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safetypinxtales · 9 months

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Together with you | Azriel

(Lonely with you pt. 2)

summary: heart break sucks. Missing your friend sucks even more. It is mind-blowing what a little open communication can do.

words: 4.1k

warnings: angst with happy ending, terrible communication at parts (sorry), mention of alcohol consumption, fluff, just general misery, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, dumb idiots in love

notes: so this got a lot more angsty than first anticipated, but here it is! Not sure how I feel about it, I like some parts, not so sure about others - feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

part 1

Cold. Your bed was freezing cold. And empty.

Like lying on a frozen slab of stone, utterly alone and undeniably pathetic. Just as alone and pathetic as yesterday, when you woke up on the couch in the living room. No Azriel in sight. Like he wasn’t the one to practically beg you not to leave him alone, and then he went and did that exact thing to you.

It was humiliating. You were humiliated.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity.

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise.

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below.

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince.

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you.

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s.

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit.

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart.

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated.

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name.

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him.

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed.

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to reach you.

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting.

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery.

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,” he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.”

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel.

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?”

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm.

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!”

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself. Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other.

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay.

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.”

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands.

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard.

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you.

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers.

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.”

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung.

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt.

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved.

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded.

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was.

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always.

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel.

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth.

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest.

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack.

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch.

Only he didn’t.

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair.

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you.

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate.

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you.

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down.

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you.

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them.

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel.

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond.

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed.

He loved you.

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.”

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself.

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great.

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.”

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his.

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways.

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body.

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever.

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body.

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

tags: @hnyclover @justdreamstars @historygeekqueen @sharknutz @icey--stars @mel-wcst @alysena2 @lewsnumerounofan

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #lonely with you

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mynameismckenziemae · 2 months

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A Little Bit Stronger

Part 4

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC

Summary: You get more bad news but it turns out to be a blessing in disguise

Just like everything else I write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, mutual masturbation, a little voyeurism.

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The front door closing quietly wakes you the next morning, well, more like Hank jumping off the bed to see the person who opened it.

“Alright,” you yawn, stretching before you get up, feeling again well-rested. “Let’s go.”

He races down the stairs ahead of you, excited to see Bradley.

“Did I wake you?” He asks as you enter the kitchen, continuing when you shake your head. “Sorry, I get up early. Went for a run this morning.”

“You’re fine,” you smile, “Hank was just excited to see you. I usually get up early too, must’ve just been tired from yesterday. Is that why you’re called Rooster? You’re an early riser too?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, turning pink as he rises from petting Hank to look in the fridge.

Now you’re totally convinced that there’s more to the story by his avoidance.

“I don’t have much besides eggs and toast,” he sighs, looking at the loaf of bread on the counter, “I’ve gotta get to the grocery store. I should warn you too, I can’t cook for shit.”

“That’s okay,” you reply as you open the door to let Hank outside, “I used to love cooking.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t need to ask why you stopped loving it, assuming (correctly) it was because of Chad. “My mom was a great cook. I’d do anything to have one of her home-cooked meals again…that I complained about at the time, wanting McDonald’s or pizza instead.”

You laugh as you fill Hank’s food bowl, “I did the same thing, I think most kids do.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, grabbing the eggs and pulling out a pan. “The best was her meatloaf and homemade Mac and cheese. She left me a whole book of her recipes but it never ends well when I attempt them.”

“I could try making it,” you reply as you let Hank back inside, “if you want.”

“Really?” He lights up as he cracks an egg, “that’d be great.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “it’s been a while so I might be a little rusty, but I’d love to try. It’s the least I can do since you won’t let me pay you for staying here.”

“That’s not a big deal,” he murmurs. “Her recipe book is in there if you wanna take a look,” he nods to one of the drawers. “Do you like your eggs scrambled? Cause that’s all I can do.”

You laugh again, “Scrambled is perfect.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Wanna invite Reese, Jake, and Drew over?” Bradley asks as he packs the groceries into the back of the Bronco, “I know the recipe makes a lot, we always had a ton of leftovers.”

“Sure,” you reply, buckling your seatbelt as he gets in the driver's seat. “Do you mind stopping at the post office? I should check my PO Box.”

“Not at all,” he replies, heading that way.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Everything okay?” He asks when you frown, reading the letter from the court.

“The divorce hearing is scheduled for next Friday,” you reply.

“Isn’t that good?”

You nod, “It is, but I have to work. Thankfully it’s being conducted over the phone, but I don’t want to ask for time off when I’ve only been there a few weeks.”

“Reese will gladly take off,” Bradley assures you.

You sigh, “I hate asking her to, but I don’t think I have a choice. I don’t want to delay this any longer.”

“Do you have a lawyer?” He asks.

“Yes, but I’m not asking for anything from him; no alimony, nothing from the house…I don’t want or need any of that. I just need him to sign the papers and leave me alone.”

“Do you think he will?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I hope so.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley plays outside with Hank while you start the food; both recipes are easy enough to follow.

“It smells amazing,” he comes in just as you’re closing the oven. “Jake and Reese will be here any minute.”

“Good. Hopefully it tastes amazing too,” you smile, looking at him over your shoulder.

“I’m sure it will,” he replies, stepping close to dry his hands on the towel hanging on the oven door. “It’s looking better already,” he murmurs, his deep brown eyes on the fading bruise on your cheek before meeting your own.

Your eyes flick to his lips, fingers twitching as you fight the urge to bring him down to yours for a kiss.

You both jump when the doorbell rings.

“They’re here,” he says, before clearing the huskiness from his throat. “I’ll let them in.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “okay.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley brings a round of beers outside while the food cooks inside, Drew’s giggling at Hank’s antics, and Reese is telling you and Jake about the trouble she and Bradley got up to with Andy back in the day when your phone rings.

The relaxed smile falls from your face when you recognize the number as your new landlord.

“Excuse me,” you say, stepping inside to answer it and check the food.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The oven timer goes off just as you hang up the phone.

Somehow you manage not to get any of your tears on the food as you take out the dishes.

“Wow, everything looks great-hey what’s wrong?” Bradley asks when he sees your tears.

“That was my landlord,” you tell him, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, “he terminated my lease…that hadn’t even started.”

“What?” He asks, handing you a paper towel, “Why? How can he do that?”

“Said he overlooked something when I applied,” you sniff, “it’s just a bullshit excuse. This has Chad written all over it. God only knows how he figured out that’s where I was moving,” you inhale shakily, “I’m guessing he either bribed or threatened the landlord.”

He hesitates for a moment before gently wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

“Shit, that was stupid. I’m sor-“ He starts to let go when you stiffen instinctively but you shake your head once before allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. All of your anger, sadness, resentment, grief, and fear hitting you at once. Your shoulders begin shake from your suppressed sobs as you bury your face into his solid chest.

Neither of you hear the back door open again.

“Actually Drew, can you take Hank out one more time?”Jake says when he spots you, “I think he might have to go potty.”

“Sure! Come on,” he says, and the door closes a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” Reese asks, stroking your hair.

“I l-l-lost my apart-“ you take a deep breath before reluctantly pulling away, “I lost my apartment.”

Reese tears up and there’s a tick in Jake’s jaw as you explain everything.

“Oddly enough, I was thinking of taking next Friday off anyway,” Reese says when you tell her about the divorce hearing.

“Liar,” you laugh wetly, “but thank you.”

She just smiles.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“This is exactly like she made it,” Bradley murmurs, mostly to himself. You pretend not to notice the tears in his eyes.

“Roo, is Shae your girlfriend?” Drew asks a few minutes later.

Reese snorts as Bradley chokes on the food in his mouth, “No, she’s just my friend. Why?”

“Because she slept over last night,” he shrugs.

“Well, are you my boyfriend? You sleep over sometimes too,” Bradley asks, raising a brow.

“No!” Drew giggles, “I was just wondering. I thought when adults sleep over it means they’re dating. Jake sleeps over all the time in Mom’s room. He leaves really early in the morning though. I don’t know why he doesn’t just move in.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing at the shocked look Jake and Reese share.

“Busted!” Bradley bursts out laughing, “not as sneaky as you thought, huh?”

“Oh fuck off,” Reese says, her and Jake laughing now too, “Drew, don’t repeat that.”

