for the safe option of not asking anymore questions in regards to the topic- the less you know the better, “Sorry Lena, I’m just exhausted. I’ve been here for forty minutes and already I’ve had to display fake smiles; engage in exasperating small talk and in all honesty I’ve lost count with how many strangers I’ve had to shake hands with to please Tony Stark himself. That man is a nightmare.”

Yelena smiles at your dismal tone, allowing your features to cross in confusion, “What?” You ask.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Let’s just say Stark has a surprise waiting for him in his room upon his return, courtesy of Kate Bishop and myself, that he will truly hate, and in your current predicament, I think you will love.” Yelena proudly takes a mouthful of the bitter and intoxicating beer in her grasp- revelling in the knowledge that through the shared boredom of her and Kate they can produce the most mischievous plots known to the existence of the Avengers.

You release a satisfied breath at Yelena’s cryptic words, allowing a surging happiness to course through your system that all this hassle will be worth it by the end of the night- you hope.

“See, I knew I liked you for a reason Belova.”

Yelena hums in acknowledgment, “What is not to love, I am pretty cool. Though, something tells me I am not as cool as Natasha-“

Without even moving your glance towards Yelena, you send her a warning jab with your elbow, earning a menacing chuckle from her as she goes to take another sip of her beer.

Before another word can be uttered, Wanda and Kate take a seat on the opposing couch- having collected their choice of beverage to get them through the night. You give them a nod in greeting as they direct quick ‘hello’s’ towards you; having seen Maria Hill quickly making her way towards your newly formed group.

“Hey, have any of you seen Carol? I’ve literally searched the entire Compound and I cannot find her anywhere.” Maria frustratedly lets out.

Wanda tilts her head in thought until she opens her mouth in realisation, “Oh, yes she is currently challenging Thor to an arm wrestling match. They’ll be on the third floor most likely.” Wanda reveals with a smile, hoping to ease any worry within Maria.

Maria groans in annoyance, “Of course she is, man she’s a hard one to find when you need her. Um, how do you get to the third floor again?” She asks unsure, knowing the Compound is like an endless maze thanks to Tony’s continuous modifications of the building.

You gather yourself up to stand by Maria, readying yourself to point an arm out to direct her gaze to the concealed staircase used to access the third and fourth floor.

Before you can verbally direct Maria, your eyes land on quite potentially the most magnificent sight to ever be graced upon you.

Natasha slowly makes her way into the colossal room, allowing her viridescent eyes to roam the guests dancing and mingling their way across the open space.

Her image is flawless; her wine red and signature hair perfectly reflects the multitude of colourful lights that easily roam their way throughout the room; her chosen outfit entailing a ravishing black dress that hugs her body to an impeccability that can only belong to Natasha Romanoff herself. However, the detail that traps your attention most is the cherry shaded lipstick blanketing her addictive, plump lips.

Having noticed your engrossed state, Wanda takes it upon herself to guide Maria over to Carol herself; biting her lip at the blaring thoughts your mind can conjure in appreciation for Natasha’s goddess capabilities.

The nearing of clicking heels snaps you out of your own mind, as Natasha spots you from a far and eagerly makes her way over to you.

You allow yourself to close the distance at a heightened pace, refusing to withstand another second without Natasha being near you.

Through your diverted attention, you frustratedly stumble towards Natasha; who luckily stabilises you with ease, “Oh, careful y/n. I’ve not even been here for ten seconds and you’re already falling for me.” Natasha teases with a smirk.

You quickly compose yourself and mumble a ‘thank you’ towards her before finding your voice, “You wish Romanoff.”

Unbeknownst to you, she truly hopes she has such an effect on you.

Filling the silence, a sharp pain strikes you at the back of your neck, producing a grimace from you as you notice a metal bottle cap drop to the floor, beside your foot. You turn to the direction of its supposed origin- noticing the impressed faces of Kate and Yelena at the obtaining of your attention.

“When you are quite finished drooling- I mean talking to my Sister. Would you be so kind as to fetch us some more drinks.” Yelena taps her empty bottle in emphasis of its now drink-free state.

