#nursing a pint

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

I've mentioned this in passing in this post, but this is hands down my favourite line in The Fellowship of the Ring. The line speaks volumes about Glorfindel, and yet the details are easily missed by a first-time reader travelling along with Frodo and friends, and that's because not once does Glorfindel explain how significant his words and actions were. Yet there is so much to unpack! It is only left to us to appreciate them after learning more about this world.

“There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine…”

Again, Glorfindel only mentioned this in passing and did not explain, but the reason for this is because the only ones Rivendell would send to ride openly against the Nazgûl were special members of the Eldar: the Calaquendi, old Elves from Valinor and who have seen the light of the Two Trees. Gandalf later explains that these Elves “live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and Unseen they have great power”. The Nazgûl, as we learn, were wraiths that reside only in the Unseen world, and so to anyone else, they were invisible.

We know there were very few Calaquendi remaining in Middle-earth by the Third Age, and most of them reside in Rivendell. But even among them, likely only the warriors could be sent to go after the Nagzûl, chief of Sauron's servants. This early, we get a clue that Frodo and company have met someone extraordinary.

“It was my lot to take the Road…”

By “Road”, Glorfindel meant The Great East-West Road, an ancient road that cuts across Eriador from the Grey Havens to Rivendell and the Misty Mountains. This would have been the most perilous of the roads because it would have been the most obvious path passing through the Shire. Later, during the Council of Elrond, it would be mentioned that Sauron would be expecting the Ring to go from the Shire either to the Grey Havens or to Rivendell, both routes reached primarily via the Road.

It was to be expected therefore that this is the one path most guarded by the Enemy. Again, Glorfindel only mentions his task securing the Road in passing, but the fact that he got the most obvious and thus most perilous path speaks volumes of his ability and position in Rivendell. Only a few deemed able to ride openly against the Nine were sent out, and out of them, Glorfindel was the one sent to secure the most dangerous route. What ability and skill must this Elf have to be entrusted with such a task!

"I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago."

The Bridge of Mitheitel, or The Last Bridge, is the only way to cross the great River Hoarwell (Mitheitel) from Weathertop to Rivendell. Aragorn, as much as he could, avoided the Road, himself knowing the dangers possibly waiting for them there. Later though he tells the Hobbits, "I am afraid we must go back to the Road here for a while, [for we] have now come to the River Hoarwell... There is no way over it below its sources in the Ettenmoors, except by the Last Bridge on which the Road crosses."

Aragorn and the Hobbits therefore went to the Bridge dreading to encounter the Nazgûl, only to find it safe. Instead, Aragorn finds an elf-stone in the middle of the bridge, which gives him hope. We now learn that it was Glorfindel who left it there, for he has secured the Bridge, likely knowing how important it was to do so because unlike all other paths, this was the one path that Frodo and company would inevitably need to take. If the Enemy wanted to lay an ambush, they would have done so at the Bridge; strategically Glorfindel understood this, and coming after them at the Bridge was exactly what the company needed from him for them to stay safe.

“Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward.”

Here once again is Glorfindel describing something incredible in the simplest of ways: the Nazgûl actually flee from him! Thus far in the book, the Nazgûl were the first source of terror for Frodo's company as well as for us, the readers, yet here Glorfindel was riding about with bells on his horse, not even trying to hide at all. He is the one hunting the Nazgûl and not the other way around, this was made very clear.

Glorfindel has been my favourite character from the start. He got me from their first meeting because he gave the Hobbits a sense of safety, even though they and we perhaps do not yet fully appreciate who he was and what he was capable of. As we read through the rest of the books, and even beyond through The Silmarillion, The Fall of Gondolin, The Peoples of Middle-earth and all these other books that share his history, I only learned to love him all the more. Years later, having read all these other books, I still sometimes just sit in awe thinking back on this first encounter in this first book, in the Fellowship of the Ring, about how Frodo and his friends met this seemingly humble Elf, who in actuality was literally an Elf of legend. Yet apparently one would not think it, encountering Glorfindel on the road.

[usagimen]

         「 兎 」    “Oh,  injured?, @tearenola”  the  sudden  intrusion  causes  her  to  perk,  from  the  monitor  showing  each  unoccupied  bed  to  the  sounds  of  the  infirmary  full  of  various  injuries,  the  petite  woman  finally  turned.  While  her  nasty  habit  was  kept  secret,  the  cherry  lollipop  between  her  stained  lips  gave  a  hint,  she  would  prefer  to  be  elsewhere,  quietly  smoking  as  the  sun  beat  upon  her  back.  Long  gone  were  the  days  of  public  servitude,  the  rabbit  her-  ah,  no,  bunny  hero,  now  led  her  life  in  simplicity  tending  to  students  that  fancied  themselves  as  more.  “Afternoon  tea  doesn’t  begin  till  twelve  sharp,  if  you’re  here  for  that,  sorry!  My  hands  are  tied,  otherwise,  come  sit  &&  behave.  I  could  use  the  company,  especially  the  sort  that  lacks  teenage  bravado” 

[itsoutrageouss]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley being ready to go on his knees for his favorite nurse… but he has no idea how to show it.

Then he sees you at the pub.

It settled inside of him as a feeling of uselessness because he’s so used to knowing what to do. He takes action. He fixes things. And now he gets all flustered when you tend to his wounds, absentmindedly stroking his thigh and talking to him so so sweetly. Calling him a good boy when you finish the stitches, biting your lip as you focused on making them as neat as you could for him. He would stare at you the whole time, his cheeks heating because no one ever showed him this much care and you didn’t even seem to struggle with it- it was all natural.

You had labelled him ‘favorite patient’ in your phone but he didn’t know that. He figured you behaved like that with all the soldiers who came in- the reason you were such a good nurse.

After a well succeeded mission, the task force and the bases Staff all crowd down to the nearest pub. It was an excuse for you to finally be out of your work attire, adorning a black lacy top that made you feel sexy along with your glossy lips. He was already there, leaned back in a booth with Soap and Price as you walk in, looking around nervously.

He has to grit his teeth as he sees you. Fuck fuck fuck. This was gonna be a long night. He fisted his hands beneath the table.

This feeling of hopelessness, of not knowing what to do was so foreign that it bubbled into anger. Price frowned, noticing the rigid way his Lieutenant suddenly sat. Soap was too busy telling some story to notice anything, slamming down a hand, the beers rattling. Your colleagues crowded you into a booth that so conveniently faced him.

Why did he look at you like that? He was positively fuming, glowering, brows lowered and face set. You cowered under his gaze, eyes flickering away nervously.

His lips parted in soft surprise. Why did you look so nervous? Had he done something?

Because of course he was no clue how damn intimidating his so called love stare stare is. He follows you as you walk to the bar, leaning over, your skirt riding up. He has to blink up at the ceiling because it felt simultaneously like a gift from above, being allowed to see you like this, and like a curse from hell.

“Oh he’s down bad for her ain’t he, that fucker?” Soap exclaims, finally catching on as he lets out a hearty laugh. Simon glares.

“I think LT needs another pint” Price muses. Soap, ever the sergent he is, groans and gets up, patting Simon heavily on the shoulder before walking up to the bar next to you.

“You got him weak in the knees, Bunny” Soap grins casually, ordering the pints. It takes you a few seconds to comprehend before you lean backwards slightly, catching Simon’s gaze. This time he averts his eyes immediately. He was fucking fuming inside, not knowing how to get these feelings to go away. The only solutions he could think of were violence or sex. And violence he’s had enough of- and he’s sure the training dummies had too. Every damn night these past days he’s been punching his knuckles bloody, hoping it would satiate his restlessness. It didn’t.

And as for sex… he didn’t- well he didn’t not want that but that’s not where he wanted to start. He always threw himself into hookups or fiery flings that burned out too quickly, leaving embers he didn’t care for. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to be genuine, slow, proper. And he had no idea how. He didn’t like not being good at things.

Your eyes stay on him, forcing his head to turn back to you. Your expression is unreadable, his fingers curling beneath the table before he rapidly stands up. You almost jolt at the action, the floor creaking from his weight as he stalks over to you and Soap, grumbling something.

Soap leaves, Simon trying to casually lean his elbows on the bar. “Just gonna wait for the pints” he tells you, then his jaw ticks because why did he say that? You probably don’t give a fuck what he’s doing there.

You smile softly, intrigued. “How’s your shoulder?”

It startled him, his head whipping to yours like you said something totally out of sorts. His shoulder? Right— It takes him way too long to answer.

“Fine. You did a good job. As always,” he said gruffly, looking down at the chipped wood of the bar, drumming his fingers impatiently.

“You look good.” The words slip past his lips, eyes quickly giving you a once over.

“I know.” He looks at you, sees a small glint in your eyes and the smile you smother. He wants to groan out loud at the sight.

A dry, almost laugh escapes him, shaking his head softly. “F’course you do.”

There’s a long, awkward silence where you both look anywhere but at each other, spines straightening, then slumping, then you both look at the bartender to keep busy.

He places your drink in front of you, three pints clattering in front of Simon. Neither of you move to take them.

“So I’m gonna go” Simon rumbles and turns, the pints clutched in his hands. He was overheating, fumbling in ever possible way he could and he couldn’t take it. You opened your mouth but he was already halfway across the room.

The pints rattle as he sits down. “So?” Soap asks as he leans forward. Simon grumbled that this isn fucking high school. But it’s not Soap he’s mad at. It’s himself. He had you right there.

You can’t focus the rest of the evening, laughing hollowly and sipping your drink with disinterest. Did he not find you interesting? It was so hard to read him that you started to doubt if he was playing with you. Maybe this was just the way he… was.

You hadn’t noticed everyone going out for a smoke. You hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you through the window like some kind of fucking stalker, only the glow from his cigarette giving colour to his shadow.

You down the rest of your drink, pulling your coat around you. The night is crispy, air poking your cheeks like needles.

“Are you ever going to ask me out? Because if not then I’d like to know- I don’t really know if you don’t like me or if I scare you or if there’s something entirely different at play but you cannot just stare at me and expe-“ a cold, chapped pair of lips silence you. They’re gone as quickly as they came you Simon’s eyes are wide, dropping his cigarette to the ground.

“I’m sorry- do you wanna- can I ask you out? I didn’t mean to do that but you talk a lot” he said bluntly, stuttering his way through his own mortifying actions.

He kissed you. To shut up your mindless yapping he… you shake your head in disbelief.

“You are unbelievable” you say, but there’s absolutely no malice in your tone- only wonder.

“Is that a yes?” He asks, his throat feeling tight.

“Yes. It’s a good technique you have there- do you do that on everyone? Kiss them when they talk too much? I can just imagine how Soap would rea-“

He did it again, eyes closing and inhaling sharply as he covered your cold cheeks with his hands. Christ you were a talker but he didn’t mind so much, if he was allowed to quiet you like this from now on.

[syoddeye]

simon doesn't pursue people, he operates more like a one-man strike team. his approach to human connection is transactional, pragmatic, a matter of logistics.

on the rare occasion he's looking for company, he wants someone easy, who won't fuss when he introduces them to a thin motel mattress. won't ask what he does for work or try to make plans for the morning. won't bother him about 'next time'. nothing long-term. no strings.

he doesn't have a 'type' so much as a protocol: pick someone malleable, pliant, and preferably on the pill.

then you start working at his local.

the first time he sees you, he doesn't notice much beyond the basics: efficiency, attentiveness, pouring pints and bantering with the regulars with aplomb. by the second or third time, he's paying closer attention. you're not just good at your job—you're quick, always three steps ahead of the chaos. you give out smiles left and right, but it's more muscle memory than genuine warmth. and you're clever, too. funny, even, when someone manages to earn your attention for longer than a transaction.

you could probably keep up with his humor. go toe-to-toe.

you're off-limits, though. that's the rule. bartenders are switzerland—neutral territory. don't shit where you eat. it's a system that works, so long as he doesn't let himself think too much about the view when you lean over the counter or the lilt of your voice when you ask what he's having tonight.

then one evening, you take another man's number. some leering idiot, too comfortable with inserting himself into your space, grinning like he's cracked your code because you haven't humbled him. simon doesn't react, not outwardly. he nurses his drink and watches as you smile, slip the napkin into your pocket, and turn back to the bar.

but that's when you become a problem.

he tells himself it doesn't matter, that it's nothing. he doesn't want a number or a date. but the thought of someone else having you—someone who doesn't know what to do with a woman like you—it's a splinter buried just deep enough to keep him thinking about it. irritating, prone to fester.

how to approach you, though? he can't be as direct as he'd like, can't pin you down with a look or crass words. no way to corner you when you're safe behind the counter, or disappearing through a staff door. hanging around until you're off would be pathetic. dog behavior, he thinks, with a twinge of contempt for the mental image. he's got too much self-respect for that, at least.

no, he's got to actually make an effort. use his words.

the next time he comes in, he waits. no more corner tables or watching from afar. he sits close, pretends not to notice how your hands look slicing a lime. he orders his usual and tries not to overthink your tone when you set it down in front of him.