“I won’t,” he giggles.

“Shae is just a friend and she’s going to stay here for a while,” Bradley explains before clarifying, “in the guest room.”

Your lip quirks at that.

“But why?” Drew asks.

“Drew-“ Reese starts but you interrupt.

“I just moved here and it’s hard to find an apartment that allows big dogs,” you explain, not lying…just leaving out some details.

“That’s dumb,” Drew scoffs, “he’s such a good dog.”

“I think so too,” you smile.

“Do you like baseball?” He asks, changing the subject, “I love baseball…”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You begin the apartment search again the next morning, requesting tours and submitting applications to anything that looks promising.

But by Thursday evening, you’ve gotten zero responses.

While discouraged, you weren’t exactly disappointed. It’s been a week since you’ve been staying with Bradley and you two already have fallen into a routine together; he quietly opens your door every morning to let Hank out so he doesn’t whine and wake you. Already gone by the time you got downstairs but had coffee, toast, and eggs waiting in the microwave. He’d gone home to let Hank out without you asking one day when you didn’t have time to take lunch. His delighted reactions to your cooking makes you remember why you loved it.

“Still nothing?” Bradley asks as he sits across from you while scrolling for a movie to turn on.

“Nothing,” you confirm with a sigh, “I promise I’ll be out of here soon though.”

“You don’t have to be,” he turns to you, but his eyes won’t meet yours, “I mean, there’s no rush.”

He hesitates so you wait for him to continue.

“It’s been really nice having someone else here,” he admits, “It gets…quiet living alone.”

His admission tugs at your heartstrings; you got lonely too.

“I understand. I do like having someone around. For little things like talking over dinner, watching movies together…and I can finally sleep. I don’t keep myself awake overthinking every little sound.”

“Good,” he murmurs, “you can stay for a while if you want. Until you find an apartment you like, or until things get better with your ex and you feel safe again.”

“Okay,” you agree, “but only if you let me pay you.”

“Sure,” he says as he returns to scrolling, “we’ll figure something out.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley’s Bronco is already in the driveway when you pull in the following afternoon.

It was a long, exhausting day, but it’s over. You’re free.

It was conducted over the phone, so while you didn’t have to see Chad, you still had to hear his voice. He behaved though; his daddy must’ve been present.

“Bradley?” You call when you open the door, feeling better already as you step inside.

He doesn’t answer but Hank is relaxing at the top of the stairs. His tail thumps heavily as you make your way up.

“Hey pup,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head before passing him.

You realize where Bradley is when you enter your room and hear the shower running.

Having every intention of taking a nap, you flop down on the bed with a sigh and close your eyes.

Just to open them a minute later when you keep hearing something; a wet, rhythmic slapping.

Is he…? No. It’s none of your business if he’s jerking off.

Then he moans softly.

You ignore your body’s reaction.

It’s wrong…right?

There’s a thump above your head and you can’t help but picture him bracing his arm against the wall as he strokes himself.

“Oh,” he groans, then, “Shae.”

There’s no ignoring the arousal that rushes through your body before settling between your thighs.

You slide your hand down the front of your pants, gasping when you touch your clit, swollen and pulsing.

Your eyes fall shut as you circle your clit, listening to the sounds he makes and picture him while he’s apparently picturing you.

It’s been so long since you’ve had an orgasm that you’re on the brink in no time at all.

His gasped “fuck” above your ear is all it takes.

Your mouth falls open as you shudder through wave after wave of pent-up pleasure. Tears stream from your eyes at the long-overdue emotional release.

The shower turns off as you come back into your body and by the time you muster enough strength and coordination to get up to close the door, he’s already walking past.

“Shit!” He jumps when he glances into your room, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

But you hardly hear him; your eyes follow a droplet of water as it runs down his bare chest, wanting to follow it with your tongue. It’s absorbed the towel wrapped loosely on his hips.

A light tug would make it fall.

“Hey,” he notices your disheveled appearance and drying tears, “you okay? How did it go?”

That snaps you out of it.

“It’s-yeah,” you shake your head to clear it, “I just got here a minute ago. I’m…it was a long day.”

“I bet,” he nods, “I’ll listen if you want to talk about it or there’s beer in the fridge if you want to drink about it?”

“Drink about it,” you smile.

“Alright,” the way he grins makes your heart (and other parts) flutter.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: posting 2 chapters in 2 days-who even am I? I think I wrote over 5,000 words today 👀

Anyway…Shae is a single woman and things are s l o w l y heating up! What did y’all think?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist…and if I forgot to add you-it wasn’t intentional.

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul50

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@bellaireland1981

@shanimallina87

@writtingrose

@fandomology101

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@lyn-js

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@whitewolfsbitch

@sbdunksblog

@glowingtree

@thelightnddarkness

@seitmai

@els-marvelvsp

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun maverick smut

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thehistoriangirl · 3 months

Note

Hi!

Could you write something for Viktor in this Father's Day please??

Thank you so much, have a great day 🖤

Hi anon! For sure :3 I hope you like it

Little Genius

Viktor x Fem!Reader---1.4K----SFW

Tags: Established Relationship (they're married) | Pregnancy | Fluff | Viktor would be such a great dad yall can't change my mind | Happy Father's day to all who celebrate :3 | This is not proofread at all bc Father's Day is over in less than an hour i'm sorryyyy ;---; |

Viktor felt your head nudging against his side, making him lower the book he was reading since yesterday—since you had finished it without waiting for him to read it out loud. A small betrayal Viktor washed away with your extra long session of kisses after dinner.

He reached to turn off the lamp, your hand brushing his before he could pull the tiny rope. Golden eyes took in your alert face, body wiggling closer to him so Viktor could rest his right leg over your hip.

His hum reverberated in your whole body due to the closeness of your cheek and his chest, heart beating content as you melted against the soft touches, the nonsensical patterns he drew against the thin, worn-out fabric of your pajamas.

“Not tired yet?” he asked, looking at the clock hung on the wall almost reaching midnight.

“I want to show you something,” you said, fiddling with the loose threads of his favorite blanket, the one he packed from his house in Zaun and kept in Piltover, even now.

He mourned the sudden loss of your warmth once you incorporated in your elbows, reaching for the nightstand on your side of the bed. Though curiosity made his golden eyes twinkle as your fingers scouted the insides of the last drawer.

“What is it?” Viktor peeked over your shoulder, seeing your hand gently cradling a small, white box tied close with a golden ribbon. “Are you going to propose, my love? Because I’m sorry to tell you this, but I beat you to it around two years ago,” he chuckled, rubbing with his thumb over the golden band decorating a finger in your left hand. Soft, slightly dry lips kissing the reverse of your palm once you glared playfully at him.

“You’re not funny,” you said, thought your curved lips testified completely the opposite.

“I hate to argue with the love of my life, but I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t have win you over.”

“Well, what if I say that you win me over with your terrible jokes?”

Viktor feigned a deep betrayal just like they were represented in the Opera House; hand clutching his shirt over his heart, closing his eyes while his face twisted in a grimace of hurt. “Your words break my heart.” His hands enveloped your waist, pulling you against his chest. “You better have a plan to wound up my poor heart. Your devote lover is very sensible.”

You beamed at him, eyes crinkled in crescents. “I do have one.” Wriggling against his tangled hug, you sat with your legs crossed, settled right in front of Viktor, putting the box on his chest. “Open it.”

The mysterious object was covered with a layer of paper, and for a few moments all that it could be heard inside your shared room was the wrinkled paper being pushed away to reveal the gift.

“Huh?” Viktor frowned, his fingers brushing the softest fabric as he raised the clothing out the box to see it against the light of the bright, golden lamp.

A vivid, burnt yellow bib made of crochet in a pattern oddly familiar for his own baby clothes kept inside a bag under his mother’s bed back in Zaun. The lettering read: Papa’s Little Genius.

He gazed at you, founding your expression of pressed lips about to burst into giggles. “My love?”

“Do you know what day is today?” you said, brushing the empty box away to straddle his hips.

“Sunday?” He could barely articulate any words with your comfortable weight pressed against him.

You lowered over his chest, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and nibbling on his ear just for the fun to see his pale skin flush deep crimson every time. “It’s Father’s Day,” your voice sent shivers down his spine, goosebumps traveling all over his body as his body torn between your allure making pool molten desire down his stomach, and his brain scrambling around by your shushed words.