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head at Yelena words, turning your sight back towards Natasha who is failing to stifle a laugh at Yelena’s teasing, “I swear I’m going to kick Barton’s ass for teaching Kate that bottle cap trick.” You rub your neck in a soothing motion from the strike inflicted by the Younger Archer.

Natasha hums in agreement, knowing Clint has the tendency to show certain members of the team the more rebellious tricks opposed to the ones instructed for delivery by S.H.I.E.L.D.

“So, can I get you something to drink? My treat.” You remark, knowing it’s an open bar and hoping to catch a smile from Natasha.

She doesn’t disappoint as her alluring smile forms at your offer, “Hmm, surprise me.” She responds, earning an unexpected ‘oh’ from you.

“I’ll be right back, Miss Romanoff.” You take your leave to collect the drinks requested by your closest teammates; hoping to rush back so you don’t get dragged across the room to meet another one of Tony’s guests that he insists you greet.

Natasha watches you go before finishing her journey to the area of couches you were occupying before her arrival.

As she goes to sit down in a vacant seat, she intentionally ignores Kate and Yelena, who in their less than sober state have taken it upon themselves to replicate yours and Natasha’s conversation- with some additional kissing noises and outrageous flirtation that has Natasha contemplating in the not so subtle act of bashing their heads together, in hope of knocking some maturity into them- hope being the key word.

Luckily for you, but not so lucky for Natasha, a rather giddy and lightheaded Tony makes his way over to her; having made thorough use of his own open bar.

“Widow! Natasha! There you are, I have been searching all over for you, you little minx.” The little filter that Tony had in the first place has completely shattered with each dose of alcohol that he has consumed over the party’s duration.

Tony shuffles over to the seat next to Natasha, causing her to move over quickly to avoid Tony’s lack of awareness of his surroundings to cause him to unintentionally sit on her lap.

As he snuggles his way into the seat, he nods his head towards Yelena and Kate, not caring to strike up a conversation with the two, “Now, Romanoff, part of me thought you’d be too, well your earnest self to attend my little shindig.”

Natasha decides to entertain Tony in his current state, knowing he’ll soon move on once his boredom reaches its peak, “Oh really, why is that may I ask?”

Tony sways his movements slightly to turn towards Natasha, intaking a deep breath to keep his thoughts in check, “Well, to put it quite simply Widow; you’ve lost your touch. You’re not as fun and exciting as you once were. We want the old Romanoff back-“ Tony interrupts himself with a strike of a firm hand towards his leg, directing attention to his apparent plea.

Natasha scowls at Tony, “What are you talking about? I haven’t lost my ‘touch’.” She attempts to defend herself, forgetting that Tony’s mind is not of sober thoughts.

Just as Tony goes to open his mouth once more, you arrive back to the area; passing over Yelena’s and Kate’s drink as they mindlessly take them from you, having lost themselves in their own conversation.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You ask cautiously, noticing the unnerving glare Natasha is directing at Tony- who seems completely unphased and unaware of the impact of his words.

“Oh, just telling Widow here how boring she is now, and how we’re all glad she could join us.” Tony rambles on, attempting to grab at the chilled beer in your hand that you gathered for Natasha.

You swiftly pull it away from him, “Tony, stop being an ass. Nat is probably, actually no, is the most entertaining member on this team. Natasha and boring don’t mix.” You effortlessly defend Natasha, knowing insecurities of her impression towards the others has come up in conversation. Yes, Natasha is a confident woman, though the inflicting damage caused by the Red Room still infiltrates her mind in cruel and vile ways in which she feels as though she has to change the person she was created to be, to be the one the team loves and supports.

Tony obnoxiously blows a surge of air through his lips in disbelief, “Please, we all know I am the most interesting member present. I mean, take this example for instance: if we got a rock, a plain, ordinary rock, I would find it highly taxing and difficult to differentiate between Romanoff and this boring rock that I somehow acquired.” Tony loses himself in his mindless babbling.

You look over towards Natasha, feeling your heart pang in turmoil at her disheartened features. All of her tormenting worries are being announced right in front of her; assisting in the miserable tears cascading down her face.

You go to reach out for Natasha before she abruptly stands up and removes herself from the scene.