"you alright?"

you reach for his card, fingers pinching the plastic, but he holds on, smirking when you tug and then huff.

this is the moment. his moment. the one he's been building toward in his head for days. but there's a hitch, a blip in his usual confidence, and he fumbles. he blames your perfume.

"so…you come here often?"

not what he meant to say, but not the worst.

the shockwave of his nuclear-level failure doesn't register until your lips twitch, and it finally sinks in. his eyes widen a fraction as the realization lands. oh, he's fucked it. all his rehearsing, for nothing.

"…yeah," you say, voice flat, a single brow raised as you gesture vaguely toward the bar around you. "i work here?"

his mouth dries, but his face doesn't change. he doesn't fight it when you pull the card out of his grasp. there's the barest glint of something in your eyes—amusement, maybe, or pity. he's not sure which is worse.

you turn away to ring him up, but when you glance back, he's gone.

[tearsofastraeax]

cw: ooops i might hafe felt a lil angsty, please don't hate me, also sorry in advance

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

your heart beat heavily in your chest as you stepped up to the bar the 141 usually hung out in after returning from their missions. the pit in your stomach had been sitting there for 3 weeks now, ever since you had that fight with simon. the whole way to the bar you had tried to convince yourself it wasn't as bad as you thought that you were just being your typical overthinking self, that he didn't hate you and it was just a stupid old fight, nothing to worry about. no, not at all. he would be excited to see you barge in through the doors and welcome you with open arms. after all, you haven't seen each other for a while now.

as you stared down at the street, your feet slowly carrying you towards your destination, you tried to remember what you had even fought about. it was some stupid misunderstanding, but simon had been so agitated, you were at a loss, couldn't get a second in to explain yourself.

"just go, please. i'm so done with hearing your excuses", he had muttered for the third time. 

and while you were desperate enough to try again the first two times, your self-respect was still intact enough for you to take the hint. so you had left. 

you were only able to contact him again days later, right before he had to leave on his mission. back then all he had said was for you to not worry about it.

and you had tried. you had tried your best. but the worries were eating you alive, so much so that you decided to surprise him. or ambush him? did he even want you there? was he excited to see you?

before you knew it, you arrived at the bar. your eyes frantically searching for the guys through the window, hoping to get a feel of the situation before you just barged in.

and there they were, gaz and soap laughing about one thing or the other, beers in their hand and standing close to price, who was as calm and collected as ever, as he sat on one of the bar stools, nursing on his pint.

but what made your heart skip a beat, your stomach fill with a heavy stone, weighing you down, and your hands getting clammy by just the sight of it, was simon. who so very casually leaned against the bar, a beer in the one hand and the other wrapped around some pretty blonde thing, that cozied up into his side and giggled at his jokes and remarks.

you weren't sure you could even belief your eyes. was this actually happening to you? was he that done with you? had you been too dumb to catch on to him wanting to break up with you? what had happened to the 'it's always gonna be you'? what had happened to the 'you're my calm'?

your stomach turned around at what you saw. your heart heavy and empty. a cold nausea drifted through your body like you had never experienced before.

and then his eyes met yours.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ���Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[aangelinakii]

EIGHT BALL POOL.

— in your own little bubble.

summary : at a pub, you sit on the side with kory as your boyfriend, his brother and best friend play some pool. the catch? your skirt's a little short.

note : this is so silly but i saw an instagram reel 😭😭😭 of rhis exact moment and i was like this is so jason.... soooo here we are

note 2 : not explicitly said anywhere that the reader is fem or not but they do wear a skirt so.. take that as you will

nursing a drink by your hand on the wood, you sent another glance to the green fabric of the pool table, where jason, dick and roy were rounding through a game. jason and roy were on the same team — but only because dick wanted to prove he'd improved since the last time.

that time, a few months ago now, dick had managed to pot the black eight-ball on his first turn after breaking the triangle, and so roy laughed in his face and made him team with him so it wouldn't happen again.

so far, dick was doing alright for himself, but everyone was waiting for him to slip up. the light sheen of sweat along his hairline suggested perhaps he knew that.

at the same time, jason's gaze peered up from the other side of the game, shadows from the dim pub light dancing along his face. he sent a soft smile before looking back at where dick was practically stretching out along the green to make his shot.

"careful," roy teased as he rounded the table to where dick was positioned, sending a light smack to his backside. "you're gonna raise some unwanted attention."

dick only chuckled, and inched further. he was careful to pull back his arm, and precise when he snapped it forward, sending a satisfying click to echo through the room.

the white ball rolled towards some solids — his team this round — and managed to knock them forward, but not close enough to any nets, and dick scowled, standing back up to his full height.

the end of his cue nicked the ground as he stepped back. "you distracted me."

smug smile coming up on his lips, roy let out a laugh. "more like you distracted me."

as jason eyed the table for the best place to hit from, dick travelled back to where you and kory sat off at a small bench in the corner. he tucked his cue under his arm and lifted his golden drink to his lips.

kory was saying something to dick under her breath, which seemed to cause him to choke on his pint; your own attention was on your boyfriend, curious as to what his next movements will be. when on the pool table, jason's a force to be reckoned with, but tonight dick actually making it difficult.

a bunch of solid-coloured balls were surrounding the white one, and, no matter where he moved around the table, he couldn't seem to get a clear shot of a stripe.

from beside you, kory hummed a deep honey laugh as you imagine dick returned the sweet nothing, and her eyelids flutter shut as he leant forward to press a soft kiss to her skin, glowing in the lamp light.

click!

jason gave a groan and stepped away from the table, laying his cue down on the edge.

"big bird gets two goes," roy piped up again, his own cue perched along his shoulders, hands limp as they rest upon the wood. "hope you're not crumbling under the pressure," he added, turning to jason as dick began to make his rounds for the best angle to shoot.

teeth chewing absently at his bottom lip, jason stood with his hands firm on his hips, dark eyebrows furrowed as he watched dick take his first turn. "no— how was i supposed to even go anywhere?" he all but whined, gesturing at the table, where dick was failing to hide a grin as he levelled up his next shot. "he's eating us up!"

sighing heavily, roy diverted his attention back to where dick's ball knocked into the wall, but not hitting any of the other balls along the way, and his pout lightened. "great! we're back in the game!"

though not anything he'd actually done to earn another two goes, jason's expression illuminated right away, and he sent a strong clap on his brother's back as he moved past him.

"i'm gonna turn my back for one second, roy, and you better get two stripes in by the time i'm back," he spoke, tone much too serious for a game of pool in the back of a bar — but roy had a toothpick jutting from his bottom lip and an arm extended in an attempt for a first go, so didn't respond.

as jason approached you and kory at your own little table, his fingers dipped below the hem of his hoodie, curling beneath the fabric. his voice remained casual, despite the end of his t-shirt beneath riding up (and your inability to look away, poor thing), as he spoke to his brother's girlfriend. "you sure he hasn't been coming here on his days off?"

hair ruffled when he re-emerged from his removed hoodie, jason folded the shirt once and edged closer to where you sat, though kory was none the wiser.

she merely brought her straw to her lips and looked away. "i got ten bucks not to tell."

although not an answer, it was more than enough one for jason, and his lips curled up, that soft boyish laugh of his shining through. and he looked up at you.

goosebumps rippled along your bare legs, from up on the base of your thighs, down your shins — just with a glance.

"you okay? enjoying yourself?"

and you'd thought his voice calm speaking to kory. with you it was just different. caring, concerned, considerate. soft eyes; not just looking on and having small talk, but really questioning, peering past whatever answer you gave him, looking into the soft twitch of the corner of your lip, catching onto the crease in your brow, barely there. but he would still catch it.

with a nod, you instinctively leaned toward him. "yeah, i'm great, just getting a bit tired, is all."

his smile faltered as he ran his eyes over you once more — it wasn't into a frown, but just something soft and neutral, as if acting as though his next action wouldn't cause your heart to swell deep beneath your ribs.

leaning forward quickly, almost with chaste, jason pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, running a hand over where he'd planted a seed of adoration. at the same time, he draped his half-folded hoodie over your lap, an action so well-timed you'd almost not noticed.

he pulled away, and you were ready to watch him saunter back to the game, where you could see dick having his turn past jason's broad shoulders. but his pale green irises glanced down, and he edged forward again, calloused fingertips brushing against the sliver of skin left seen.

your eyes moved between the careful action of his fingers tucking the hoodie softly over your thighs, the warmth from the fabric seeping into your flesh, and the softness of his eyelashes fluttering in concentration, his lips thinning and scrunching to the side until he decided his hoodie was just where it should be.

when he looked up again, that smile was back: light at his eyes, something running through those fields of green that you wished to chase — but not here — creases at the corners that weren't quite deep enough to be dimples, but etched into his skin like a pen to paper. without thinking about it, your mouth reciprocated; until the pool game in the back faded away, until kory's presence dissipated, until it was two lovers beaming back at each other, until—

"jace!" the voice of one roy harper rang from the pool table. "stop being ushy gushy and get over here! i got those two shots in you asked for."

roy's disruption didn't perturb jason's expression of contentment, but it did snap you out of your own world.

one last time, jason leaned in and ran another hand over your head. "after this game finishes, 'kay? then we can get going."

with another nod, you watched as jason half-jogged back to the table and take the cue roy was holding out for him, void of your boyfriend's presence, but his body heat still warming your legs.

absently, your fingers drifted to the soft fabric of the hoodie placed over your thighs.

perhaps it would be worth the wait to go home.

[stllmnstr]

easy mode

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: brother's best friend au

word count: 2.9k

warnings: not explicit but veeeery suggestive, alcohol consumption, swearing, lots and lots of jealousy aka very bthb coded

note: Another reupload! I wrote another ~3k of sacred monsters today and saw this in my drafts and realized I never posted it. If you read it before, I hope you like it just as much! If you haven't, I hope you enjoy!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung likes to do things the easy way. 

It’s not that he’s lazy, just... efficient. A fan of the path of least resistance. He knows how to pick his battles and does so sparingly. 

Heeseung minds his own business, keeps his eyes on the path in front of him and rarely lets them stray. And he definitely, definitely never pokes his nose into other people’s problems. 

It’s a philosophy that keeps his head on straight, that allows his friendships to remain low-maintenance and sans drama. It’s what’s kept Jay at his side for the last fifteen years, even through the trials and tribulations of elementary school playground altercations, puberty-fueled fights in the middle school locker room, and most recently, the frustrating misalignment of their post-graduation work schedules. 

Four years ago, Heeseung thought a bachelor’s degree would be his ticket to success, not a soul-sucking nine-to-five that leaves him itching for a drink or three most Friday nights. Luckily for him, Jay’s in the same boat. 

But tonight, sitting next to his best friend on his favorite slightly wobbly bar stool, Heeseung almost misses the monotony of their usual Friday evening happy hours. 

He’s nursing his third beer, which would usually go down like cold water, even though time and tipsiness have turned it lukewarm. Tonight, though, Heeseung’s eyes keep wandering towards the same corner table just over Jay’s shoulder. 

And every time they do, the muscle in his jaw strains a little further. The beer on his tongue tastes a little more bitter. 

Heeseung hates making things complicated. He doesn’t get involved. He doesn’t. But–

“Are you gonna do something about that?”

On the adjacent bar stool, Jay glances at Heeseung. “About what?” 

Heeseung just keeps his eyes trained on that table, that spot over Jay’s shoulder. 

Picking up on the hint even through the pleasant haze in his mind, Jay turns his gaze to follow Heeseung’s nonverbal cue. It takes him only a matter of seconds to locate what has his best friend in such a mood. Or rather, who. Although Jay isn’t quite sure why. 

He’s digging for clarification when he looks back at his friend. “What do you mean? Did she do something weird?” It wouldn’t be exactly unlike his younger sister to do something slightly embarrassing in public. 

Heeseung’s jaw just tightens further, betraying annoyance. Finally, he puts words to his irritation, saves Jay from his suspense. “You’re gonna let that idiot put his hands all over your little sister in the middle of the bar?”

Jay frowns, turns over his shoulder once again to make sure he isn’t seeing things. 

He’s not. From this angle, at least, Sunghoon’s hands are at a perfectly respectable distance from you. Not that Jay could do much about it either way. 

He tells Heeseung as much. “What am I supposed to do? Drag her out by her ear and force her to join a convent? Ship her off to a girls only boarding school?” 