“Father’s…” he said, holding your shoulders as he looked down toward you and over the bib resting on the pillow next to him. His golden eyes opened, a gasp hitching his already quickening breath. “Are you… you… I… we…”

You burst out laughing, your vision became blurry with the halo of tears pooling in your eyes. “Yes...,” you whispered, as if it were such a delicate thing, a dream, almost, that if talking too loud about it would make it disappear. “You’re going to be a Papa very soon.”

His teary eyes matched yours as he hugged him flush against him, taking in the smell of your hair, how perfectly he feels blessed at just basking in your presence. And now, not only had you given him your whole body and soul and heart. No, you were about to give him a legacy—a future carved in his blood and flesh.

A child.

His child.

His rough fingerpads caressed your cheeks, wishing to take in every little detail about this moment so he could treasure it for eternity.

“I thought I was the luckiest person in the whole world when you accepted to be my spouse, but now?” He laughed, wiping your tears away. “Now words can’t describe how I feel knowing that you’re carrying our baby.”

Viktor chuckled, his smile that one of a child’s that had just discovered the wonders of life for the first time. His hand cradling your belly.

“Hi, little one,” he muttered, almost afraid to cause a bad impression to his unborn baby. Fingers gently caressing the soft skin under your shirt. “I’m your Papa. Hi,” Viktor repeated, finding himself in a loss of words. “I… I promise I’m going to read a lot of books about parenting, and that I’m going to come up with pretty toys for you, and I promise that I will make daily time to play with you… and sing to you… and tucking you to bed,” his voice broke, a knot straining his throat. “I don’t know anything about being a father, but I promise you I will be the best for you, little one.”

With a groan, he sat on the bed, lowering his head to kiss your belly, hands interlocked in the small of your back. “Only the best for you and your stunning mother. I hope you look just like her,” he said with a chuckle. “Though I will struggle to ground if that occurs… hmm, just be easy on me, alright?”

He looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and pure, unfiltered adoration.

“I just know about them, but I already love them so,” Viktor confessed, caressing your hair, his hands pulling down your chin so his lips could encounter yours. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He mumbled between kisses of all kind—as soft as the brush of a feather, bold ones with his teeth biting your bottom lip, his tongue exploring your mouth in a slow, sensual dance. “I love you. I love you both,” he corrected, patting your belly.

“Do you like the bib?” you hummed, and he laughed. “Your mother scold me a lot because I kept getting lost while knitting the pattern.

“I knew I recognized that style.” He scanned the bib, arching a playful eyebrow toward you. “Little Genius, eh? Pretty high standards, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, swatting his chest lightly. “You say that as if you won’t let them see all your blueprints and chalkboards full of equations the moment they’re born.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the thought. He would have to babyproof his studio—and for sure his child wouldn’t step inside the lab without a full-body protective uniform, but the thought of sharing with someone else besides you about his vision of the world and the place he had in it made him feel like he was inside paradise.

A personal goal to make this world much happier, and safer, and fairer.

His baby’s world.

“I love you,” he said, kissing your whole face with delicate kisses that poured out everything words could never express. His devotion. His love. Everything. “I will never be able to pay you back for this…this miracle.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” you said, hands resting over his quickly-beating heart. “I love you, too. And your love for both of us is more than enough.”

He smiled widely, showing you that grin you adored so much, that made you melt and wish you could, too, give him the whole world.

“How lucky I am,” he hummed, settling you against his chest. “To have my whole universe safely resting in my arms.”

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor fanfic #viktor x you

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whatsnewalycat · 28 days

Text

No Strings Attached

Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella - Psychomanteum AU

[ psychomanteum masterlist ][ ao3 ]

WC: 2.7k+

Tags/Warnings: lua 2nd person pov, ghosts, psychomanteum au where they were together in spring, set after chapter 2, bickering, alcohol, drugs, addiction, ethan, anonymous sex mention, a boat load of sweeet sweet yearning folks

Notes: This is a doc I just found in my Psychomanteum folder. I think this is what I was originally writing for Chapter 3, but changed direction. Some of these conversations and prose proooobably got recycled into different chapters, but I can't remember. ANYWAY it's cute so I'm posting it as a Psychomanteum AU Snackie Poo (i'msosorryforsayingthatohmygod)

-----

Since Katie’s party, the two of you have hung out a handful of times, mostly with Parker, going out to a bar and having a few drinks. Between whatever actor things actors do while they’re in the city, he’ll sometimes text you to see what you’re doing, and what you’re usually doing is baking.

It surprises you a little every time he comes over. Why would an exciting guy like this want to hang out in your apartment while you work? Not that you mind. The company is nice. Most of the time he’ll chat with you while he sketches and happily disposes of any defective product. Sometimes it goes quiet while the two of you concentrate on your respective tasks, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

This is the modus operandi when Dieter slides his pencil it into the spine of his sketchbook and studies you, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Out of breath from rolling out puff pastry dough, you look at him and pant, “What?”

“Ghosts,” he leans against the counter, pressing his thumbnails to his lips as he waits for your answer.

You huff, setting your rolling pin down, and remember the picture frame on the spare bedroom floor. The face you imagined you saw in the mirror. Sometimes you hear noises in that room, but can’t bring yourself to investigate. The only time you enter the room is to get supplies, and even then, you speed run and don’t dare look up at the mirrors.

“No,” you avert your gaze from his and turn around to wash your hands in the sink.

“Wow, you’re a terrible liar.”

You turn around and gape at him as you dry your hands, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So you do believe in ghosts, got it,” he gives you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. He leans forward onto his elbows again, “If I tell you something, will you think I’m crazy?”

“Dee, I texted you yesterday and asked if you think that Avril Lavigne is really herself or a body double. I don’t think I’m qualified to make any judgments on the sanity of other humans,” you toss the kitchen towel over your shoulder, then start folding the dough into layers.

He tilts his head and frowns, then points at you, “I think you might be onto something there,” then shakes his head, “Ok, well…”

His Adam’s apple bobs and his eyes flick to the spare bedroom door. You stop folding the pastry dough and stand up straight. A shiver runs down your spine. He gnashes his jaw back and forth, then takes a deep breath, “I see him sometimes.”

You shake your head and search his eyes. Not out of confusion. You just don’t want him to say it.

He slides his sketchbook across the counter, flipping it around so you can see what he drew. There, sketched in graphite on the creamy paper, is your husband. He’s standing in the open doorway of the spare room. The illustration is unruly, yet intricate. Your mouth falls open as you press your fingertips to his face, and you feel his sorrow. So much so, you flinch back and shake your head again, “Sorry, um, I–”

Dieter watches your eyes start to well with tears and his shoulders slump, “Fuck, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Is he still there now?” you whisper, meeting his big, sad, brown eyes.

They flick to the door and back to you, and he gives you a nod. Your stomach drops to the floor and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

“I need to leave,” you announce, throwing the kitchen towel off your shoulder onto the counter, then take off your apron and drop it on the towel, “Right now. I have to leave.”

He stands up off the stool, pushing it out behind him, pointing to the puff pastry, “Should–I, uh, should I wrap that up?”

“Um, y-yeah, put it in the fridge, thanks,” you walk around the counter and past him to grab your purse, shove your feet into your boots, then walk out the door and wait for him in the hall.

He emerges while putting on his jacket, then you lock the door and start toward the elevator. The hall is silent except for the rustling of their clothes and footfalls. You slap the down button on the elevator and cross your arms.

“He was trying to talk to you,” Dieter explains.

You shake your head, “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he challenges.

“Mhmm,” you nod, hitting the button again, harder this time.

“Terrible liar,” he mutters to himself, then stares forward at the elevator doors. And he probably thinks he’s being funny. But it’s not funny. You don’t react.

Once the elevator dings, you’re inside, pressing the doors closed button before they even open all the way. He steps onboard. They accordion shut.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he tells you earnestly. In the foggy reflection of the stainless steel doors, you can tell that he’s looking at you.

“Well, you fucking did,” you snap, and wish you could take the words and shove them back into your mouth. He faces forward and his gaze drops to his feet.