The sudden action captures Yelena’s attention, filling her with concern for her sister.

“Nat? Sestra!? What is going on?” Yelena loudly questions, noticing your fuming gaze towards Tony.

Tony sleepy looks over each member present, completely unaware of the hurt caused by his stupidity in the moment, “Since Romanoff has left us in such a hurry, can I have her beer?” Tony reaches out once more for the drink furiously clutched in your hand.

You choose to slam the bottle down on the table placed in front of the couches, not caring over the alcohol now tainting the surface, “You’re lucky you’re not wearing it Stark.” You harshly direct towards Tony, opting to leave and find Natasha in hopes of consoling her.

Yelena watches the scene unfold in puzzlement, Natasha has never walked away in such a manner before, allowing her to conclude that Tony has struck a nerve with her.

Tony lazily moves forth to claim the unattended beer; ignorant to the enraged stares being directed towards him by the two younger Avengers.

——————-

You don’t know how much time has passed, but in the duration you’ve failed to locate Natasha.

With endless apologies and light shoves, you make your way through the crowded room; eyes scanning frantically in hopes that you’ll find Natasha and attempt to fix the mess created by Tony.

Frustration gets the better of you, as you rub your hands across your face to centre yourself, you’re running out of not only ideas, but places to search.

As your hand moves to cover your mouth, you spot Wanda, Maria and Carol clambering in a drunk manner up a set of stairs; releasing bouts of roaring laughter as they desperately clutch onto each other to avoid a nasty fall.

With your luck thinning out, you push your way towards them rapidly, considering the possibility they may have seen Natasha.

“Guys, have you seen Nat?” You breathlessly ask, feeling the effects of not only the exertion to travel throughout the compound as quickly as your legs can take you, but the rising heat of the hectic room.

Carol pouts in thought, “Urm, Nat? Which one is that again?” She asks Wanda and Maria, who find her fake confusion comedic.

“Carol-“

“Oh, the one with the shield huh? Or is it the bow and arrow set? I can’t quite remember-” Maria dazedly asks you, struggling to maintain focus on your features as she sways towards Wanda for stability.

“Can you all stop acting like complete and total jackasses and answer my question?!” The raise in your voice snaps a partial moment of sobriety into them.

A flash of red passes through Wanda’s irises as she attempts to assist you with her mystic abilities, “She’s at the minibar, you know the one where Thor stores the Asgardian liquor?”

Your eyes light up at Wanda’s answer, finally being one step closer to finding Natasha, “Wanda, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much!” You shout as you jog towards the specified location.

You make it across to the minibar in record time, refusing to waste one more second. As you release that final push through the remaining guests that stand in your way, that’s when you find yourself witnessing the rather destructive behaviour Natasha is displaying.

She readies herself another shot of what can be presumed to be one of Thor’s many alcoholic delights that decorate this area of the room.

With one quick swirl of the liquid filling her miniature glass, she releases a breath and quickly downs the shot in one; barely flinching at the burning sensation making its way down her throat.

As you near Natasha further, the drunken features that have progressed are obvious: her usually impeccable posture is slouched across the bar as she desperately raids the supply available to her; her eyes are glazed with a depressive shine- a battle between the red strain of her tears against her vivid green eyes highlights her sorrow further.

Just as Natasha goes to pour herself another drink, you place your hand slowly across the opening of the glass; preventing her from serving another round of regret and earning a scoff from a displeased Natasha.

“Move your hand, I won’t ask again.” Natasha grumbles, her voice carrying a huskiness to it that is most likely from the continued burn of each drink she has ingested.

You use your hand to slide the glass away from her and across the bar, “Natasha, maybe you should slow down. I know you’re upset, but Tony had no right to-“

Natasha staggers back more forcefully than the two of you would have expected, causing you to reach out to keep her in balance, “God y/n, I’m fine. I’m doing what I’m supposed to at parties, getting wasted and having fun. Since, I-I apparently don’t know what that is-“ Natasha rambles on her drunken words, quickly dismissing your concern.

You sigh at her state, hating the fact that she truly believes drinking her problems away will bury them- though they always find a way to re-surface, usually in the morning with a hangover on the side.