Jay laughs humorlessly. He’s not exactly thrilled that you and your friends chose to patronize the same bar as him and Heeseung tonight, but he doesn’t want to linger on it either. In fact, he doesn’t want to do anything but forget his woes this evening, drown his sorrows in overpriced pints of whatever’s on tap. 

He’s perfectly happy with his back turned towards you. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. “She’s twenty-two.”

And that wasn’t what Heeseung was suggesting exactly, but now that Jay mentions it…

“You’re okay with Park trying to play tonsil tennis with her then?”

“Dude,” Jay winces, setting his beer down on the bar, stomach suddenly queasy. “Gross. That’s still my little sister.”

Which is exactly the card Heeseung is hoping he’ll play. But all Jay does is sigh. If Heeseung didn’t know better, he’d think the exasperation was directed at him instead of the loser he’s pretty sure is currently trying to make himself Jay’s future brother-in-law. 

Jay checks over his shoulder one final time for good measure. It confirms whatever he’s looking for. Mostly the fact that Park Sunghoon’s lips are too busy cracking mediocre jokes to be making sloppy passes at his sister in public. 

Hoping to put it to rest once and for all, he turns back to Heeseung. “Besides, it’s Sunghoon,” Jay reasons. He finds it in himself to reach for his beer again. “She’s known him since preschool. He’s practically like a second brother to her.” Jay takes a sip, misreading the rise in Heeseung’s agitation as familial affection. Trying to soothe it over, he concedes with a nod, “Or third, I guess. I’ll let you be her second.”

Like always, Heeseung lets it go. He goes with the flow, rolls with the punches. 

Well, at least on the outside. 

But even if he weren’t so committed to never rocking the boat, this is hardly the time or place to correct Jay’s assumptions that his feelings towards you are anything but brotherly. 

That, he decides, will have to be a revelation for another time. Preferably in a situation where Heeseung is well out of arm’s reach and Jay is in restraints of some sort. 

Those, after all, are the only circumstances in which he could ever disclose just how decidedly not brotherly his feelings towards you are. 

In fact, his feelings are a lot more aligned with that stupid game you used to make him play as kids. The one where you put on the white dress you’d gotten from your cousin as a hand-me-down, an assortment of grape juice, finger paint, and pasta sauce stains scattered along the hemline. 

The one where you’d gather a bunch of dandelions from your overgrown backyard and call them a bouquet. 

The one where you’d live out all your grandest six-year-old dreams of walking down the aisle towards a handsome prince with the latest Kidz Bop rendition of whatever love song was most popular on the radio crackling through the cheap speaker you stole from Jay’s bedroom. 

The one where you’d drag Heeseung away from the player number two console, much to Jay’s unending annoyance, and force him to play the part of your groom. Even at six, you were a force to be reckoned with. An argument-winning fiend that even your older brother could rarely best in a fight. 

Heeseung played along, more than anything, because he was scared to face your wrath if he declined. But he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t feel a little funny in his chest every time he watched you walk down a makeshift aisle made from your mother’s missing tablecloth. 

So no, Heeseung doesn’t give a shit how long you’ve known Sunghoon. After all, what does Sunghoon know about your childhood dream to get married in a garden full of roses? Judging from the way it looks like he keeps trying to get you to take a sip of his drink, he doesn't even know you can’t stand the taste of Coke mixed with liquor. 

But Heeseung knows. He was there the night you developed the aversion. The night you decided bottom shelf tequila and the soda you snuck from your parent’s fridge were your best friends for the evening after junior prom. The night he held your hair and rubbed soothing circles into the skin between your shoulders as it came back up a few hours later. 

And he was there for the rest of it, too. All of the little moments, the big moments, and everything in between that spun the tapestry of your formative years. 

The day you finally got your braces off and didn’t stop smiling for three weeks straight. The time you sprained your ankle trying to hide Jay’s favorite pair of sneakers in the alarmingly tall tree in your backyard. The night you cried for four hours straight when you found out Jake Sim from biology was a big, fat, liar that was indeed texting other girls for homework answers. 

There may have been moments, tangled up in that swirling mix of memories, when Heeseung felt nothing but a brotherly sort of affection for you. A desire to protect you from the world and a distinct sort of pride when he inevitably failed and you rose to the challenge anyway. 

But Heeseung also remembers what it felt like to stand across from you as you recited your six-year-old attempt at recreating marriage vows, and he thinks he never really stood a chance. 

So tonight, glancing over Jay’s shoulder again, Heeseung watches as you lean a little further into Sunghoon, straining to hear him over the cacophony in the bar. 

And the anger he feels in his gut is not brotherly in the slightest. Nor is the red, hot, scalding jealousy that burns his throat every time he forces himself to swallow it down. 

Searching for a distraction, he busies himself with his beer once again, letting Jay’s unwanted evaluations fall to the wayside for the time being. 

Immersed in the dregs of his own despair, he almost misses it. The flash of movement as you slide out from your seat next to Sunghoon. 

His eyes track your movement with the quiet focus of a predator on the hunt, watching as you disappear around the corner. 

Heeseung mumbles some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom that Jay only partially hears before he’s stepping off of his bar stool, beer forgotten on the counter behind him. 

Your footsteps are easy to follow as he traces the predictable path you forge to the opposite corner of the bar. Heeseung’s bathroom excuse was a good one, he’s pleased to discover, once he realizes that’s precisely where he’ll be meeting you. 

The line is long, but it moves quickly. Only a handful of minutes have passed when you emerge again. This time, Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give you the chance to walk back and make him watch you from a distance for the rest of the evening. 

Doesn’t give you the chance to so much as look at Park Sunghoon again. 

Instead, he wraps long fingers around the skin of your wrist, dragging you to the adjacent hallway where it’s empty, quiet. Secluded. Away from any wandering eyes or unwanted ears. 

Any protests of yours are overtaken by surprise, and by the time you finally find them again, they’re replaced by questions. 

Heeseung may be a captain of a steady ship, a firm believer in the merits of smooth sailing, but he’s never been able to resist the urge of liminal spaces like these. Moments with enough plausible deniability that Jay won’t have a reason to give him a bloody nose or threaten his life if he so much as looks at his little sister again. Exchanges that he hopes will linger with you long after the two of you have parted ways. 

Desire for ambiguity aside, the position he puts you in is compromising no matter how you spin it. Your back against the wall, Heeseung leans over you, cages you in like he’s after something other than your answers. 

Something more. 

But the gap between your bodies is deliberate, a way for him to backtrack if the situation calls for it. An escape route if he needs it. He really, really hopes he won’t. 

Your wrist is still in his grip, light but demanding, when he finally says, “Park Sunghoon? Really?”

He can’t help it, the way his words are warped with poorly disguised venom. He really cannot stand the guy. 

“What?” You hope you can blame the obvious breathlessness in your voice on shock. “What are you–?”

Heeseung won’t leave you wondering for long. “You think he can handle you?” With the way you’re wrapped up in Heeseung’s hold, the challenge, the comparison, is apparent. 

Your shock morphs. Hardens. Gaze narrowing, you relax a little into his grip. 

Your words, however, remain combative. “Handle me? Am I a wild animal?” You scoff. “I don’t need to be han–”

And, oh, this is Heeseung’s favorite kind of tightrope. His very best balancing act. He loves it, thrives on it, revels in it. 

This exchange of heated words that never go anyway but to your head. He hopes you’re seeing fucking stars. 

Heeseung leans an inch closer. He’s breaching dangerous territory. He’ll blame it on the alcohol if he has to. Glancing at your eyes, holding your gaze, he doesn’t think he will. 

“Who said anything about you needing it?” He’s so close that you feel his breath on your cheekbone, ghosting across your temple. It’s warm, leaves your skin tingling in its wake. “I’m talking about what you want.”

Something unreadable flickers through your gaze. If Heeseung didn’t know any better, he’d call it desire. But it disappears before he can name it, replaced with contempt. As if Heeseung is nothing but a pest, a fly to swat at until it stops buzzing. “Awful presumptuous, don’t you think?”

Heeseung only grins. He’s not like this, usually. Even when his intentions are less than pure. Just like everything else, he flirts in obvious ways. He doesn’t play games or speak in riddles or hope that subtleties will do the job for him. 

But it’s just so easy with you. “I don’t know.” He leans in closer. “There are a few ways we could find out, though.”

If your breath stutters, you’ll disguise it as another scoff. “Pray tell.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Heeseung inclines his head in a mockery of an apology. Pet names are another thing he keeps reserved for these stolen moments with you. Another exception to the rule that he refuses to examine further. 

For a moment, he lets his eyes do what they want. You feel the heat they scorch in their path from your nose to your chin back up to your molten gaze. 

“I’d rather show you.” Heeseung pauses, biting at his bottom lip. “But I don’t think I can do any of the things I want in public.”

You hate the way he does this. The way he never says what he means. The way he skirts around his desires with such heavy footsteps but still leaves you feeling foolish for drawing obvious conclusions. 

The way your heartbeat stutters regardless. But tonight, you’ll hold firm. If he wants anything from you, he’ll have to spell it out. “What are you saying?”

Heeseung is as evasive as always. “I’m saying that Sunghoon’s too nice for you.” There’s a hard edge in his eyes when he adds, “You’ll eat him alive and still be begging for more.”

Fine. If he wants to play games, then you’ll roll the dice too. Make scathing comments and heated taunts with whatever numbers you land on. 

This time, it’s you that leans in. “Should I make sure to find you, then? When I’m all done with him?”

Heeseung’s eyes light up with a renewed vigor. You can’t tell if he’s furious or the most delighted you’ve ever seen him. “Careful,” he breathes. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing at.”

You smile. Sweetly. Innocently. Leaning in further, your mouth is scant inches from his. 

“I’m not playing at anything.” It’s a blatant lie, but you’ve become well acquainted with denial, too. Picked up a few tricks from the master himself. “You’re the one that dragged me here and started demanding that I ditch my friend.”

Heeseung grins as if you serve no purpose but to amuse him. But there’s a hard edge in his voice when he asks, “You let all your friends look at you like that?”

“Only the ones I really like.”

And now you’re under his skin. Exactly where you want to be. “Careful,” he repeats, even lower this time. “I’m not as nice as him.”

You won’t heed any warnings, and especially not ones given from him. 

Heeseung is all talk. All bark and no bite. You almost wish he would bare teeth, just once. 

But Jay is still sitting on a barstool just one room over, and no matter how much he likes toying with you, you have the sinking suspicion that Heeseung’s loyalty will always begin and end with his best friend. 

He’ll press up against the line, will skirt the edge of the boundaries between you every chance he gets, but you’ve yet to see any indication that he’ll ever cross it. 

Just once, you want to be the one with him wrapped around your finger. Want to watch him become putty in your hands. 

“What are you gonna do?” Unblinking, you hold his gaze. “Handle me?”

A blurred line dissolves completely. Heeseung’s resolve slips, just a fraction. His eyes are still guarded, yes, but there’s a desperation that wasn’t there before. “Is that an invitation?”

“A challenge,” you correct, taking advantage of his sudden surprise to slide out of his grasp, maneuvering away from his hold. This time, he has no choice but to turn as you begin to back away, to let his eyes follow your lead. 

The misstep might have been miniscule, but it was enough to tip the balance.

For once, the results of this game are under your sole control. You have choices, ones that would leave him in the dust and ones that would put a trophy in his wandering hands. 

In the end, you discard it all. You have only one final demand for him. It’s a whisper that’s barely audible, “Rise to it.”

Heeseung doesn’t need to hear it twice. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Thanks for reading :) If you enjoyed, let me know!

[celandeline]

Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

Farleigh X Reader, SMUT - tw for cheating, reader both cheats and is cheated on

part two

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules. 

Always stand to his right, so that he can hand you whatever he’s holding without having to think about it. Let him pull you into his lap whenever he wants, even if you’d really rather just sit next to him - always sit next to him. Laugh at the jokes he makes, even if they aren’t funny. Help him with his coursework when he asks, pretend that you need help with things that you know he’s good at so he doesn’t feel stupid. Pretend that he can make you cum. Pretend you don’t know he’s cheating on you.

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules - but the perks are worth it. 

The necklace he got you for your birthday costs more than your first car, and if you ever sell it, will easily cover rent for at least a year. Designer clothes have a habit of appearing in your dorm room unannounced, always in your size - just because Felix likes when you look good next to him. No clubs are too exclusive to get into, there’s always a booth in the back of the pub reserved for you, people bend over backwards just for the chance of being in Felix’s vicinity - so naturally they’ll do anything for you. 

You’re using him as much as he’s using you - it’s mutually beneficial. You get to live within his innermost circle, he gets to have someone to bring home to his parents so they don’t start looking into arranged marriages after graduation. You have no intentions of actually marrying him, god no - you’ve heard him talk about how many kids he wants, there’s no way in hell you’re pushing out six - but you’ll take what you can get. Felix is a comfortable rung on the social ladder you’re trying to climb. 