The doors open and Dieter pushes out in front of you, storming out of the building. By the time you make it outside, he’s gone. A pang of guilt stabs through your chest. The cool, dewy air sticks to your skin and makes you shiver. You regret not grabbing a jacket, but start off towards your favorite hole-in-the-wall bar anyway.

O’Malley’s is a dingy dugout bar about a block away from your apartment. It’s so dimly lit in contrast to the bright afternoon sun, you have to squint and go off of muscle memory when you walk in the door. On a Tuesday, during daylight hours, when the temperature outside is finally warm enough to melt the gritty snowpiles that have been accumulating for months, the establishment is essentially empty. One sad sap sits at the bar, jacket hanging off the back of his stool, staring down at the lowball glass clutched in his fist. He’s leaning onto the bar with a ringed hand propping his head up.

You approach and pull out the barstool next to him, droning, “Hey there.”

Dieter casts a glance to you with a raised brow, then scoffs when he recognizes you. He lifts the glass to his lips and empties it into his mouth, then pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows.

Nick, the portly bartender you see here frequently during the week, approaches, “The usual?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards Dieter, “I’ll get his, too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he sits back and pulls a wallet from his pocket, then throws some bills on the bar top, “I was just leaving.”

Fucking hell.

“Dee–” you reach out and touch his arm, and he turns towards you and stares expectantly. You chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze to the floor before sighing, “Please stay. I’m-“

Nick returns with a whiskey neat and vodka cranberry, sliding them in front of you and Dieter before asking you, “Tab?”

“Yes please,” you answer with a polite smile, then turn back to Dieter, whose scowl has softened, “C’mon.”

He sighs and his shoulders release, then he relaxes back into the barstool. Neither of you say anything as you take a sip of the drink, then you turn to him, “I know. Like, um. I know that he’s there sometimes. But I don’t—“ you shake your head, “I don’t want to know.”

He sits up and leans his elbows against the bar, turning to watch you. You chew on your bottom lip and watch the ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink.

“What was he trying to tell me?” you ask finally.

“I don’t know,” Dieter frowns, “I couldn’t tell.”

You saw Ethan cross into the threshold. Through some kind of an otherworldly osmosis, he was absorbed by the membrane that met the two of you at the end of the silent, iridescent wormhole.

“Why would he come back?” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

“Why do any spirits come back?” Dieter shrugs and takes a big sip of whiskey, “Unfinished business.”

All you can think is that it better be a fucking apology. He owes you that much. Ethan was so fucked up that night. Did he even know what he was doing? Or had he been planning it?

The man that woke you up in the middle of the night on Christmas and made you get into his car with the intention of totaling it… that wasn’t the man you married. You wonder how much coke he had really been doing in the weeks, maybe even months, leading up to the accident. Towards the end, it became commonplace for him to be out all night without explanation.

He would stumble in at 7am, talking a million miles a minute, a sharp sniff interrupting his monologue every 10 seconds, hands trembling like your grandma’s when she started showing symptoms of Parkinson’s disease. When he finally crashed, he’d go to bed and sleep until the sun went down, where he would isolate himself for a day or two. Then he would go out to run orders to your clients and not come back until 7am. Rinse, wash, repeat.

One night, when big, fat snowflakes were fluttering to the ground outside in big, he was standing in front of all the order boxes ready to go, making sure he had everything. You came up behind him and wrapped your arms around to his chest, laying your cheek against the back of his winter coat, “Can you come home tonight? I miss you.”

“Baby, I’m with you all the time,” he chuckled, placing a hand over yours, rubbing his thumb against you affectionately.

“That’s not what I mean,” you told him quietly. His thumb stopped undulating and his body tensed. Your heart was pounding in your chest when you finally admitted out loud, “I’m worried about you, Ethan. I think it’s becoming a problem again.”

You let go as he stirred beneath your embrace, turning around to face you. His body only became more rigid, shoulders tensed up to his ears, jaw gnashing, as he assured you, “It’s not a problem. I promise. I’ll come home after dropping these off, ok?”

He pressed his lips your forehead, sealing his promise with a kiss, and you mumbled, “Ok.”

He didn’t come home until the next morning. You weren’t surprised.

“You ok?” Dieter nudges you.

A lie waits, ready to roll off the tip of your tongue. Instead, what comes out is the truth.

“No. I don’t think so,” you take a sip and look down at your drink, “But, what can ya do?”

“Mmm, I think I have something that could help,” Dieter mutters in a suggestive tone. Your heart skips, then you look at him and realize he’s pressing a joint up between his lips, “Wanna go for a walk?”

This brings a smile to your face, but you protest, “I didn’t bring a coat, it’s still chilly outside.”

The joint bobs as he frowns and grabs his jacket, “Use mine. I’m fucking sweating, anyway.”

—

The passersby barely pay the two of you any attention as you stroll at a leisurely pace through the park, passing the joint back and forth. His sepia fleece jacket hangs down to your knees and keeps you almost too insulated.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, tasting the vapors of melting snow clinging close to the earth. The sunshine seems to melt away the foul mood you were in earlier. In your euphoria, you trip on a crack in the pavement, stumbling a bit. You steady yourself and giggle in embarrassment.

“So glad you don’t have anyone following you with a camera right now,” you comment.

Dieter plucks the roach from his lips, holds the intoxicating smoke captive in his lungs, and offers it up to you, “How do you know we don’t?”

You scrunch your face up and make a full 360, scanning for any potential paparazzi, and shoo the roach away. He exhales and shrugs, then tosses it into a disintegrating snow pile, “I’m just kidding, I think I’m off their radar for the time being.”

“Yeah? Have you been a good boy, Dee?” you giggle. The way his whole body seems to perk up at the question is not lost on you.

“Not so much that as I’m not the biggest shitheel in the media at the moment,” he smirks, looking you up and down through his sunglasses.

You hum and nod, although you have no idea what he’s referring to, “Ah, yes. That one guy did that one thing.”

He laughs, “There’s always another guy doing another thing. It never fails.”

“Ol’ reliable,” you respond, then tilt your head in curiosity, “How is your divorce going, then?”

“Boring, next,” he groans.

“No no no, sir, you told me my dead husband is haunting my home today. Even the scales.”

“Are you sure you’re not the press?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

And, of course, it’s a joke. But that side glance gnaws at your gut the same way that Ethan’s narrowed eyes did. Looking at you like you’re an informant.

‘I didn’t tell anyone about the ink, Lou.’

“What?” your shoulders slump. You come to a standstill, and stammer, “I wouldn’t–no, what?”

He stops, too, and turns to you, “I’m just kidding, Lua.”

“Oh,” you breathe a sigh of relief, “Ok. I’m not, um, trying to be snoopy.”

“You are way prettier than a cartoon beagle,” he smiles, then starts walking again. You catch up to him and try not to let the way your stomach flutters show on your face. It does. He smiles wider, then it fades to a frown as he shrugs and scratches his neck, “The divorce is going. Annie is staying at the house until it’s finalized, so I’ve been living out of hotels, which gets old,” a sly smile creeps across his face, “It is a little easier on the dating front, though. Living in hotels, that is.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sex is just better in a bed. A little more room to work with than the bathroom of a club or the backseat of a car, you know? Plus, then they don’t feel like they have to leave right away.”

“That’s probably why I prefer those places. Don’t have to stick around afterwards.”

He grins at you, “Is that right?”

Something sparks at the middle of you when you look over at him and shrug, then he licks his lips and nods, looking ahead.

“So you’re dating people?”

“I don’t think dating is the right term,” you frown, “More just, um… casual sex, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Since when?”

“Does it matter?” you tuck your hair behind your ear and look down.

“No, not at all,” he nudges you, so you look at him and see the good will on his face. “I just… Well, I’ll really kick myself if I could have been begging you to sleep with me this whole time.”

Your mouth is all of a sudden very dry. You blush and chuckle, then shake your head, “I’m looking for no-strings-attached situations.”

“I am all about no-strings-attached,” he touches his fingertips to his chest and grins, peaking his bloodshot eyes over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Mmm, no, see, we have strings,” you sigh, then count each of the following points on your hands, “I don’t fuck clients. Or friends. Or celebrities going through very public divorces.”

Or people I have a big, giant, throbbing crush on.

“My heart,” he clutches the front of his shirt theatrically.