“Nat-“

Natasha shakes her head to silence you, “No, I didn’t ask for your help or your pity. Now you either join me and have fun, or you can go away.” She releases a heavy breath at her own words, knowing the alcohol is catching up with her and flooding her bloodstream.

As you move to grab the bottle Natasha is choosing to hug close to herself, a tightened grip is placed on your shoulder, “Ahhh, there you are Widow, we missed you over in our little corner-“ Tony decides to implement himself in an unwanted scene.

Natasha picks up the bottle of liquor and takes an immense gulp from its contents as she storms away from Tony. You try to follow her, until Tony stops you once more, “That reminds me, I need to introduce you to-“

You audibly groan at Tony’s incessant disregard for Natasha’s feelings, “Tony! I do not give a fuck about who you want me to meet. I’m trying to clean up a mess that you caused since you’re clearly too self absorbed to deal with it on your own tonight-“

Tony turns his features down in a rare calmness, seemingly taking your sour words towards his behaviour.

That is until Yelena rushes towards you, “Y/n, where’s Natasha!?”

“She was just here until-“ Your words are drowned out by the thunderous beat of the speakers placed around the room, as they begin to blast out a steady beat belonging to the iconic song ‘Hypnotize’ by The Notorious B.I.G.

Tony releases an ear-splitting set of whistles as his eyes land on the scene that the crowd around you eagerly rush towards.

As Yelena and yourself look towards your left, you’re met with quite frankly a horrifying scene of Natasha hoisting herself up on a steel table.

Without a second thought, you rush towards the edge of the table. Having to listen to the crowd now encouraging and cheering Natasha on for her drunken performance.

Natasha effortlessly moves to the beat resounding throughout the Compound, playing up to the chants of her name as she swings her arms in calculated movements to the rest of her body.

Each sway of her hips allows her to sink further into her routine, losing herself in the music.

Yelena attempts to catch Natasha’s attention, though the music easily overpowers any protests made, not that Natasha would listen to reason anyway.

Natasha rubs her hands across the darkened material of her dress, accentuating her features concealed by the tailored covering.

You can only watch in disbelief from the side, mortified that the situation has escalated so quickly.

As the music continues, so does Natasha’s movements. She picks up in confidence and drops her knees to surge back up into a twirl, earning a chorus of cheers.

As Natasha drops to her knees completely in front of you, she uses her focused gaze to study you; choosing to thrash her arms and body in rhythmic ways. You shake your head at her behaviour, especially when she chooses to caress your face with a gentle hand before pushing it away suddenly, attempting to get a reaction out of you.

Failing to do so, Natasha shrugs and manoeuvres herself back on her hands and knees, using the flat surface of the table to assist her movements easily. She lazily lets her hair dangle down as she continues to move her body to the music.

With a forceful flip of her head, she resumes a standing position, allowing her feet to mindlessly move for her. Though, the surrounding crowd heightens as the song goes on, causing spillages from glasses to splash wherever they may please. Natasha’s foot catches on a spillage of Vodka, causing her to slip off the table.

You instantly unfold your arms and catch her before she can hit the floor. The crowd failed to notice her fall, too engrossed in the music and atmosphere.

Natasha wraps her arms around your neck as you attempt to stand her up. However, from her drunken state and constant twirls, her head takes a turn for the worst and sends her vision spinning. She chooses to fully relax into your arms, refusing to stand.

Yelena grabs Natasha’s arm in order to pull her up some more, “This is not like her at all, I do not know what to do.” Yelena announces, worried for her Sister.

“Lena, I’ll look after her and make sure she is okay. You go find the others and try and get everyone to go home.” You offer to Yelena, knowing her increased worry may not be the best for the situation regarding Natasha currently.

Yelena nods and gives you a grateful smile; briefly hugging Natasha before making her way across the room.

Having time to ground herself, Natasha stands up slightly. You move a steady arm under her as she wraps one arm across your shoulder, giving her the guidance needed to stagger out from the crowds.

As Natasha is incredibly unsteady on her feet, her constant sways and staggers resort to you practically carrying her to the elevator; deducing that stairs to the Avenger’s living quarters may not be suitable for Natasha at this moment in time.