“Right, love?” 

Felix’s voice drags you out of your thoughts and back into reality - the warm lighting of the pub casts everyone around your table in a warm golden glow. You’re pressed against Felix’s right side - always his right side - his arm perched on the back of the booth around your shoulders, casually possessive. It’s a little funny how possessive he is, considering how often he cheats on you. On his other side, Annabel nurses a pint, her overlined eyes locked on Felix, utterly enraptured. 

Across the table, India looks at him with the same hunger, even though her head rests on Farleigh’s shoulder. Farleigh looks how you feel - utterly bored, his eyes wandering the room as he idly smokes a cigarette. He’s always been prettier than Felix. More interesting too. If you weren’t trying to climb the social ladder high enough to marry rich and not have to work a day in your life, he’d be who you’re pressed against instead of Felix. There’s something about him that’s always given you the sense that he sees right through you, but it’s exciting. You know he knows why you’re here next to Felix, with a diamond he bought you around your neck. But Felix has no idea - he thinks you’re in love with him. 

It’s laughable, how in his own head he is. 

Still, you feed into the delusion, that practiced sugary-sweet smile playing at your lips as you look up at him. “Mhm.” You hum, picking up your pint and sipping at it. 

Felix grins wide, and turns back to Annabel. “See?”

Annabel rolls her eyes, leaning around Felix to pin a look at you. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

The animosity that every other girl within a fifty mile radius directs at you is the one drawback of being Felix’s main piece. Your smile turns a little sharper. “Yeah.” You admit easily, setting your pint back down. “But I know Felix enough to know that he was probably right.”

Across the table, Farleigh snorts. 

Your eyes slide over to him, and he meets your glance. Ever so slightly, he tilts his head, a dry smile playing at his lips - a silent, really?

You tilt your head in the same direction, mocking - yes, really.

Felix turns back to Annabel. “I’m always right, Anna - best get used to it.”

She rolls her eyes again, but this time it’s playful - flirty, even. You can already see how the rest of tonight is going to play out - Felix will make some excuse about drinking too much or not feeling well or whatever else his idiotic brain can come up with, and disappear back to his dorm room to fuck her. Tomorrow, of course, you’ll act like you’re none the wiser. In two weeks time, when the guilt starts to get at him, a new pair of heels or a Dior skirt will find its way into your closet. 

Simply the way of things. 

Pulling away from Felix’s hold, you make to get up. He glances at you, concerned, but you only smile, and kiss him on the cheek so that you can slide out of the booth. “Gotta use the loo.”

You brush your hands down your skirt as you stand up, and start towards the back of the pub, where the bathrooms are, tossing a look over your shoulder back at the table. You catch Farleigh’s eye, and hold it for a moment. His lips curl upward around his cigarette. With Felix likely going home with Annabel, your schedule for the night just opened up…

Maybe tonight’s the night you do something - someone - just for yourself. Set your plans for the future aside for once, and just have fun. After all, you’re confident Felix will be none the wiser - you know exactly what not to do after watching him fumble around with any and every other girl that’s caught his eye. 

You disappear into the bathroom, Farleigh’s gaze still on you. 

The noise from the pub is quieter here, just a dull hum seeping in through the walls. You lock the door behind you, and inspect yourself in the mirror. You smudge the dark eyeshadow around your eyes a little more, and fluff up your hair so that it doesn’t sit so lifelessly against your head. Your sex appeal back in place, you splash some water on your hands and pat them against your skirt before you leave, stepping back out into the pub. 

As expected, Farleigh is waiting for you, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, finishing off his cigarette. A quick glance back at the table lets you know that you were right - Annabel and Felix are gone. India’s moved onto Jack now, laughing a little too loud at something he says. 

“Felix said he wasn’t feeling well, all of a sudden.” Farleigh drawls, bringing your attention back to him. “Annabel’s walking him home.” There’s a touch of humor in his voice that you appreciate - he knows just as well as you do what they’re off to do.

“Shame.” You say, not bothering to try and sound actually sad at all. It wouldn’t fool Farleigh anyway. “Got tired of India?” You snatch the last of his cigarette from his fingers, finishing it off in one drag and dropping the butt to the floor, stamping it out with my boot. 

Farleigh watches you, his eyes half-lidded. “Is there such a thing as not being tired of India?”

“She’s not all bad.” You say. 

He tilts his head, that wry smile coming back to his face. “She’s not trying to fuck you.”

You can’t help but grin at that. “Touche.” You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of India’s flirting - but if Farleigh’s boredom is anything to judge by, she must not be very good at it. 

Silence falls between us, and you let yourself look at him, eyes tracing down the lines of his neck until you reach the hollow at the base, and then back up to his lips.

“So.” Farleigh says. 

You meet his eyes again. “So.”

He grins, foxlike and charming. “You wanna get out of here?”

The walk back to campus is short, but it feels longer with how much you talk about with Farleigh - school and America and family and money and Felix and a million other, less important, things. It’s the most intellectually stimulating conversation you’ve had in a long time, and the most you’ve genuinely laughed in a while too. It’s everything you’ve been missing with Felix - and it makes the war between your want for fortune and fame in the future and your want for genuine connection rage all the more. 

It comes to an end all too quickly for your liking, as you reach the steps to your dorm. 

You slow to a stop, and Farleigh stops as well, looking down at you, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Does it ever bother you?” He asks.

“What?” You reply. 

“That he cheats on you.” Farleigh clarifies. 

It’s a complicated question to answer, so instead you turn it around on him instead. “Does it ever bother you that he’s fucked India?”

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “That’s-”

“He does it to literally everyone.” You press on. “I stopped caring a while ago.”

Something contemplative washes over his face, and he just looks at you for a moment, eyes searching yours for something. His next question is quieter. “Who would you pick, if you weren’t stuck with him?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not stuck with him.”

Farleigh looks at you, obviously amused. “I can see you trying not to roll your eyes every time he opens his mouth.”

You shrug. “The pros outweigh the cons.”

“So cynical.” He taunts, stepping closer. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious who I would pick if I wasn’t with Felix.” You say, letting him back you up the steps until your back is against the door. You look up at him, and meet his eyes. 

He grins. “Yeah, but I want you to say it.”

“It’s you.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “Like it would be anyone else-”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, a moan leaving him as you deepen the kiss without waiting, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and vodka and it’s made all the more delicious by the little noises that keep working up his throat, elicited when you grab him by the belt and pull him closer so that you’re chest to chest. He groans when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull away, tugging him with you by the mouth. When you release him, he still follows after you anyway, chasing you for more. 

Fingers still dancing on his belt, you smile. “Come up to my dorm with me?”

“Yes, fuck, please.” He already sounds debauched, and it sends a spike of heat straight down to your core. Felix would never deign himself to beg. 

You push open the door to the dorm building, and start up the stairs, Farleigh trailing only a half step behind you. You fumble with your keys once you reach the door to your room, and Farleigh latches onto the back of your neck, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin that send a shiver up your spine.

Once you get the door open, you drag him inside and kick it back shut, locking it behind you. 

Farleigh’s back on you in an instant, mouthing under your jaw. You wind a hand into his curls, pulling his head back from your neck. “Don’t leave any marks or Felix-”

He rolls his eyes, and cuts you off. “Duh.”

Without any more preamble he dives back into your neck, kissing along the length of it until he makes his way back up to your lips. You meet him in a kiss greedily, pushing off the door behind you and walking him back towards your bed. He hits the bedframe and breaks the kiss to sit on the edge. With a grin, you’re climbing into his lap and gently pushing him down until his backs flat against the mattress. 

He’s so pretty like this - curls splayed out across your duvet cover, hands gripping onto your hips like you’ll float away if he lets go. You run a hand under his shirt, rucking it up so that you can see the way his stomach flexes when you touch him. Slowly, you dip your head down to lick a trail up his abdomen, never breaking eye contact. 

He tips his head back with a shaky groan. “Oh, fuck.”

You grin, shifting forward so that you can nose under his jaw, lips ghosting across the shell of his ear. “What about you? Will India get mad if I-”

“Don’t fucking care, I want you to do it anyway.” He says, a little breathless. He’s so responsive - every little groan and whine shoots heat straight to your core. If sex with Felix was like this, maybe you wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love with him. 

You sink your teeth into his neck just below his ear and he keens, his hips knocking up into yours. His fingers dig into your hips, bunching the fabric of your skirt into his fists like he’s holding on for dear life. You take the opportunity to start the slow roll of your hips as you work a chain of hickeys across his neck, scattering them artfully around his collarbone. 

Deft fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your spine until you get the message and pull it off yourself, flinging it somewhere in your room. Farleigh wiggles out of his own shirt underneath you, pushing the offending garment off the edge of the bed. Freed of your shirt, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra as well, tossing it in the same direction. 

Farleigh’s eyes fall to your tits immediately, and you swear you can see his pupils dilate. “I see why Felix keeps you around-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say with a smile. Even when you have him in your bed, he’s the same old Farleigh. It’s a breath of fresh air after having to pretend you like when Felix calls himself ‘daddy’. 

Your skirt is next, and then the tights you’d had on underneath it as Farleigh works on his trousers, kicking them off the end of the bed. Only your underwear left, you resume grinding against him, watching as his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he uses his grip on your hips to work you over him harder. 

“How do you want me?” You ask, leaning down to press more kisses along the length of his neck. 

You expect him to respond - to tell you to turn over on all fours or ride him reverse cowgirl - but he only sighs in the back of his throat. “Whatever you like, baby.” 

You press your lips to his in another greedy kiss, licking into his mouth and swallowing up the moans that slip past his lips. He’s not making it easy to think about going back to Felix after this. Felix, who calls himself ‘daddy’ and manhandles you around however he likes and hasn’t made you cum a single time. You can feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your underwear from how malleable Farleigh is underneath you - how he looks at you like he’d gladly do anything you ask him to. 

You slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and shuck them down his legs. Your own underwear are next, and then you’re grinding on him again, spreading your wetness up and down his length. 

Farleigh’s grip tightens, and he tips his head back again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he moans. “Mm.” He picks his head back up enough so that he can look at you. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to go down on you but - mm - I don’t think you need it- oh fuck!”

Rising up on your knees, you line him up and slide down him in one drop of your hips, lodging him inside of you. He’s longer than Felix is, but skinnier too so the stretch doesn’t sting as much. God, it’s like he was made for you, with how easily he reaches right where you need him to without even trying. You start to bounce, planting your hands on his chest for leverage and tossing your head back, losing yourself in the feeling. 

Farleigh whines, a high pitched breathy thing that sounds like it’s been forced out of him as you start to move. Gently, you pry his hands away from your hips and pin them down over his head, just because he lets you do it. It’s a rush - that he’ll let you do whatever you want and take it happily - and it goes to your head. He strains against your grip but you don’t let up, working yourself up and down his cock just to watch his eyes roll up into his head. 

“What- ahh, what are you doing?” Farleigh chokes out, straining against your grip again. 

“Whatever I want.” You croon, whispering against his lips. 

He snags you in a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting so that his hips meet yours on every downstroke. A sharp gasp forces its way out of your throat as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and you can’t help but smile at him. It’s almost a novelty, the way he works with you instead of against you like Felix often does. 

He grins back up at you, and tilts his chin upward to kiss you again. Breathy, he says, “Felix is an idiot.”

You choke on a moan as a particularly hard thrust jolts through you. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t know what he has.” Farleigh says. “I’ve fucked India and - fuck - Annabel and they’ve got nothing on you.”

You laugh and moan at the same time. “You don’t have to - mm - be nice just so I’ll let you cum in me.”

“I can be nice.” He breathes. 

You ghost your lips over his neck. “You’re never nice.”

“I can be nice.” He insists, turning his head so that you can litter kisses along the length of his neck. You trail upwards until you reach the lobe of his ear, biting gently at the skin. “To you.”

“Careful.” You say. “Better stop now or I might think you’re in love with me or something-”

Farleigh tenses up beneath you, as a long groan escapes from his lips as he throws his head back. He thrusts three more times before he stills, slumping back down to the mattress, panting hard. His eyes flutter open, blown wide as he looks up at you. 

You can feel a smirk playing on your lips. “Did you just cum?”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed. “Maybe.”

You laugh, and kiss him. “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I’m good.” He insists, working his wrists free of your hold. “I can still- here, just-”

He pulls you to his chest and rolls on the mattress so that you’re underneath him now, and resumes fucking into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. The change in position makes the feeling all the more potent, and a moan slips out from your lips. 

Winding your arms around his shoulders, you rake your nails up his back, and feel him shiver against you. “Farleigh…”

“Don’t fucking do that.” He laughs. “I’ll cum again.”