You giggle at his reaction. The conversation dies momentarily, and the sounds of the city fill the cool air between you. You feel compelled to elaborate, “I’m not ready. With the dead husband and all that. I don’t want a pity fuck, or a goddamn significant other. I just want to get off, then I want it to be over. No strings.”

He nods, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants, “No judgment here, m’dear.”

#psychomanteum #psychomanteum au #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year

Note

Absolutely adored your last story!

If you don't mind, I'd like to request something too. What about Miguel's reaction to the reader telling him they are with child? 👀 Feel free to write this to your heart's content 🩷

Have a great day! x

I'm not usually a fan of writing pregnant scenes unless and until it is absolutely required. Given Miguel's backstory, it is definitely required haha. So hope I did your ask the due diligence.

Hope you like it 💖💖💖

---

Magic

The digits in the clock changed with a click. It was past midnight and somehow, you couldn’t sleep. You laid still, soaking in the silence and taking comfort in the soft pale light that filtered into the room.

Arguably with what you learnt yesterday, your mind should have been a warzone but instead it was a question paper staring back at you, waiting for you to choose the right answer. You preferred the battle field. You sighed, the warm hand that rested on the peak of your hip trailed up higher making your skin feel smooth as if you were made of butter.

He pulled you closer to him, even in his sleep he craved for you presence. You had been warned about him, to not marry him and yet you heeded to no one’s advice. Instead, only choosing him when any struggle arose. He was always the answer, you couldn’t be without him and with how he nuzzled into your neck seeking comfort, you knew you held some value in his life too.

So if you were going to choose him again, you were having to say goodbye to a different chapter in your life.

“You're still awake aren’t you?”, he asked you, his voice raspy as he stirred from his sleep.

“How could you tell?”, you asked still laying as you were.

“Reading you has always been a part of my reflex.”, he mumbled with pride as he placed a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle, now turning towards him to hide deeper into the panes of his chest. Skin on skin, there was no telling where his limbs intertwined with yours. The steady rhythm of his heart only made your throat drier.

“A charmer, even in the dead of night.”, you traced your finger over his collarbone to tuck your hand beneath his arm in the end.

“My spells won’t work on anyone else.”, he spoke with his eyes closed, still caught in the in between.

You didn’t intend to wake him, he was tired as is and now you were keeping him up. It stung you, the one thought that had been on your mind since yesterday. You were failing, in being a wife and now, as a mother.

“Because you’re the magic.”, his words dripped like candle wax, beautiful and yet it burned your heart.

“Only you think so.”, you closed your eyes, hoping to fall asleep as his hand rubbed your back, the soft gesture easing you to relax.

“Puedo preguntarte algo?”, his words had a little slur to them as you hummed in response.

“Why did you hide you were sick this morning?��, the calm in his voice made your eyes pop open as you drew in a sharp breath, now with him holding you so close, he could read you like a book.

“There was nothing to hide, Miguel.”, you were digging a deeper hole.

“It wasn’t all too concerning to trouble you.”, you were now wide awake.

“Mi cielo.”, he murmured.

“Come to me with all your troubles, por favor.”, even as he spoke you could tell this had weighed him down.

You were still thinking it through when he prompted you again, “So?”, he was lulling you to give up the truth.

“Why did you then sneak off to the doctor’s?”, now he was awake too. There was a certain bite to his words, crisp with tension and worry.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to tell that he was afraid, you could feel it in the way his muscles stiffened. The thought propped up again. That you were failing, at being his lover and his wife by keeping things from him.

But was your guilt and fear more important than his feelings?

To have put him through the worry of fearing he was going to lose you too.

He was always the answer, he would give up everything for you if you asked and you would do the same. Selfless for eachother that it often put you in a spot to make decisions for him.

But what would he say?

Did you want to put him through the pain of his past by placing a child in his hands?

“Because,”, you looked up at him, to note his gaze was already on you, hooked on your every word.

“I’m carrying your child.”, you let the words slip from your tongue, like you were letting go out the helm of your ship towards what could be the point of it’s destruction.

You were sure, that having lost his daughter once, he wouldn’t want to put himself through that heartbreak again. You watched as he tensed up again, to slowly rise up to rest his back against the head board.

“Oh.”, he said, but you couldn’t tell from his sober tone.

“So nothing life threatening.”, he reached out to caress your cheek.

“No.”, you drew yourself close to him. Ironic, that many believed you lit up his world but he was the fire to your winter. You only found respite in his arms.

“When did you come to know?”, he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Yesterday.”, you told him, to which he hummed taking in the information.

But his eyes slid to yours, “Why didn’t you tell me?”, the way his eyes looked pale in the dim light, you not confiding in him had hurt him.

“Miguel, you know the life I come from.”, you turned serious, that somehow in his presence you couldn’t continue to lie anymore.

“What if I’m not a good mother? What if instead of building this family, I wreck it instead?”, you asked, your blood turning cold with images of this fear manifesting in your mind.

“And it would result in you being heart broken, over the child you lost.”, you slumped into the cover like a little pebble, giving in to the pull of your panic.

“I love that you think of me always, mi ángel.”, he reached for your waist to pull you up over his torso such that you could meet his eyes.

“But in this circumstance, you’re wrong.”, his index finger smoothed the wrinkles on your forehead as you fought back tears.

“I can see it in your eyes, you will be an excellent mother. Your love is endless and patient, you made me believe in all this again.”, he gestured to the setting around you.

“So don’t let your fears destroy you.”, he wiped the tear as it landed on your cheek.

“As for me.”, he paused, his eyes turning distant for a second.

“As much as I loved Gabriella as my own,”, he ran his fingers through your long hair.

“She wasn’t.”, he pursed his lips.

“This variant of mine had everything I could only dream off. Replacing him meant I only enjoyed a life that was a lie.”, he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Which hurt more when I lost it.”, you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Nothing was real from the beginning.”, he gave you a lopsided frown, which broke your heart as you felt his pain as your own.

“Almost as close to a figment of my imagination.”, he inhaled deeply to sigh.

“But you.”, the sadness vanished and in it’s place happiness restored his features.

“Our home.”, he looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s all real.”, he smiled, his eyes slowly trailing back to you.

“So no, this wouldn’t hurt me.”, he nudged your nose with his as though this was all you had to remember, to never forget that he was sure of this.

“I’ve wanted this, I want this next chapter for us. It's time.”, he confided in you as he closed his eyes to pull you closer, to rest your forehead on his and when you did, the question paper in you mind vanished. It didn’t have the answer you wanted to choose, because in this second you had both chosen to choose eachother.

“You surprise me in the best ways.”, you told him as you reached up to take his other hand.

Holding onto his fingers, you guided his hand over to place it over your womb and when he opened his eyes, there was a new passion in it. A new fervent resolution that what he had now, he would protect with his life, that his entire life was right here in the confines of his arms.

With that burning desire, he caught your lips with his. It was a sleepy kiss that was my no means perfect as the ones in the morning were but it was surely more important. You and him weren't going to be the only ones in this house anymore.

“Like I said.”, he spoke over your lips.

“You are magic.”, he said as he trailed his fingers over your lower abdomen.

So you kissed him again, softly, your hands scaling the incline of his back to hold his neck.

But he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Vamos, mami. You need to have a good sleep.”, he placed you into the side of your bed with a sudden air of discipline, as he had remembered what time it was.

“I’ll make you fresh lemonade in the morning to combat the sickness and also –

“You need your sleep too, papi.”, you cut him off before he began to panic and pulled his hand over your waist as he chuckled to settle into your covers.

“Bien, bien.”, he calmed down settling into the same lazy rhythm with his hand slung over you that finally made sleep arrive sooner than what you both had expected.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099

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zombiisong · 9 days

Text

Here's the Primo I drew yesterday! :D

I've been having a lot more fun with my sketchbook recently! I've been enjoying myself a lot shading stuff, since greyscale on paper feels a bit easier than digital :3

Hope you enjoy this as much as I did! 💕

#papa i #papa emeritus #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus primo #papa primo #ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #my art #ghost fanart #fanart #traditional art #traditional sketch

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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months

Note

Hey could you do fluff fic for David 'Deacon' Kay x wife reader where they spend their day together after hectic week? She's school teacher. Tag me later. Thanks!!