Taking the last steps towards the elevator doors, you tighten your grip on Natasha as you use your free arm to press the ‘call’ button for the elevator.

In the distance the music slowly dies down, allowing you to hear Natasha’s words, “That was such a good party, we should do more things like that, huh y/n/n.”

You find yourself agreeing with Natasha, hoping to keep her awake enough and in light spirits to make the journey back to her room easier.

As the doors open, you guide Natasha forward, until she refuses your help and leans against the bar fixed onto the wall of the modern elevator. You make a point to stay close to her, knowing her confidence in her own balance is greatly misjudged.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, can you take us to the living quarters level please?” You input your desired floor choice to the A.I. system, receiving confirmation.

“No, let’s go up to the roof, the stars will be out and we can look at each and every one of them.” Natasha slurs out.

You shake your head at her words, “I think what you need is sleep.” You direct towards an unimpressed Natasha.

She pouts her lip in challenge at your words, “Well maybe sleep needs me, did you consider that y/n?” Natasha asks seriously, causing you to chuckle at her confusing remark.

“I do apologise Nat, how silly of me for not considering that option.” You play along, allowing Natasha to rest her head on your shoulder at your agreement.

“Mhm, very silly. Hey J.A.R.V.I.S, did you see me dance?” Natasha sleepily questions the A.I. as the elevator shifts in movement to journey upwards towards the correct floor.

“Indeed Miss Romanoff, it was rather… splendid.”

Natasha closes her eyes and beams at J.A.R.V.I.S’ words, earning an eye roll from you, not forgetting the stress it caused to Yelena and yourself.

As you arrive at the designated floor, you whisper to Natasha in order to not disturb the serenity created from the sudden silence, “Hey, we’re here.”

Natasha intakes a sharp breath through her nose as she goes to move forward, though this time she reaches out for your help- which you gladly provide.

You pace yourself towards Natasha’s bedroom door, only experiencing the odd trip from her unsteady feet.

Once you make it, you’re stopped by Natasha’s curious questioning, “Why are we here? This isn’t my door.”

You frown at her words, “What do you mean? This is your door Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head defiantly, “No, this isn’t my door, my door is charcoal coloured.”

You look towards the charcoal door in front of you, smirking at the realisation that the alcohol isn’t done influencing Natasha’s serious nature.

“Well if it isn’t your door, who’s is it?” You question.

Natasha studies your face intently, quite possibly attempting to gauge an answer from you, “Hmm, I guess we’ll never know.” Natasha sighs out eventually.

You hum in agreement as you input Natasha’s passcode on the Lock Screen sealing the door- having exchanged each other’s passcodes for any late night visits the pair of you have picked up on along the months of your ever-growing friendship.

Once the code is accepted and a successful beep is heard, you push down on the handle of the door and enter Natasha’s well organised room.

Natasha gazes in astonishment at the tech, apparently never having seen it before- rejecting the possibility of her daily use of the tech to enter and lock her own bedroom.

As she slurs out her pure amazement at the action carried out, you guide her into her room and gently allow her to sit on her bed, moving to switch on the closest light.

As the desk light partially illuminates the room, Natasha flinches at the bright source, grumbling some curses at the pain straining her eyes.

She uses her hands to rub at her eyes in an attempt to work out the pain, unknowingly smudging her once perfectly kept mascara across her eyes.

As she looks up at you, you notice her make-up predicament and move towards her en suite to fetch several make-up wipes to remove the excess marks now smeared across her face.

“Come here.” You say as you sit next to her, guiding her gaze towards you as you gently move the damp wipe across her face delicately.

Natasha closes her eyes and relaxes into your movements, not having the energy to do much else and feeling the initial buzz of the alcohol wearing off.

As you continue to clear her face, she mumbles out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“What for?” You speak gently as you concentrate on your task.

Natasha opens her eyes once she feels your movements stop, reaching for another wipe to remove her lipstick, “For looking after me, for always being there for me. For being you.” She lets out slowly.

“Always Nat, you’re one of the most important people in my life, I’d do anything to be there for you.”

Natasha’s head suddenly lolls to the side, causing you to put your hands up either side of her to prevent her from falling until she steadies herself- tiredness settling in.