You toss your head back against the pillow as he speeds up his thrusts, obviously trying to get you to cum before he’s too spent to keep going. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the feeling of him against you, the tickle of his curls against your neck, the breathy moans that slip from his lips into your ear, the feeling of his teeth against your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin-

“Farleigh-” You start, only to cut yourself off as the coil finally snaps and pleasure shoots through you. “Oh fuck-”

He groans, and shoves his face deeper into your neck as his thrusts slow to a stop. He slumps again, flopping on top of you with a long sigh.

When you come back to your senses, you tug on his hair until he grumbles. “You are such a dick.” You say. “I said no marks.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles into your skin. 

“No you’re fucking not.” You retort. 

He lifts his head out of your neck, that foxlike grin on his face again. “No I’m not.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” You ask. 

He pulls out, and flops back down on the bed next to you, nosing back into the crook of your neck as he slings an arm over your chest. “Makeup. Wear your hair down.” He shrugs. “It’s Felix - he’ll probably think he did it.”

You rest your chin on the top of his head, the aftershocks of pleasure running through you. “‘M never having sex with you again.”

Farleigh snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

You smile into his hair, because he’s right. Of course he’s right. There’s no way in hell this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence. 

[loverangels]

jealous sirius black x reader I beg

jealous, jealous boy

pairings: sirius black x fem!reader

a/n: hope you like this I rushed it so much 😭🩷

The bass thudded through the floor, a constant, pulsing rhythm that seemed to vibrate in your chest. The air in the club was heavy with sweat and cheap perfume, but none of it really mattered because Sirius Black was by your side, his arm casually slung over the back of your chair.

He was grinning at you, that wicked, lopsided grin that always made your stomach twist in ways you tried not to think about too hard. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, and he looked so effortlessly good, dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, his shirt clinging to him just enough to drive you insane.

The thing about Sirius was, he knew he was trouble. He’d been trouble from the moment you’d met him years ago, a too-pretty boy with a sharp tongue and an even sharper smirk. But lately, it was like that trouble was directed entirely at you. The teasing, the lingering touches, the low murmurs of love and sweetheart—he was shameless about it. And you were shamelessly falling for it.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be different. It was just a night out with the group: James and Lily were glued together as always, Marlene and Dorcas were lost in their own world on the dance floor, and Remus was perched in the corner nursing a pint and watching the chaos like he was above it all.

And then there was Sirius, sitting so close to you in the booth that your thighs were pressed together, his head tilted toward yours as he murmured something that was probably meant to be funny but was absolutely designed to get you to look at him.

“You’re too good for this place, you know,” he said, his voice low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“And yet here I am,” you shot back, arching a brow. “With you.”

He smirked, leaning back. “Lucky me.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your cheeks flushed. “Hold that thought, Black,” you said, slipping out of the booth. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice laced with amusement.

You made your way through the crowded club, pushing past bodies that swayed and stumbled to the music. The bathroom was a mess of bright lights and a broken soap dispenser, but you didn’t linger. You washed your hands quickly, eager to get back to the booth—and to Sirius.

But when you stepped out of the bathroom and glanced toward the bar, the sight that greeted you made you stop in your tracks.

There he was, leaning casually against the counter, his back to you. And hanging off his arm—clinging, really—was some blonde girl you didn’t recognize. She was tall, sleek, the kind of girl who probably spent more on her outfit than you did in a month. She was laughing at something he’d said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her other hand trailing up his arm.

And Sirius—Sirius was smirking down at her, that easy, careless smirk you’d thought was meant for you.

Your stomach twisted, a sharp, ugly thing that felt a lot like jealousy.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected. Sirius had always had this effect on people, this gravitational pull that made them flock to him. He could charm anyone, and he usually did. But after weeks of teasing and flirting, of him calling you “love” and “darling” like it actually meant something, you’d started to believe you were different.

Apparently not.

Your jaw tightened as you turned away from the bar, your eyes scanning the dance floor. If Sirius wanted to play games, you could play them too.

Your gaze landed on a tall, dark-haired guy near the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t bad-looking—broad shoulders, sharp jawline—and more importantly, he was already watching you with interest.

Perfect.

You walked up to him, your heart pounding for all the wrong reasons, and flashed him a smile. “Want to dance?”

He looked surprised for half a second before he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you started to move. The music was loud, the rhythm infectious, and it wasn’t hard to lose yourself in the beat. You let him guide you, let his hands linger on your hips, your fingers brushing against his chest.

It wasn’t about him, though. It was about Sirius, and the way you could feel his eyes on you from across the room.

You glanced toward the bar, just to confirm what you already knew. Sirius was staring at you, his expression unreadable. The blonde girl was still talking, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. His jaw was tight, his gray eyes dark, and he looked like he was about two seconds away from losing it.

Good.

You leaned in closer to your dance partner, your hand resting on his chest as you tilted your head up, pretending to laugh at something he said. That was all it took.

Sirius was across the dance floor in seconds, his movements deliberate and predatory. He stopped in front of you, cutting between you and the guy with a hard, dangerous smirk.

“Alright, mate,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Let me have a dance with my girl.”

The guy blinked, confused. “Your girl? She asked me to dance.”

Sirius’s smirk vanished, replaced by something harder, darker. “I wasn’t asking.”

You opened your mouth to intervene, but before you could say a word, Sirius’s fist flew. The crack of it connecting with the guy’s jaw was loud, and the force of it sent him stumbling back, clutching his face.

“Sirius!” you shouted, shoving against his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He had his hands all over you,” Sirius shot back, his voice still tight with anger.

“And you had some blonde draped all over you five minutes ago!” you snapped, your voice rising.

Sirius blinked, the fight draining from him in an instant. “That’s what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him off the dance floor. You didn’t stop until you’d hauled him into the hallway by the bathrooms, shoving him against the wall. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I can’t stand seeing anyone else with you,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You froze, your chest heaving as his words sank in.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I can’t,” he continued, his gray eyes locking on yours. “You drive me mad, you know that? You always have. And tonight, seeing him touch you—I lost it. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You can’t just—just say things like that, Sirius.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “I can’t stop, love. I’m in love with you. Have been for years.”

The air left your lungs. “You…”

Before you could think it through, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was messy and desperate and perfect. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, his grin so wide it made your knees weak.

“Finally,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against yours.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and dragging him back to the group. By the time you returned, both of you looked thoroughly ruffled, and James was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Have a good chat?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Potter,” Sirius muttered, but his grin gave him away.

The others burst into laughter, and for the first time all night, everything felt exactly as it should.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Why Couldn't It Be Us

James Potter x Lestrange!Reader

AN: This is a sneak peak but you can read this alone, without having to read the full fic.

Summary: James grappled with the reality of loosing the love of his life.

WC:3.4k

CW: So much yearning and spiralling. So much angst no comfort what so ever, Marilily, drunk!James, one night stands, drunken hook ups, reader is married

The pub smelled of stale beer, wood polish, and the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace in the corner. The walls were covered with faded photographs, posters for live music, and layers of peeling paint that hinted at decades of stories. It wasn’t the kind of place where magical folk usually gathered, but Sirius insisted it had character. 

James took a long pull from his pint, leaning back against the booth, his glasses slightly fogged from the warmth of the room. Remus sat across from him, nursing a whiskey, while Peter sipped a cloudy gin and tonic. Marlene and Dorcas were at the bar ordering another round, and Sirius was at the jukebox, shuffling through the selection with the same intensity he’d use for a chess match.  

Lily slid into the seat beside James, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside. “I don’t know why I let Sirius drag us here,” She huffed, pulling her scarf off and stuffing it into her bag.  

“You’re here because you’d follow me anywhere, Evans,” Sirius called without looking up, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

Lily rolled her eyes, but her fondness was obvious. “He’s insufferable.”  

“Absolutely,” Remus nodded, chuckling when Sirius threw a random crumpled up paper at his head.

Dorcas and Marlene returned with drinks in hand, sliding them onto the table. Dorcas clapped James on the shoulder as she sat. “How’s our Golden Boy, then? Had a good day bringing shame to daddy’s potion business?”

James chuckled. “Pops’ got nothing for me anymore. I’m a free man now- no professors, no detentions, no overtime, just… endless possibilities.”  

“And endless parties,” Sirius added, finally joining them with a triumphant look. “Found Bowie. You’re welcome.”  

The opening chords of Suffragette City began to hum through the bar, and Sirius raised his glass. “To living dangerously and looking damn good while doing it.”  

“To the Order,” Lily said suddenly, raising her drink. Her voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it.  

A ripple of silence passed over the group. The Order of the Phoenix wasn’t a light topic, but it was always lurking at the edge of their conversations these days. The war was brewing- closer and darker every day- and none of them were naïve enough to think they could avoid it forever.  

“To the Order,” James echoed, his voice quieter.  

They clinked glasses, the sound almost lost under the music and the hum of conversation around them.  

“You reckon we’re ready for it?” Peter asked after a moment, his voice uncertain- but his eyes held a determined fury that was a tad bit over shadowed by his flushed chubby cheeks.

“No one’s ready for war,” Remus said. “Not really. But what’s the alternative? We let You-Know-Who run the world while we sit back and do nothing?”  

“He’s got a point,” Dorcas said, her dark eyes flashing. “We can’t just… hide. If there’s a fight, we’ve got to be in it.”  

“I don’t want to hide,” Marlene said, staring into her glass. “I’m not afraid of them.”  

“We should be afraid,” Lily said softly. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight.”  

James reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll fight. And we’ll win. That’s what we do.”  

“And if we don’t?” Peter asked, his voice small.  

Sirius leaned forward, his grin sharp and defiant. “We will. Because we have to. And because they don’t know what’s coming for them.”  

For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of their shared resolve hung heavy in the air. Then Marlene broke the tension with a wicked grin.  

“Enough of this gloom,” she said, standing and dragging Dorcas with her. “Someone say something worthwhile before I lose it.”

“Worthwhile, huh?” a familiar voice teased, light and playful, cutting through the hum of music and conversation.  

James turned to see Mary Macdonald leaning against the booth, a crooked grin on her face and her eyes sparkling with warmth. She was bundled in a long coat, her gloves tucked into one pocket, and her hair slightly damp from the winter drizzle outside.  

“Speak of the devil,” Marlene said, smirking as she dropped back into her seat. “And she shall appear.”  

Mary raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Was I summoned for something specific, or are you all just this predictable?”  

“Predictable? Us?” Sirius scoffed, his grin widening as he stood and slid out of the booth to make room for her. “Mary, darling, you wound me. I’m nothing if not a mystery wrapped in leather and charm.”  

“And bad decisions,” Remus muttered into his glass, earning a bark of laughter from Marlene.  

Mary ignored Sirius’s antics and slid into the booth beside Lily, who shifted to make space. Her smile softened as she leaned closer to Lily, her hand brushing against hers. “Sorry I’m late.”  

“Worth the wait,” Lily replied softly, her cheeks flushing.  

James felt his stomach drop.  

Mary cleared her throat, sitting up straight. “Actually, I had a reason for being late.”  

Lily’s hand slipped into hers, and James immediately felt the shift in the air. The kind of shift that made your heart pound, even when you didn’t know why.  

“We have news,” Lily began, her voice steady but her green eyes bright with emotion. She glanced at Mary, a shy smile tugging at her lips.  

Mary took over, her grin widening. “We’re getting married.”  

There was a stunned silence, like the universe had paused just long enough for everyone to process her words.  

Then the booth erupted in cheers.  

Dorcas was the first to leap up, nearly knocking over her drink as she threw her arms around both women. Marlene was right behind her, practically pulling them into a group hug as Sirius whooped loudly.  

“Bloody brilliant!” Sirius crowed, his grin wide and uncontainable. “Knew it’d happen eventually. You two are disgustingly perfect.”  

“Disgusting,” Remus agreed with a smirk, though his tone was warm as he raised his glass. “To Mary and Lily. Congratulations.”  

Peter echoed the toast, his round face flushed with excitement.  

James raised his glass too, plastering a wide grin on his face as the others cheered. He even managed to laugh when Sirius made some terrible joke about Lily finally having a chance to wear something “outrageously frilly.”  

But inside, he was breaking.  

That should be us.

The thought was sharp and unrelenting, carving through the noise and the laughter like a knife. He was happy for her- of course, he was. Lily deserved the kind of love that lit her up from the inside, and Mary was dynamite. He could see it in the way they looked at eachother, in the way their cheeks dimpled when she smiled.  

But it didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the hollow feeling that spread with every laugh and every toast.  

The music shifted, Bowie giving way to something heavier and rockin’. Marlene grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with a grin. “C’mon, Potter. Let’s see if you can actually dance.”  

James let himself be dragged to the tiny dance floor, forcing a laugh as Marlene twirled him dramatically. She was a whirlwind of energy, and her jokes kept him smiling, but his heart wasn’t in it.  