Of course! This was a fun one; thanks for the great request!! Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!🤍 @pear-1206

Hectic Relief

Warnings: reader is an elementary teacher (I didn't specify which grade, just implied younger kids), hectic week, lots of fluffy comfort, kissing.

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest (it goes with the end [and makes me smile😊])

“Yes, Drew?” you ask, smiling at the young boy as he lowers his hand.

“When is Sergeant Kay visiting again?” he inquires.

“Hmm… Well, he’s really busy this week, but I’ll ask him to come back soon.”

Drew nods with a bright smile. He loves your husband, Deacon, and asks about him often. Since Deacon came in for career day, Drew and several other students have become big fans of his.

“Can he come Friday?” Drew continues.

“Why Friday?”

“It’s my birthday!”

“Oh, I see. I’ll ask him, but remember what Sergeant Kay said last time? He’s really busy at work, so he may not be able to.”

“Can’t you make him?” someone else asks. “My mom makes my dad do stuff all the time.”

You chuckle at the implication that wives have control over their husbands before gesturing for everyone to pipe down.

“I’ll see what I can do, Drew,” you promise. “But either way, I’ll make sure you have a good birthday at school.”

Drew nods, and you think the day will be easier with the idea of Deacon coming in soon. It only takes an hour for that hope to be crushed, as the week takes a turn for the worse.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon sighs. It’s only Tuesday morning, and his week is already feeling long. He hasn’t seen you since Sunday night. Yesterday, a call ran long, and you were asleep before he came in. You moved closer to him in your sleep, but he had to leave before you woke up.

“Everyone ready for another night of overtime?” Rocker cheers before pretending to cry.

“I vote we just let the criminals take each other out this time,” someone mumbles.

“If my wife wasn’t working in this city, I’d agree,” Deacon says, surprising everyone.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your free hour, while your class is with another teacher, you drop your head to your desk and take a deep breath. The kids are restless, you’re tired, and each day this week seems longer than the last. You send Deacon a quick text to let him know you’re thinking of him and love him before turning your attention to the stack of papers on your desk.

Across town, Deacon is sitting in Black Betty, wondering when he’ll hear your voice again. It feels like the longest week of his life, and each passing minute makes him miss you more. His phone buzzes, and he smiles for the first time in hours as he reads your short message. Luca slams on the brakes and yells for backup before Deacon can answer, but he knows you understand. Even if it’s unfair to you and hard on him.

✯✯✯✯✯

By Friday morning, you feel part zombie, part teacher. The small gift you got for Drew and the card you signed from you and Deacon are sitting by your bag. You hope it’s enough to cheer Drew up even without Deacon stopping by to see his favorite of your students.

“Happy birthday, Drew,” you tell him when he enters the classroom. “This is from me and Sergeant Kay. He said to wish you a happy birthday and that he’ll come visit as soon as he can.”

It’s a lie; you haven’t even talked to Deacon in days, but you know he would be here if he could. He loves the kids and would do anything to help you out.

Drew’s smile falls just enough that you notice. He thanks you, anyway, even though he’s clearly disappointed his favorite SWAT sergeant won’t be dropping by today.

“Alright, class. Who’s ready for Fun Friday?” you ask, smiling as you pray for a nice day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon clenches his jaw as he slams back against a brick wall.

“30-David, shots fired on the 4 side,” he radios.

“Copy. Shooter on the 1 side,” Street replies.

“We’re going to be here for a while, aren’t we?” Deacon asks.

Hondo nods beside him, and Deacon prepares for another day of missing you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Drew, buddy, I know it’s your birthday, but we need to finish this lesson before recess. Let’s sit down and focus, then we can play,” you say, struggling to stay calm.

Drew huffs and falls back in his seat. When you see tears gathering in his eyes, you feel like you’re right behind him. It’s only 9 a.m., and it is the perfect, overly hectic, and stressful end to the longest week of your career as a teacher.

“I promise we’ll do something fun this afternoon, but it’s still school.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon answers the phone, suppressing a stressed yell when Hicks tells 20-David to meet 50-squad on the other side of the county to aid with a hostage situation. He leans his head against Black Betty, wondering if they’d really notice if he took the rest of the day off.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sends you a quick text, surprised when you answer almost immediately. He doesn’t know if he’ll be home tonight, and his heart breaks at your disappointed reply, even though you try to cover it as a caring and understanding message.

Deacon knows that being a cop’s wife is just as hard as being a cop, and he wants to find a way to make it easier on you.

“Guys, I need a favor,” he calls as he puts his phone away. “I need to be home for dinner. I haven’t heard my wife’s voice in almost 5 days, and if I don’t hear it today, you’re all going to know about it.”

Luca chuckles as Street’s eyes widen. “Yes, sir,” they all say together.

“She’s braver than any of us,” Hondo muses teasingly.

“Better looking, too,” Deacon replies.

✯✯✯✯✯

The final bell rings and your shoulders slump as you say goodbye to each passing student.

“Thank you,” Drew says quietly.

“You’re welcome, Drew. I’ll make sure Sergeant Kay visits soon, okay?”

He nods. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s okay, Drew, thank you. Have a good rest of your birthday and enjoy your party tomorrow, bud.”

Drew smiles as he nods excitedly before rushing out. The stack of papers on your desk has dwindled slowly, and you carelessly push it into your bag, unwilling to stay in your classroom for a minute longer than you have to.

Sighing in relief as you start your car, you hope to see Deacon tonight, even if only long enough to kiss him and hear him say goodnight.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Told you we’d do it,” Hondo says, clapping Deacon’s back, “now please go home. Your desperation is wearing off on us.”

Deacon would reply if he had more energy or if Hondo was wrong. He has no shame in admitting that he misses you and needs your comfort after such a hectic week with seemingly pointless chases around Los Angeles County.

He’s back to the station and on his way home to you before Luca notices he left.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Deacon steps into the house, he immediately feels lighter and happier. You look up from a paper and smile, setting it aside. Beginning to stand, Deacon moves faster than you and practically falls on top of you, pinning you to the couch with a tight hug.

You move one arm across his shoulders as he buries his face between your neck and shoulder. Running your fingers through Deacon’s hair, you relax in his embrace, and the week away seems worth the wait.

“I missed you,” you tell him, scratching his scalp.

“Missed you more,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on you.

“We should order dinner then, right?”

Deacon nods, and you smile as you pull his phone out, typing in your birthday to unlock it. Once the food is ordered, you move your hands to Deacon’s tense back muscles.

“Seems like your week was as long as mine,” you muse, gently kneading a knot in his lat muscle.

He groans before sitting up, pulling himself close to you. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, kissing his cheek quickly before asking, “How are you?”

Deacon catches your chin, pulling you in for a real kiss as he replies, “Better now.”

Once your dinner is delivered, you sit with your thigh pressed against Deacon’s as he tells you about the string of robberies and hostage situations spanning the county this week. He’s more interested in hearing about your week, so he doesn’t go into much detail before asking about you.

“Well, today was Drew’s birthday and he was pretty grumpy,” you tell Deacon, moving your legs across his lap.

“Not Drew, he’s my favorite!” Deacon exclaims.

“I think he was upset that you couldn’t come to class on his big day,” you excuse, running a finger along Deacon’s cheekbone and down his jaw as you add, “and he was tired, like someone else I know.”

Deacon nods, leaning against you.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper.

Deacon shakes his head, making himself comfortable beside you, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you close.

“If we go get ready and get in the bed, we can cuddle easier,” you bribe.

Deacon’s eyes open as he asks, “Promise?”

Chuckling, you link your pinky with Deacon’s and promise. He holds you to it, pulling you into his arms when you’re changed and ready to relax. He hugs you tightly, refusing to let go even though you don’t try to fight him.

As you fall asleep in Deacon’s arms, you whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Deacon replies, entering into the best sleep all week.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up, Deacon has moved you closer to him in your sleep. It’s as if he thought he’d wake up and you’d be gone. Brushing your finger over his facial features, you wish you could admire him all day, but you need to get up and get a glass of water.

As you try to move out of his grip, it tightens. You finally give up and decide to wake him up.

“Deac, baby, I need to get up,” you say gently.

“It’s been a week, you can’t leave,” he mumbles.

“I just need to get some water, handsome.”

Deacon seems to debate his options before unhooking his arms and saying, “Two minutes or I’m coming to find you.”