As a few seconds pass for Natasha to regain herself, she speaks once more, “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier when you tried to help me.”

You wave a hand to dismiss her words, “Don’t worry about it, you were upset and Tony was being an asshole. I get it.”

As you go to bunch the used and now dried out make-up wipes, Natasha suddenly finds herself asking, “W-would you maybe stay the night?”

Her eyes widen momentarily in fear of rejection, until you smile at her words, “Yeah, of course I will.”

Natasha feels a bubbling of excitement in her stomach, with having you taking care of her and willing to stay, she uses her missed opportunity from earlier in the day to fuel her newfound confidence from what she can only assume to be the alcohol, “Y/n, I have feelings for you. Not like a best friend kind of way, more of a I want to spend every waking minute of everyday loving you kind of way.-“

You freeze in your place, never expecting those words to ever leave Natasha’s mouth- of course you’ve hoped for them, but to hear them out loud is everything you could have dreamed for and more.

Unfortunately for Natasha, she doesn’t have insight to your mind and fails to notice the now heart fluttering thoughts bursting with the idea that Natasha reciprocates your love clouding your mind.

Natasha retreats into herself, silently scolding herself for being so careless with her emotions. How could she be so naive to think you’d feel the same way, she should have never assumed you’d automatically understand her love for you. She should have never got into this state because now she could have cost herself your friendship.

Natasha continues to torment herself, unwillingly reliving the haunting lessons and words originating from the Red Room itself.

That is until you speak up, “Natasha, I have feelings for you too-“

Natasha meets your gaze with tear filled eyes, to which you instantly move closer to wipe away any that dare to escape.

She can’t help the sobs that escape her, pure relief of knowing you feel the same way about her as she does for you.

You steadily bring her into a hug, choosing to shuffle the two of you back towards the headboard of the bed and seeking a more comfortable position.

Natasha moves herself to lay against your side as you draw soothing circles across her arm. From the mixed emotions of the night and the alcohol, it was bound to end in tears, she’s just thankful to have you here to comfort her.

“I was so scared you didn’t feel the same way.” Natasha sniffles out, causing you to give her a reassuring squeeze.

“Nat, I’ve always known how much I love you. Everything about you is so captivating. You never fail to make me smile or laugh; you’re always there for me when I need you. You make me want to be the best version of myself Natasha. I know I’d be lost without you, because without you Nat, life would lose all meaning. You give me so much to look forward to, it was just being able to hang out with you and see your mesmerising smile in the morning; that or some sarcastic remark that I should probably take offence towards but you’re so quick witted, I’ll let it slide. Though now, I get to look forward to so much more, like-“

You choose to look down and come to the realisation that Natasha is asleep, soft snores sounding from her as she uses half of your body as a designated pillow.

Refusing to disturb her peacefulness, you relax your body into the mattress and allow a form of slumber to overcome you, not before whispering a soft ‘goodnight’ to Natasha, finally knowing that the woman that stole your heart all those months ago, is the woman you’ll happily love for the remainder of your days.

———-

A soft heat spreads across your cheek as your eyes flutter open from the sunlight that trickles through the gaps of open blinds across the room from you.

In your sleepy haziness, it takes you a moment to register your surroundings, until the events of the previous night come rushing back to you.

A slight shift from the woman beside you catches your attention, as does the sticky note attached to her shoulder. You slowly move to peel it away, successfully not disturbing Natasha as you move to read the note.

‘It is about time you two declared your undying love for each other!

Y/n, thank you for taking care of Natasha and always being someone we can all rely on.

Sestra, I have left some painkillers and water on the side for your undoubtedly raging headache- and yes I will be back in the morning to remind you of all the embarrassing things you got up to.

Lena. ’

You smile at the handwritten note, looking over to see the stated painkiller and water combo for Natasha’s awaiting hangover on her desk- Yelena must have come in to check on Natasha after everyone went home.

Your thoughts are disturbed when a rather groggy Natasha speaks, “My head feels as though the Hulk himself has played football with it.”

You chuckle at Natasha’s words, loving the way she snuggles further into your embrace. As you are about to ask Natasha how she is feeling, she beats you to the mark with her own question.