After a few songs, he excused himself, weaving through the crowd back to the bar.  

The bartender was wiping down glasses, and James slid onto a stool, ordering another pint. He stared at the wood grain of the counter, letting the noise of the pub wash over him.  

His drink arrived, and he took a long sip, trying to push down the emotions threatening to rise.  

It wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. 

But as he sat there, the laughter and celebration echoing behind him, he couldn’t help but wish- for just a moment- that things had been different. That he’d been enough. That he had more proof of your love, then just an apology and that last kiss.

James stared into the amber liquid in his glass, his fingers tightening around the cool surface. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses from his friends felt muted now, like he was watching the scene through a fogged-up window. He drained his pint in one long sip, setting it down with a dull thunk. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him, but James waved him off. 

He was fine. He was always fine.

“Hey, you alright?” 

The voice startled him, low and lilting, cutting through his thoughts like a blade. James turned to find a girl standing a few feet away. She was magnetic. Her hair shimmered under the dim lights, falling in waves she tucked behind her ear, and her eyes- curious and smoldering- seemed to pierce right through him. Something about her tugged at his chest, an ache that felt too familiar. 

She looked a hell of a lot like you.

James blinked, trying to shove the thought aside, but it dug its claws into his mind, stubborn and unyielding. It was in the way she held herself, confident and just a little aloof, her smile teasing at the corners like she already knew him. Like you used to look at him when you thought no one else was watching.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat and gave her a half-hearted smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The girl tilted her head, unconvinced. “I don’t know. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world or something.” 

“Don’t we all?” He quipped, raising his empty glass. 

She chuckled, low and warm, sliding onto the stool beside him. “I suppose we do. But most people don’t drink alone at a table full of friends. What’s your excuse?”

James glanced over at his group. They were still laughing, huddled together like they didn’t have a care in the world. Lily was leaning into Mary, her hand resting casually on her knee. 

The sight made his stomach twist. He looked back at the girl, her expectant eyes waiting for him to answer. 

“Celebrating,” He lied. “Big day. Lots to toast to.”

Her smile widened, and she raised her glass. “Well, cheers to that.”

They talked, or rather, she talked, and he pretended to listen. He was too busy trying not to notice the curve of her lips or the way her laughter rang like a bell. Too busy trying not to let his mind wander to you and the way you used to laugh at his jokes, even the bad ones. Too busy pretending he didn’t feel like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. 

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You want to get out of here?”

James hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he thought about Lily and Mary’s announcement. He thought about your last words to him, the ones he’d tried so hard to forget. He thought about the weight in his chest that wouldn’t let him breathe.

And he said yes.

She smirked and gestured to the door. He stood up. He was a gentleman, grabbing her coat and helping her slide it on. He chuckled at a playful remark she made- he flipped off Sirius as he wolf whistled after them.

He felt normal.

Her flat was small but cozy, filled with mismatched furniture and the faint scent of vanilla. James barely noticed any of it. His focus was on her hands, the way they tugged at his jacket, the way her lips felt against his, the way her laughter sounded when she stumbled backward into her bed. 

He didn’t think about how her hair fanned out on the pillow like yours used to fan against the forest floor. He didn’t think about how her voice softened when she whispered his name. He didn’t think about the way she pulled him close, or how his heart twisted in his chest when he kissed her. 

He didn’t think about you.

It wasn’t until later, when the room was quiet and she was asleep beside him, that the weight in his chest returned. James stared at the ceiling, the darkness pressing down on him. The ache in his chest was unbearable now, raw and consuming. 

He slipped out of bed, pulling on his jeans and shirt in the dim light. The girl stirred, mumbling something he couldn’t make out, but she didn’t wake. James grabbed his jacket and left without a word, the cold air outside biting at his skin as he stepped into the night.

He didn’t remember the walk home, just the way his hands shook as he let himself into his flat. 

James stumbled into his flat, the door slamming behind him as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. The room was spinning, the edges of his vision blurred from too many drinks and too many emotions he couldn’t name. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once, and his head buzzed with the echoes of your voice, the ghost of your touch.

He dropped onto the couch, his trembling fingers fumbling for the phone. It took him a moment to find it, buried under a stack of unopened letters and old newspapers. His mind raced as he flipped through the yellowing pages, the parchment glowing faintly under the dim light of his wand. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it.

Lestrange Manor.

His heart thundered in his chest as he punched in the number, the dial tone buzzing loudly in his ear. He didn’t think about what he would say or why he was calling. He just needed to hear your voice, to know you were still out there. Still you.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. 

“It's late.” The voice boomed in the distance before he heard a sigh against the receiver. “Lestrange Manor,” Your father’s voice. 

James froze, the words caught in his throat. His hand shook as he gripped the receiver, his knuckles turning white. For a moment, he thought about speaking, about demanding to know where you were, about apologizing for everything, about-

He slammed the phone down, his breath hitching in his chest. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his mistake settling heavily on his shoulders. He raked a hand through his hair, his heart pounding as he stared at the phone.

Then, slowly, he turned the pages again.

Avery Manor.

The name stared back at him, mocking him, taunting him with the reality he’d tried so hard to ignore. You weren’t just gone. You were married.

He dialed the number before he could think better of it, his hands trembling as he pressed the receiver to his ear. His chest tightened with every ring, the seconds dragging on like hours. He didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t know if he could even form words.

And then, it answered.

“Hello?” Your voice was soft, curious, and achingly familiar. It hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand gripping the phone so tightly it hurt.

“Hello?” You repeated, a note of concern creeping into your tone. “Is someone there?”

James opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to say your name, to tell you it was him, to tell you he was sorry, to tell you- everything.

But he couldn’t. 

“...James?” 

His breath caught at the sound of his name on your lips. The way you said it, so soft and familiar, like you knew it was him without even knowing. It broke something in him, something he didn’t know could still break.

"Hi." It was all James could manage. The word came out shaky, barely more than a whisper, and he winced as the silence on the other end stretched, thick and heavy. 

Then, he heard you take a small breath. That sound- soft, familiar- tore through him, a sharp ache in his chest. He closed his eyes, the ghost of your touch burning on his skin, memories flooding back with every beat of his heart.

That breath. He missed it. He missed the way you breathed against his ear, the quiet exhale that came when his lips brushed your neck. He missed the way you'd laugh and scold him, pushing at his chest, pretending to be annoyed. "James, stop it," you'd say, your voice sharp but your eyes warm. "You’re going to leave a mark." 

And then, you'd let him do it again.

“James,” your voice came again, quiet, tentative. His name on your lips felt like a lifeline, like it always had, but this time it hurt. This time it reminded him of everything he’d lost.

“I…” His throat felt tight, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his lips. 

“I didn’t know… Avery had a landline,” James said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to sound casual, but the slur in his words betrayed him. He cursed himself inwardly, gripping the phone harder as if the pressure could steady him. He just needed anything- anything to keep you on the line, to hear your voice for a little longer.

There was a pause on your end, long enough to make his stomach twist. He could imagine you standing there, your lips parted in surprise, your brow furrowed as you processed his words. Then came your voice, soft but laced with confusion.

“James, are you- are you drunk?”

The concern in your tone made his heart ache, but it also made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “What gave me away? The fact that I’m calling you at- what time is it?”

You sighed, and he could picture the way you’d pinch the bridge of your nose, your lips pressing together as you tried to decide whether to scold him or let it go. “James, what are you doing?”

The question hit harder than it should have. What was he doing? Calling you in the middle of the night, knowing full well it was a mistake? Torturing himself with the sound of your voice, knowing it would only make the ache worse?

“I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of it. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

James swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke, “I miss you.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, as though they’d been clawing their way up his throat all night. “I miss you so much it feels like I can’t breathe without you.”

“James,” you whispered, your voice strained. It was the way you used to say his name when you were trying to reason with him, to pull him back from whatever reckless path he was on. But now, it sounded different- sharper, more distant, like you were trying to remind yourself of the boundaries you’d set.

“I-” James started, his words slurring together, “I wish it was me. That it was me next to you right now, not him. It should’ve been me, yeah? It was always supposed to be me…”

You didn’t answer immediately, and the silence was unbearable. He could hear faint noises in the background- a creak, a soft rustling- and then, Avery’s voice, distant but clear, calling your name.

James’s heart seized in his chest. “No- don’t go. Please.” His voice broke, desperation dripping from every word. “Just- stay on the line. Don’t hang up, don’t leave me. Please.”

“James,” you said again, but this time it was different. Your voice was firmer, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place- regret, maybe, or guilt. “You shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait!” James shouted, gripping the phone tighter as though he could hold you there. “Don’t- just, please. Don’t hang up. Please, I-”

“James!” a sharp voice cut through his spiral, and he turned to see Sirius standing in the doorway of the flat’s tiny kitchen. He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of boxers and a shirt that was unmistakably Remus’s, the sleeves too long for his arms. His dark hair was messy, and his brows were drawn together in concern.

Behind him, Remus appeared, his face etched with worry as he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “What the hell is going on?” He asked, his tone softer than Sirius’s but no less serious.

James didn’t answer. His eyes darted between his friends and the phone in his hand, his grip tightening as though it were the only thing tethering him to reality. He barely registered the sound of your voice on the other end, hurried and quiet, before it cut out completely.

You’d hung up.

[clarkeyhill]

☁️Stag Do | George Clarke

[ George is on his stag do with the boys, you're at home as your hen do isn't until next week, as the night goes on the alcohol hits George and he starts to miss you, wishing you were with him; one comment from his friend results in him leaving early to come home to you]

It's around 7pm and you're on the sofa watching your favourite film once again, cuddled up with a hot water bottle and snacks when you receive a text from George.

Geo🩵: "miss you x"

You let out a small smile as you read his text message, no matter where he is, who he's with or what he's doing, you always know there's a thought of you lingering in his mind.

You: "miss you too cutie, having fun x?" You reply

Geo🩵: "yeah but it'd be better if you were here x"

You: "you'll be home soon, enjoy your night, you've got me for the rest of your life remember x"

Geo🩵: "I'm the luckiest guy alive x" he replies

You heart react his message, leaving him to enjoy his night. Flicking through Netflix as you await his return home. As the night progresses George can't help but think about you, feeling a tinge of sadness wash over him as there's nobody in the world he'd rather be with than you right now. He nurses his pint as he stares into space, zoning out sounding out the noise from the bar. Chris notices his absence to the group and decides to say something "hey mate you okay?" He says looking at George with furrowed brows "yeah mate, just missing y/n you know? She just completes everything" he says with a small smile on his face, Chris laughs "mate this is your last night of freedom, focus on something else" he says, George's face scrunches in disbelief of Chris' words. "Why would I want to focus on something else? You're all talking to girls and I'm sat here missing MY girl because you lot wanted to fetch me to a stupid bar in London, I'm off home" he scoffs necking his drink and grabbing his jacket.

"Are you serious? We're all out here for you, leave her at home for a change it won't hurt" Chris retorts, George clocks the comment "it might not hurt her, but it's hurting me, SHE has persisted I stay out and enjoy my night, it's ME that wants to go and see her, I'd rather spend my days at home with her than snake my way around girls in sweaty London bar, talk to me when you're sober" George hisses and with that he leaves, calling an Uber to your flat.

You head to the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate before ending your film, the clock strikes 9pm and you feel your eyes getting a little tired. You stir your cup when you hear the front door creak open, it's George. You peek round the corner confused hot chocolate in clutch "George?" You call out, his face appears around the corner "hey baby, got one of those for me?" He says with a smile on his face shuffling over. You set your cup down on the counter and look at him confused "why are you home so early?" You say as he snakes his arms around your waist. "I missed you too much" he says planting a kiss onto your lips with a sweet smile attatched "but it's your night you should be-" he cuts you off "enjoying myself? Yeah, I did and now I'm coming home to enjoy myself with you, cuddled in bed with a film on, I don't need the nightlife anymore y/n, you're my nightlife" he says to you looking at you with doe eyes, smitten for you.

You let out a smile as you hand him your hot chocolate you'd just made "here have this, I'll make another are you hungry?" You ask him shuffling over to the kitchen counter "I could eat" he says walking over to the sofa "it's a good job I've just ordered pizza then isn't it" you say chuckling to yourself as you boil the kettle, admiring George as he picks out a film to watch. You couldn't help but feel a sense of safety develop inside of you, a feeling you've never felt in a relationship before; the way George prioritises you in every aspect, his kindness and caring manner towards you.

"I can't wait to marry you" you say sitting down next to him as you rest your head on his shoulder. "I can't wait either" he says kissing the side of your head.