“I have no doubt.”

You return in less than two minutes, but when you offer to make breakfast and bring it back, Deacon rolls out of bed and sleepily follows you to the kitchen. Standing behind you, he keeps his arms around your waist as he helps you prepare breakfast, trailing kisses up your neck each time you turn your head.

“I’m glad we’re both home now,” you tell him, turning in his arms to kiss him.

“Me too,” he replies, pulling you in for another kiss.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes hours, but you finally convince Deacon to talk about himself and his week at work. As you direct him to the patio, you find yourself in his lap, enjoying the sun after a week inside with your rambunctious class.

“You’re too good for me,” Deacon says, interrupting his story.

“You’re too good for me,” you repeat.

Deacon smiles at the challenging look on your face, aware that you will win any argument he tries to make. This conversation is practiced, and he knows how it ends: an agreement that you are soulmates, completing each other and perfect for one another.

“I think we need a vacation,” you tell him.

“Or a second honeymoon,” he suggests, kissing your jaw.

“But you have to come visit my class first or I’ll have a riot on my hands.”

“Technically, you’d have a better chance of getting me there for riot control.”

You laugh, leaning against Deacon’s chest as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see if I can make some time this week. For you and the kids.”

The sun dips below the hills, and you wonder where the day went, though you know time spent with Deacon always goes too fast.

“Same thing tomorrow?” you ask, pulling your legs up as Deacon nudges you to shift.

Lifting one of your legs so you’re sitting in his lap, your face just above his, Deacon smiles and answers, “Anything with you.”

You tilt your chin down, brushing your lips across Deacon’s. He sighs, raising his hands so one is on your waist and the other behind your neck. Settling on his thighs, you lean against Deacon’s chest as you kiss him, letting his love and comfort calm you from the inside out.

“I love you,” you say against his lips.

“Love you more.”

You push your hands against his chest, taking a deep breath before arguing, “Impossible.”

Deacon tilts his head, a bright smile making his eyes look deeper and darker than usual. He’s irresistible, and as you kiss him again, he promises himself not to let work get in the way like that again.

Pulling back, you suggest, “You should bring your whole squad next time, the kids would love it.”

“If we can spare the time.”

“'If'? You can't do it, not even for me?” you ask with a pout. “Your wife?”

Deacon nods, telling you he’ll find a way.

“It’s that easy,” you whisper, kissing his nose.

“Because you cheat,” Deacon accuses.

“Because you love me.”

Deacon can’t argue, so he pulls you down for a slower kiss, happy to spend another slow, lazy night in your arms before doing it all again tomorrow.

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay x reader #deacon kay #deacon kay fluff #fem!reader #requests #swat cbs

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circusinthewalls · 5 months

Text

- The Devil in Pink <3 Acrylic Ink, Highlighter + Colored Pencil on Paper ---------------------------------------------------- Drew my little take on Ghost's mask yesterday at the absolute crack of dawn since I couldn't sleep, but wanted to wait til the global strike was over to post.o7

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holdupjack · 1 year

Text

The Letter

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Mild Angst to Fluff

——————

Your P.O.V:

I've been friends with Hermione for years, from Hogwarts, to when she almost married Ron, to now where we share a two-bedroom apartment and where she watches me make dinner.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you how rude it is to stare at Granger?" I ask but her gaze doesn't let up, her eyes seem to be trying to tell me something.

"Can I ask you something Y/n?" She asks and I nod.

"Mione, we've been friends for years, of course you can" I laugh out as I cut the onions.

"Did you ever like Ron?" She asks and my eyes flick towards hers.

I like Ron now, granted I didn't like him when they got together but that's the typical thing, right?

You fall in love with your best friend only to watch someone get to love her the way you want to?

"Of course I do and did," I say but she narrows her eyes.

"You’re lying" she mumbles and I laugh.

"Granger it's not that serious," I say and she gets up from her seat on the island.

Her footsteps are near me as I stare at my now fully cut-up onion.

"I almost married him and you didn't tell me how you really felt," she says and I raise my head looking at her confusingly.

"Hermione, it wasn't my say. What did you want me to do? Tell you that I didn't think he was right for you?" I ask, getting slightly annoyed at the interrogation.

"Who do you think is right for me?" She asks and I groan, putting the cut-up pieces in the boiling pot.

As I set my hands down on the counter, my eyes turn to her hand. My breath gets caught in my throat at the old parchment paper, my mind flashes back to all those years ago.

My stomach flips as I drew closer to Hermione, she was sitting at her usual table at the library.

In my hand was a confession letter, she always told me that she would love it if someone would confess their feelings in a letter so she could keep it forever.

I stop in my tracks as Ron walks next to her and bends down to speak to her.

The way her smile shined and the blush on her cheeks grows, I knew that I hadn't been fast enough.

I quickly turned away and walk out of the library, hiding the paper in my belongings for the years to come.

Haven't seen that paper in a year, since we moved in together.

I'm pretty sure I hid it in my trunk with the rest of my memories from Hogwarts.

"Where did you find that?" I whisper as my eyes keep their gaze on the relic.

"I found it in your old trunk while I was searching for your old house scarf, I couldn't find mine yesterday" she whispers back and I look away, the feeling of embarrassment stabs my stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asks and I scoff, looking up at her and turning off the stove.

"How could I? I was a confused kid in love with the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen! I was too late by the time I got the courage, Hermione!" I laugh out, but the tears in my eyes told her how much this was hurting.

"You looked so happy with him...I couldn't do it" I whisper, a tear or two falling from my eyes.

She reaches up and wipes them away, a soft smile played on her lips.

"Y/n, you're so smart but so stupid at the same time" she mumbles and I look at her.

"Yeah, that's really helping at the moment Mione" I mumble back sarcastically and she laughs, pulling me into a hug.

A soft kiss is placed on the crown of my head, as she softly runs her fingertips against the skin of my back.

"I called the wedding off with Ron because I was still in love with you" she whispers and I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing.

"When you told me about your new girlfriend the months before my wedding, I couldn't take it" she whispers again and memories flash through my mind

"Granger! Guess what!" I say with a smile as I walk into the Weasley home.

Her smile shines beautifully as my presence seems to calm her at all the cakes that surround her and Ron.

"Yes?" She asks and I take a seat next to Ginny and her.

"I won't be the sad girl without a date at your wedding!" I say and her smile falls a little.

"What?" Hermione asks and I laugh.

"You know that girl I've been seeing?" I ask and she nods slowly.

"Were official! I asked her to be my girlfriend!" I smiled proudly.

I'm moving on for you.

That's what I thought.

Hermione stares at me dumbfounded but soon smiles.

"Uh...that's great! Yeah..." she mumbles looking down.

The feeling of another kiss planted on my head shakes me from thoughts.

"I hated the thought so much that I called off my own wedding so I wouldn't have to see it" she laughs and I snort.

"Hermione that's a little extreme" I laugh back and she shrugs.

"Okay maybe there was a few other things" she mumbles and I roll my eyes playfully.

Pulling away from her, I smile softly.

"Did you like Daphne?" I ask.

"No, I hated her" she admits and I laugh loudly.

"She was nice, and she understood when I broke it off with her," I say and she groans.

"She tried to get in your pants all the time, I almost used one of the unforgivable curses" she jokes and I roll my eyes.

Suddenly she takes my hands and pulls me to the couch, taking the seat next to me.

"I love the letter, I probably read it a hundred times" she whispers and I smile softly, giving her a chuckle.

"Knowing you, that's not a far probably" I mumble and she giggles, opening the letter.

"Oh, god don't read it to me" I laugh and her smile grows.

"Dear Hermione" she starts and I groan loudly, throwing the pillow over my face.

"I know we've been friends for years, and this is probably quite sudden but I feel like you deserve to know the truth." She continues as I try to suffocate myself from this moment.

"With the threat of war looming over the wizarding world, I'm afraid I won't be able to tell you if I don't make it." Hermione's voice goes soft, too soft for my liking.

"I love you"

"I've always thought my feelings for you would disappear but they only strengthen over the years."

"I know this might destroy our friendship, but at least I told you"

"I can die without regrets... -Y/n" she finishes, I take the pillow off my face and look over at her watery eyes.