“So, you love me huh?” Natasha suddenly asks.

You look down to see her eyes now fixated on your face, “I wasn’t sure if you would have remembered.” You let out, relieved beyond compare that Natasha recalled the conversation from the night before.

“Of course I do, when you love someone for all that time and they say it back; you make a point to remember it y/n/n.” Natasha smiles up at you, admiring your beauty up close, desperate to stay in this moment forever- despite the throbbing head and burning throat.

“Now, if you really do love me, then you’ll get me some painkillers and-“

“Already taken care of.” You pass Natasha the note left behind by Yelena. She squints furiously as she attempts to decipher Yelena’s note, widening her eyes and closing them several times to work the tiredness out of them.

Natasha groans in displeasure once she reaches the end of the note, “Oh god, was I really that bad last night?” She asks as she uses the note to cover her embarrassed features.

You tilt your head in pretend thought, “Well… yes, you were very soft and it was quite the experience but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Natasha playfully smacks your arm, moving herself to hide her head under her pillow to mumble out a false ‘I hate you’.

You laugh as you remove the pillow from her face and lean down to see her, taking care not to disturb her pained head too much, “I love you too.” You reply in the same manner as Natasha, allowing her to lean up and place a soft, yet well worth the wait kiss on your lips.

As you pull away, you fail to disguise the blush spreading across your face; using Natasha’s tactic of using the pillow to shield your face from her teasing manner.

A few stolen kisses; many whispered ‘I love you’s’ and unlimited heartwarming hugs later, you could finally admit that life couldn’t be more perfect.

It’s safe to say that you’re officially drunk on love.

————————

Taglist: @beefromanoff

[thefanficmonster]

Hey can write one fic about Rebal D with gf reader

Sure thing dear! I've been super busy so I'm really sorry I haven't had the chance to reply to you sooner but I hope you enjoy this drabble regardless! Love, Vy ❤

What a View

Rebal D x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Suggestive Wording/Flirting, Swearing (?)

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, Suggestive Themes, RPF (Real Person Fic)

“He’s a 10 but all his insta pics are thirst traps 😪“

“What the hell is this?!“ Y/N just about chokes on a sip of water, laughter bubbling up in her chest when she hears the whiny and distressed yell that emerges from hers and Rebal’s shared bedroom.

Within seconds, he’s relocated to the living room which was not at all enough time for the girl to compose herself and is still caught up in fits of laughter as her boyfriend stands in the middle of the room, one hand on his hip, the other holding up his phone. His face scrunches in displeasure as his eyes trail and re-trail the single line of text that is Y/N’s most recent tweet - one she had the audacity to tag him in, no-less.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?“ He asks, looking at his giggly mess of a girlfriend as she wipes tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Seems pretty cut-and-dry to me, babe.“ She replies while still in the midst of catching her breath. “I’m allowed to complain, ok? Especially when I’m the one who has to take those pictures! You’re a real nuisance to photograph, you know.”

Rebal’s eyes narrow at Y/N as he leans down ever so slightly as if to appear more intimidating. It’s no use when he’s very evidently fighting back a smirk, “No, you’re not allowed to complain. You get this view, there’s nothing to complain about there. In fact, you should be thanking me.”

It’s Y/N’s turn to pull the eye-narrowing trick as she too leans in a little, still not bothering to get up from the couch though, “Oh, is that so, you cocky little shit?“

The smirk is no longer being suppressed when he tilts his head, “Will you still call me that when I take my shirt off?”

“Put your money where your mouth is and we’ll see.“ His devil of a girlfriend replies without missing a beat. Leaning back to rest against the backrest, she folds her arms over her chest and enjoys the Gun n’ Abs show that commences when said shirt is discarded. She even has the audacity to whistle, “What a view!“

“It’s not a ‘look but don’t touch’ situation, babe. It’s free real-estate.“ Rebal proclaims teasingly, motioning to his now exposed chest before flexing his muscles.

Mocking and vexing words are on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, but with a view like that to enjoy up close as an option, she’ll bite them back. Just this once ;)

“Now this I ain’t complaining about.“