-

🫶🏻

@arthurhillmastermind

[thetriggereffect]

True Blood - The Medical Advancement With No Medical Applications

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed True Blood, but I was always annoyed about one thing in particular: The whole setup is that scientists came up with a way to make artificial blood, but the only time we see this miracle advancement is in a bottle marketed to vampires. This is incredibly myopic, as this would be one of the most significant medical advances in history.

First of all, the Red Cross spends $2 billion a year collecting blood-- a majority of its operating budget. That money would no longer be needed, and would be spent on other causes. The Red Cross itself would become a considerably less influential power, which would probably be good for everyone (including the Red Cross).

In a world where blood is available by the keg, the average human lifespan would probably spike by 20 years. There are plenty of ailments, illnesses, and conditions that can be treated quite effectively with blood transfusion, but aren't, because blood isn't really available on that type of scale.

Every ambulance would be carrying a couple of gallons of O positive. In large hospitals they'd be working out of 50 gallon barrels. (This sounds like an exaggeration, but you'd be amazed how many different fluids are used in medicine because you just can't have that kind of blood on hand-- and because they're NOT blood, they have limits that unlimited transfusions would not.)

You would literally have a new class of licensed medical professional-- a transfusionist, falling somewhere between a phlebotomist, a paramedic, and a nurse. And they would be in incredibly high demand, because oh, buddy, we now have a world with elective blood transfusions.

Getting an "oil change" would be part of the spa experience. There would be teams doing housecalls out of a van ambulance, and blood boutiques in every shopping mall. Wealthy people would get transfusions the morning after a night of extreme partying.

And, I know, that's not the story they wanted to tell, but there would have been impact on the vampires as well, because the availability of True Blood would make real blood more readily obtainable, because humans could donate large quantities with no ill effects. (Hell, get a license as a transfusionist, go around in a van, and trade housewives a couple pints of True Blood for their natural blood... they'll PAY YOU to do it, and you can sell the blood or (if you're a vampire) drink it yourself.)

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - stalking, unhealthy relationships, mentions of masturbation, obsessive behavior, and medical malpractice galore.

Harper is the kind of man who can't help but study what he loves.

It's a bad habit - an unfortunate combination of natural curiosity and burning academic passion that always seems to end with a mess and a few broken toys. A childhood fascination with insects might lead to shoeboxes full of tattered wings and twitching bodies. A passing interest in hemogobular coagulation would be poured into a university internship that gave him access to more pints of blood than he knew what to do with, despite his best attempts to put it all to good use. A lasting fondness for hypnosis could, theoretically, earn him a small collection of pocket watches, a soothing timbre that often played underneath his passive speaking voice, and a few asylum patients too far gone to ever truly recover.

His research wasn't always destructive, but it could be. His love tended to veer towards obsession; the kind of burning infatuations that could leave more than a little devastation in its wake, if he wasn't careful. A measured amount of collateral damage was acceptable, compared to the alternative.

He studies you, too. Idly, at first - nothing more than an intrusive thought allowed to fester during your all-too-infrequent appointments, a quick jolt of excitement when he noticed your name on his schedule - then more consciously, in the form of an extra question asked at the very end of his time with you, a note tacked onto your file that doesn't strictly have to do with your health. His chances for observation are limited. You rarely make it to your therapy sessions, no matter how often he insists you should see him, and you're sturdier than he'd like, too used to being thrown around and mistreated to come running to him every time you scrape your knees. That's something he decides he doesn't like about you fairly early on. Part of a case study is deciding which parts of your subject will need to be adapted, and even you aren't beyond correction.

He records your reactions to his mis-prescribed medication with a religious sort of zealousness, reviews your symptoms and lab results while fucking his fist in-time with your pulse. He makes sure to visit your bedside personally whenever you find your way into his emergency room, and you're rewarded for your newfound attentiveness with a healthy supply of shots that leave you too removed from reality to remember your time on his examination table. Harper's always preferred the written word, but he find himself with a budding appreciation for film during his nightly evaluation of your records. His memory is keen enough, but there's nothing quite like being able to study your body detail by detail whenever he isn't fortunate enough to have access to the real thing.

He thinks, as he watches a pair of his nurses drag you through the asylum doors, that it might be time to start the next leg of his study. Studying is useful, but you've always benefited from more proactive measures, more personal attention. It'd be a discredit to his occupation if he was too preoccupied with his own little pleasures to see to the needs of his favorite patient.

It's far past time he moved on to more hands-on research methods, when it comes to you.

[queenariesofnarnia]

a drinking game and pretty names 🍻

legolas x f!reader

a/n: here's a little ficlet no one asked for. i felt like writing it because i just did an extended edition marathon of the hobbit and lord of the rings :) it was also the first movies i ever wrote fanfics for 🤭

gif not mine

wc:375

You couldn’t help but let out your laughter as you watched Legolas and Gimli participate in their drinking game. Legolas looks unfazed by the drinks and Gimli is a drink away from sleeping on the floor in the Golden Hall tonight. You were nursing the pint of ale in your hand as you stand next to Éomer.

 “Here, here. It’s the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women” Gimli belches. Causing you to snort taking a drink to cover it up.

“I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it’s affecting me” Legolas says admiring his fingers. You shake your head laughing.

“What did I say? He can’t hold his liquor” Gimli’s words a bit slurred before his eyes cross and he falls to the floor. Laughter roars around the table.

“Game over” Legolas says shrugging, you join his side wishing Éomer a good night if you don’t cross paths again tonight. You link arms with the inebriated Legolas heading outside to enjoy the crisp night air and the stars.

“Did you have fun mellon?”(friend) your ask as you let go of his arm. He catches your hand before your arm drops to your side.

“I did meleth nîn”  (my love) he answered, the term of endearment throwing you off guard. You avert your eyes to the stars above instead of your entangled fingers. He gently calls to you to catch your attention. your eyes meet his piercing gaze. “You have such a pretty name, though meleth nîn suits you perfectly”

“So drinking games cause you to use endearments enril nîn?” (my prince) a smirk on your face as you question him getting over your bashfulness.

“The drinking game simply gave me the courage to use the endearment I’ve been waiting to call you for a long time” he says cupping your face with his free hand.

“For what it’s worth I think you have a pretty name as well. But I can always call you melethron”(masc.lover)  you suggest closing the gap. you could feel the crisp air dance along your face, but you focused on how his steady breathing fanned your lips. glancing from your eyes to your lips one last time he pulled you in for an overdue kiss.

end note: if anyone reads this thank you :) if not thats fine too!

[reigningqueenofwords]

That's How You Know

Pairing: Tony x Reader Word count: 4,003

Read on AO3

You leaned your head on Nat’s shoulder, the two of you watching some comedy in an effort to cheer you up. You’d broken up with your long time boyfriend just the day before. And it sucked. The two of you had been together most of your twenties. Now, at 28, you were nursing a broken heart, eating a pint of ice cream, and cuddling your super-spy best friend. 

“Miss, Mr. Stark is inquiring if you’d like take out from your favorite restaurant for dinner this evening.” Came JARVIS’s voice. 

Hearing that, you smiled softly. “Tell him yes, and thank you.” You agreed easily. 

Nat smirked at you. “You know he loves you, right?” She pointed out. “I mean, it’s really obvious.” She chuckled. “He just never actually said it because you were dating that asshat.” 

You shifted to look at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” You asked, confused. “A- Tony doesn’t love me, and B- he wasn’t an asshat until the last like...month.” You muttered in defence of your ex. 

“You are so blind. And he clearly thinks we are, too.” She was amused. “Look, I’d tell you to just go kiss the man, but I’ll be nice and let you get over your ex before pushing you together and going ‘now kiss’.” She smirked, making you stare at her. “You’ll see.” She said confidently. “Now, let’s finish this movie.” 

It had been six months since that conversation with Nat, and you’d pushed it from your mind. However, you were out with her, Wanda, and Pepper, which meant drinks. It made it difficult not to think about the handsome inventor. Just as you were thinking of him, your phone went off. 

Nat looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Awe, he’s worried about you!” She chuckled as you playfully shoved her away. “He is seriously texting you just to tell you that you’re on his mind, but he wanted a reason, so he pulled the ‘be safe’ card.” She downed another shot. “And, you’re right. That would be a warning for some pour perv to mess with any of us.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.” You put your phone away, going back to your drink. 

“So, who’s the mystery man?” Wanda grinned. “Do we know him? Oh! Is it that cute agent?” You raised an eyebrow at her. There were a few cute agents. “I think his name is Paul? Such an unsexy name for such a nice face.” She mumbled. “Spill the beans.” 

You were about to shut this entire conversation down when Nat spoke up. “It’s Tony.” She said easily. “He’s had it bad for her for years.” She went on, making you put your head on the table. “She doesn’t believe it, but she’s the only one who got a ‘be safe’ text.” Nat chuckled, licking her lips. “And I see someone I’d like to be bad with tonight. Excuse me, ladies!” She slipped out of her chair and towards whoever had caught her eye. 

Pepper rubbed over your shoulders. “Want me to get us some shots? Since Nat drank them all?” She chuckled. 

Sitting up, you sighed, nodding. “Sure, I need one. Or five.” You shrugged. You didn’t want to believe Tony loved you. You didn’t want to admit you loved him, either. So, you’d get a bit drunk, and then go back to forgetting about it the next day. 

Walking into your kitchen a couple weeks later, you were wearing an oversized sweater and leggings. It was a cold fall day, the skies were grey, and you planned on curling up with a book, and a cup of coffee. You had to do a double take. There, on your kitchen island, was a bouquet of sunflowers. That had not been there the night before. Walking to the table, you lifted the note that was placed in front of it. 

I know you hate days like this. Here’s some flowers to brighten your day. 

-Tony

You blushed, biting your lip. Once you set the note down, you went over to your coffee maker and decided you’d thank him by bringing him a cup. “JARVIS, is Tony in his labs?” You asked as you brewed your cup first. This way his would be hotter by the time you got to him. 

“Yes, Miss. Do you need his assistance?” He asked. 

“No, tell him I’ll be down shortly, though?” 

Tony looked up when you walked in. His face lit up as he took the mug you held out for him. “Thank you for the flowers.” You smiled, leaning against a table. “I was not expecting those.” You chuckled before sipping your drink. 

“Well, when I saw the sky, I knew you’d like them.” He shrugged a shoulder as if it was something just anyone would do. “And I remember you like sunflowers.” You’d told him once before when telling him a story about your life growing up. “And, you’re welcome.” He smiled. “Thank you for the coffee.” He held his mug up slightly for a moment. “I need it. Working on this damn bug.” He sighed. 

You giggled, shaking your head. “I’ll let you get back to that.” You told him. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” 

He nodded. “Enjoy your book.” He smirked when you looked at him. “You’re going to crack your sliding glass door, curl up under the blanket I got you last year for Christmas, and read.” He teased.

You were just kicking off your boots after working on your Christmas shopping when your phone went off. You were assuming it was Nat, asking you to come to girl’s night, or to watch a movie. It was Saturday night, after all. However, your eyebrows shot up at it being Tony. 

Letting out a sigh, you removed your coat and made your way back out of your door. Minutes later, you found yourself knocking on Nat’s. “Well, it wasn’t a break up, what’s that face for?” She raised an eyebrow, letting you in. 

“Tony.” You shrugged as she shut the door. “Apparently, he wants me to be his plus one at some event. He’s known for two months, and it’s next Friday. He asked me today. Well, like, less than half an hour ago.” 

“Yeah, we’re all going.” Nat shrugged. “Next Friday is his Christmas benefit for the kids.” She teased. “Did you honestly forget?” She laughed. 

You blushed. “I’m sorry, I was too busy being shocked that he was asking me on a date.” You admitted. “At least I already have my dress then.” You noted. “Well, I’m here, want to watch a movie before I head home and start wrapping presents?” You asked. 

She shrugged. “Sure, as long as you tell me what you got Tony.” She smirked. 

“I haven’t gotten his yet. What the hell do you get the man that has everything?! Or could build it, or buy it.” You half whined as the two of you moved to get comfortable. 

“Lingerie?” She asked. 

“I never pegged him for the type of guy to wear that…” You mused, thinking it over. He was over the top, so you could honestly see it now that you thought about it. 

Nat burst into laughter. “NO!” She was doubled over. “And it’s even funnier because you said ‘pegged’.” She wiped a tear from her cheek from laughing so hard. “No, I meant YOU wear it, and slap a bow on your ass. Pretty sure that would be what he wants.” She nudged you as your face turned a bright red. 

“….Oh.” You managed.

Tony’s hand was on your lower back, his other hand holding yours. The pair of you were dancing, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “So, Nat is the one who pointed out that I already knew about tonight.” You blushed, making him chuckle. “She thought it was amusing. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shrugged a shoulder. “I thought it was cute. I made you so flustered that you forgot.” He smirked. 

“Oh, really? And what if it’s because I had a long day of Christmas shopping for a super-spy, a super soldier, and an archer? Fully knowing my shopping wasn’t done yet.” You asked, an amused look on your face. 

He gasped playfully. “And not the child-like billionaire?” He asked. 

“Still trying to figure out what to get him.” You smiled. “It’ll come to me.” You promised. 

Holding you close, he nodded. “I’m sure it will. Well, I’m done all my Christmas shopping, and I am sure that you will love your present.” He told you. “Nat helped.” He laughed as your face fell, turning pale. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He grinned. 

“So mean.” You leaned your head on his chest. 

Minutes later, Steve came over. “May I cut it?” He asked. 

You looked at him. “Sure, but I’m not sure which one of you would lead.” You chuckled. 

“Funny, doll.” He smiled as he took your hand, causing Tony to pout. “Hey, Clint still wants a dance, so does Bucky, Thor, and Sam…” He teased the poor inventor, pulling you into his arms. “You look beautiful tonight.” He told you as Tony excused himself. “And he’s too easy to mess with.” 

“Thank you. And he really is.” You giggled. “It’ll be even more fun come New Year’s when he’s drinking.” You smirked. “Then he’s really easy to get to.” You thought back to the previous year when, once he was drunk, you’d managed to convince him that he’d let you borrow his favorite car. And then ‘lost’ it. It didn’t last long, but his face was priceless. 

Steve laughed, nodding. “Hopefully we get more pictures this year.” 

“I’m sure we will.” You figured that Nat would be taking some to ‘prove’ that Tony was in love with you.

Much to your dismay, a mission came up. 

On Christmas Eve. 

Part of you expected Tony to pout, if you were being honest. Him, or Clint. Both were like giant children. Sitting on the Quinjet, you were talking with Wanda. While Steve got serious, some of you just relaxed, and others made a point to have a good time. Who knew if there’d be a mission someone didn’t come home from? Why make your last memories of them anything but happy?

Bucky nudged you. “Hey, doll?” He asked, making you look over. “You do most of the decorating, right?” 

“Yeah, why?” You chuckled. “I have for years, but I ask you guys for help as needed. You know that.” You teased. 

“Have you ever thought about putting stuff up in the Quinjet?” He was curious. “In case something like this happens. Why not make it festive in here, too?” 

You thought about it for a minute. “I never thought about it. When I’m decorating for Christmas, the last thing on my mind is possibly deadly missions with my friends.” You shrugged. “I mean, I can try to remember next year?” You offered. 

“It’s okay, I was honestly just curious. You’re like the elf of the tower.” He smirked. “It’s cute.” He winked. Nat smirked at him, shaking her head. She knew he was only doing it because Tony was close by. “I haven’t seen any mistletoe. Did you skip it this year?” 

Bucky was all over the place it seemed, making you stare at him for a moment. “Uh, thanks?” You replied, unsure. “And you don’t remember when poor Steve had to kiss almost all of us? In the course of maybe two days? I thought I’d be nice and let him have a break from lip locking this year.” You chuckled as you saw Steve blush and hide his face. He had indeed kissed nearly everyone the year before. And he’d been sober for them all! 

Tony looked over. “Who’s didn’t he end up kissing?” He asked, having been one of those that he had. 

You put your hand up. “Me, and I think Bruce?” You told him. “I only kissed Nat, Bucky, and Clint.” You thought back. 

Nat stuck her tongue out at him, teasing him that she’d kissed you and he hadn’t. “Shame you didn’t put them up again, I would have found a way to get you underneath the mistletoe again.” She winked at you playfully when you looked at her. 

“Me, too.” Bucky admitted. 

“And me.” Clint chimed in, even though no one knew that he was paying attention. He had his eyes closed, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and his fingers laced together on his chest. “Especially with that body spray she only wears in the winter.” He added. 

You chuckled. “You mean the one that smells like cupcakes?” You asked. It was received for once the snow started to fall, and was put away once it was over. Cupcakes reminded you of baking with your dad as a kid, and you’d always make cupcakes. So, it was a nice reminder when the days got shorter, and colder. 

“You pay attention to her body spray?” Tony asked, surprised. 

Before Clint could answer, JARVIS let them know they’d be arriving in under two minutes. 

Your back was to a wall, your breathing coming out ragged. This was not as easy of a mission as you’d been hoping for. At the moment, you were actually hiding- not your proudest moment, either. Your leg had been shot, you had a split lip, you were sure you were sporting a shiner, and your shirt was sticking to you with blood. Some of it was yours, some of it wasn’t. You tried to push that thought from your mind as you closed your eyes. You nearly jumped when you heard Steve in your comm. “Y/N? You’re the only one not accounted for at the meetup.” His voice was firm, but the worry was there. 

Clenching your jaw, you replied. “Yeah, uh, about that.” You started. “Seems I got a bit…injured…in the process of taking some guys out.” You hissed as you pressed against your leg. 

It was Tony’s voice you heard next. “How bad is it? Can you get to us?” He asked quickly. 

You sagged. “No, I can’t.” You hated having to rely on them during missions. You wanted to be able to hold your own. “I got shot in the thigh for starters.” You leaned your head back against a wall. 

“For starters?!” Came a few voices, but you couldn’t pin point them all. 

“Can one of you just come get me before I pass out?” You asked, pain radiating from your wounds. “That would be great!” 

“On my way, doll.” Bucky spoke up. “Keep talking to me.” He told you, hoping to distract you from your pain. “Let me know where you are.” 

You sighed. “Alright.” You agreed before telling him where to find you.

The rest of the team waited in the quinjet while Bucky rushed to get to you. They had moved from the meet up point before he’d left them, so that he knew where to find them. Tony kept  his eyes on the entrance, jaw tight. “She’ll be fine.” Wanda told him. “It was her thigh. If anything, she’ll have to relax for a bit.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll ask her if she wants a movie marathon.” 

“She’s in pain, Wanda.” He reminded her. “Bad enough she was worrying about passing out. That doesn’t sound fine to me.” He sighed, not looking at her. “At all.” 

No one else bothered to try to calm him down, knowing it was useless. Until he saw you, he’d be worried. Then, it would shift to worry about you healing. People getting injured on missions was nothing new. It happened. They all knew that it bothered him so much more because it was you. 

Once he spotted Bucky,  you in his arms, he relaxed the tiniest bit. Your head was against Bucky’s shoulder, and your eyes were closed. “She passed out about halfway here.” He said softly, moving to lay you down. “Used my shirt as a tourniquet.” He explained, noting the raised eyebrow Nat was shooting his way. “I would have used hers, but…” He sighed, motioning to your blood stained shirt. 

“JARVIS, get us home.” Tony demanded, watching Bruce start to work on you. He cut your shirt up the middle, showing that your stomach wounds weren’t as bad as the shirt made it look. That was a minor comfort to him, though. The worst of it was a gash closest to the top of your pants. Letting out a sigh, he hoped they could get you more comfortable back at the tower. 

Groaning, you slowly opened your eyes to see Tony sitting there in a Y/F/C shirt. “When’d you get that?” You asked, licking  your dry lips. 

He looked up, grinning. “Uh, I had Nat go get it for me.” He chuckled. “Last night, while you were still out. I know it’s your favorite color.” He moved to sit on the side of your bed. “How’re you feeling?” He asked, taking your hand. 

“Like I got hit by a bus.” You told him honestly. “I didn’t think I was that bad.” You admitted. 

“I think that’s the drugs he gave you.” He shrugged. “The ‘good’ stuff.” He winked. “It’ll ease up, I’m sure.” He assured you. “Oh, and Wanda is currently finding nearly every Disney movie she can find.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “She thought it would be fun to have a movie marathon, and for some reason, she has her heart set on Disney.” He chuckled. 

You smiled. “She’s sweet.” You said softly. “Can I count on you to join us for a couple?” You asked shyly. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” He promised you, kissing your forehead. “Now, I’ll let Bruce check you out while I go order dinner.” He got up. “My place, or here?” He teased. 

“Depends on what the doctor says.” You chuckled. “See you for dinner.”

Bruce had said it was okay for you to leave, but walking wasn’t happening. That left you to either use a wheelchair, or be carried. You couldn’t use crutches, as that would stretch your stomach, and that would pull on the stitches on your lower stomach. You’d gone with the wheelchair (even if Bucky and Steve volunteered to carry you). 

Rolling out of the elevator onto Tony’s floor, you smiled when you saw Pepper. “Hey.” You greeted her. 

She turned. “Y/N!” She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Tony told me what happened.” She said, coming over to hug you. “How’re you feeling?” She asked gently. 

“Well, I’m not in a ‘hospital’ bed anymore, so much better.” You joked. “Oh, since I don’t know when we’re doing the whole Christmas exchange thing, you can go get your present? I know you go see family, too.” You smiled. “My presents are in a box on my living room floor. Yours is in a medium sized box.” 

“I think I’d rather wait to do mine with everyone else.” She told you. “Even if it’s not until after the New Year. You guys are my family, too.” She reminded you. 

Tony came in, making you attempt to turn your wheelchair. “I hate this thing.” You muttered, getting stuck half way. 

“Pepper, can you roll her to the living room?” He asked, hands full of food. “I’ll get everything set up.” He told her, smiling. 

She nodded, getting behind you. “I know you’d rather roll yourself, but don’t argue.” She said before you could say you could do it yourself. When you sighed, she chuckled, and started pushing you. “Looks cozy in here.” She looked around. Tony had a blanket and pillows in front of the fire place. 

“Thanks, Pepper.” He said, putting everything down. “I can take it from here.” He moved over to hug her. “Merry Christmas.” He smiled. 

“Merry Christmas. Both of you.” She hugged him back before waving to you. 

“Merry Christmas.” You waved. Once she was gone, you smiled at Tony. “So, dinner by a fire?” You asked shyly. “I’ll need help getting down there.” You pointed out. 

He moved over to gently lift you out of your chair. “Of course.” He got you settled on a pillow before getting the food. “What would you like to drink?” He asked, taking things out of the bags. 

“Well, Bruce still has me on pain killers. So, soda?” You chuckled. 

“One Y/F soda coming up.” He said easily, going to get a drink for each of you. He hoped that you weren’t weirded out by him trying to show you how much he cared about you. 

Sitting on the couch, your leg over Wanda’s lap as you finished up The Little Mermaid. “What’s next?” You asked her, as she was the one who had set this up. 

“Enchanted.” She smiled. “It doesn’t get enough credit for being amazing.” She said quickly. “It’s one of my favorites.” She popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

You had to admit, you saw why this was a favorite. It had you giggling, and you loved Pip. “Okay, Pip is the best.” You grinned. 

“Right?” She agreed easily. “He was my text tone for awhile.” She chuckled. 

When ‘That’s How You Know’ came on, you started to listen and your jaw dropped. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” You gasped. 

“What?” She paused it, looking at you confused. “What’s wrong?” 

You looked at her. “Tony’s done all that!” You stared at her. “Literally. I don’t even think he’d know, as I can’t see him watching this.” You explained. “A couple months ago? He left me a note and sunflowers because it was dreary out. He asked me to that Christmas ball thing and danced with me as much as he could. When I woke up after the mission? He was wearing my favorite color shirt. And then when I got out? He got us dinner…which we ate in front of the fire in his living room.” You grabbed your phone to text him. 

You stared at your phone. “Hey, can you help me back into my chair? I need to go see Tony.” You swallowed, looking at her. 

She smiled and gently moved your leg. “Yeah, I think I can do that.” She nodded.

Hearing the elevator to his labs, he looked over to see you rolling in. “So…” You said shyly. “You love me?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, I do.” He smiled. “Have for awhile.” He shrugged, setting his phone down before making his way to you. “Thought you were mad or something.” He blushed lightly, a look that you weren’t used to seeing on him. 

“No wonder my phone was going off so much.” You teased. “I’m not mad, Tony.” You promised him. “Not even close.” You grinned up at him. “I love you, too.” You admitted softly. “I just don’t think it really hit me until that damn song.” You giggled. 

He crouched so you didn’t have to look up at him anymore. “So, can I take you on a real date?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Once I can walk.” You chuckled. “A wheelchair in New York? I give major props to anyone who is can do that. I, however, don’t think I’d last more than five minutes before I want to hurt someone.” You admitted. 

“Deal.” 

“Ready for your first dance, Mrs. Stark?” Tony asked, your hand in his. 

You smiled over at him. “I’ve been ready.” You told him easily. “Let’s get out there and start this party.” You leaned over to peck his lips. 

He kissed you back. “There’s one part of that song I missed.” He pointed out, making you raised an eyebrow at him. “I never dedicated a song to you.” 

“You’re thinking of that now?” You teased. “After three years?” You asked. 

“Yup.” He laughed. “I’ll have to change that after I spin you around that dance floor.”