"Hermione, don't cry" I whisper and she sniffles, looking back at me.

"Knowing that you almost DID die during the battle and I probably would have never found this...makes me thank whatever higher power for keeping you with me" she whispers back and I smile.

"Can I kiss you?" She asks as crimson overcasts my cheeks, I nod slowly.

Hermione blushes deeply, and leans towards me. I meet her halfway, a soft passionate kiss is shared between us.

The sparks of old feelings reignite between the two of us tenfold.

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic #angst #fluff

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iwanty0uu · 1 year

Text

“𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑃𝑢𝑚 𝑃𝑢𝑚 𝑁𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟“~𝓁ℯ𝓁ℯ ✧˚ · . ✧˚ · . ✧˚ · .

pt2…

A day had passed since you met connie in the auditorium of your physics class, and since you didnt have that class everyday, you decided it would be the best spend time in the library getting a head start on a paper. Your fingers quickly moved along your purple keyboard, eyes focused on the screen making sure to not accidentally delete the second page of your assignment. You were good at focusing but the bald boy wouldn’t stop crossing your mind. “hm” you thought to yourself while picking at the piece of paper with his number on it. It took everything in you to not give in and text him last night, but you stayed strong. Your focus shifted back on your paper determined to finish at least three pages as you thought of treating yourself to Starbucks and catching up on your favorite game, the Sims. “I wonder how he’s holding up in class without me” ..

~ he wasn’t holding up at all actually.

Connie grew restless shifting uncomfortably in his seat waiting for you to enter the large metal auditorium doors, he expected a brown head held up high, looking right at him with big eyes that could easily hypnotize anyone, but instead, he was met with the beady rat eyes of a bald, barley blonde old man. His grey tuxedo was made with that itchy string like material, and his black bow tie sat tightly around his fat red neck. He looked as old as time, and the wrinkles on his face made his lizard like face, made it no prettier. Disappointed, Connie continued to reminisce about yesterday. It was too soon to start missing someone he barley communicated with, he just met you and shared more words on paper with you than he did using his mouth. He couldn’t help but regret not searching you down like a hound yesterday when he had the chance.Not making his situation any better, his friends noticed how antsy Connie was and Connie could already smell their lame ass jokes. “Damn connie, you whipped over a girl you just met? You think you alecia keys or something” Jean asked, opening a Poland spring water bottle and putting it to his lips, when he was suddenly met with a fist in his stomach, causing him to choke. “Bro don’t piss me off, circus pony lookin ass, you just mad cus she noticed me and not your long headed ass.” he said mugging Jean who had tears running down his face, holding his stomach from from the pain now doubling over on his chair.” Well fuck you too” he said slapping the back of Connie’s head, the sound echoed through the room making the brunette girl laugh.

“Sasha i know your big ass not laughing” connie said turning around abruptly “my fault gang” a deadpan looked shot across her face as she put her hands up,“no need to be mean best friend” she said patting his shoulder gently. “Somebody pissed in his Henny this morning” Eren mumbled while finishing the last of his brownie. “You taking edibles at 10 in the morning…did you even drink tea?” “ why so sassy bro? we didn’t tell your girlfriend to skip class” A dark skin boy said putting his pre-rolled blunt in the Calvin Klein pouch that rested over his shoulder. “whatever man..” Connie was stressed, and school was no help, everything reminded him of you, he thought every girl with the same orange purse you had on yesterday could have been you, and scanned every room he entered for your black curls, the deep coconut infused scent of vanilla he noticed when you sat in front of him seemed to be everywhere, he smelled it so much that he thought he was going crazy. So when his friend group mentioned a kickback they were throwing, just for some close friends, he hoped desperately that you would be there. After all it was his life long best friend Sasha’s idea, and she did it because she hasn’t seen connie so strung on a girl in years..literally since his freshman year of high school, and what type of friend would she be if she didn’t use her stalking skills to get her friend the girl of his dreams?

She walked into the library holding her phone and computer, sitting next to a girl with grey leggings and a black essentials hoodie. Her nike socks were stretched a over her ankles,bringing out her Military style retro Jordans.

Her puff was slightly covered by her hoodie while the top still peeked out,and her head rested on her arms on the table, it would be awkward to sit directly next to a sleeping person, so she mindfully placed a chair across from her, began to work. “okay, so mystery girl probably lives in the dorms, imma check the residents list first” she mumbled to herself as the familiar scent of coconut and vanilla swarmed her nose. She furrowed her brows as she lowered the computer screen in front of her, which dimmed the light on her brightened face, the sleeping girl sat up and stretched, picking up the paper on the table and placing it into her pocket. “is that her?” Sasha didn’t have time to question herself, but she did question the girl. “Um excuse me?” she said softly, “I’m sorry if i woke you up but like..aren’t you the pretty girl from my physics class yesterday?” as you stopped packing yourself up and looked at her you remembered the brown haired girl who waved to you ,“you didn’t wake me up girl” you smiled, face stretching as a yawn crept out. “oh shit yea i remember youuu whats your insta i wanna be friends” you said pulling your phone out happily. “damn i love her already” Sasha thought to herself almost forgetting about the link up, “Oh! my friends and I are having a kickback later, and i wanted you to come, ill text you the details okay boo?” Your face lit up quickly and you mentally screamed, you had been waiting for this moment for what felt like your whole life, and trusted the girl even though you didn’t know her name, so it wasn’t a surprise that you showed up in your best “i put dat shit on” outfit.

Walking into the house, the heavy scent of weed filled your nose, “damn i hope i don’t smell like an eighth after i leave this shit” you texted your best friend Serenity who laughed at your remark. Your light blue jean skirt hugged your waist and barley covered your ass, as the tied black and white, printed baby tee revealed the curve in your back slightly. Your brand new dior converse glistened as it reflected against the light, your small silver Telfar stood pretty around your chest, separating your breasts. Your curly hair was in the same puff from earlier and silver jewelry adorned your ears,neck, nose, arms, and belly button, you love you some jewelry. Greeted by the brunette, which you now know as Sasha, the rest of the crew said their hellos and you made your way to Connie who was occupied talking to some dudes. Eyes looking up, tongue still on the half rolled blunt, a smile didn’t even creep on his face,it flew naturally into its rightful place. He stood up walking to you, spliff in hand and now all perfectly rolled up. His excitement got ahead of him, he didn’t want to seem desperate which he was, so he pretended to dust of his jeans and slow his pace. “Wassup y/n” he said giving you a side hug, “hey connie” you said taking in his scent, he smelled so sexy, your panties dropped right then and there. “i heard Sasha invited you?” he asked as he motioned for you to follow him,”you drink?” he asked pointing towards the Smirnoff pack resting in the cooler. You grabbed one and leaned on the kitchen counter, heart racing in your chest.

You both talked for what seemed like an hour, mingling with the main group and then finding your way back to connie, you weren’t wasted but felt a buzz from the alcohol and weed, making you a little more impulsive than usual. “hey connie, can i call you con?” you asked innocently, the look in your eye made his body stiffen “of course” he said softly, as soft as he possibly could, you looked so delicate and gentle, and was surprised when your staring contest was forced to an end as you stepped closer to him, tugging on his shirt slightly to reach his level, and kissed him. The taste or alcohol mixed with the sweet vanilla taste of your lipgloss, the kiss deepened as his tongue swiftly moved against your bottom lip asking for an entrance, you felt like only you two were in your own universe. Sasha nudged her friend Mikasa who looked up over the kitchen counter and at your make-out session. “Sasha you need to make this fucker pay you for your elite services” she giggles dapping Sasha up. You slyly pulled away from the kiss getting all shy, and stated quietly “ i want a little more privacy..can we do this somewhere else?” You hoped to go all the way for the first time with Connie, but the reminder of the pudge that sat in front of you almost made you change your mind. You simply decided that if he really liked you, he would deal with all of you, even the parts that you disliked. So as you hesitantly followed connie to an empty room, you sucked up all your fear and hoped for the best.

The night was everything but over.

#attack on titan #black reader #black coded reader #connie x black reader #fem reader #iwanty0uu #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x black reader #aot connie #aot x you #connie x black y/n #connie springer

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enchxanting · 1 year

Text

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation.

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax.

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #scream 2023 #jack champion #heathers #heathers au #high school au #ethan landry fanfiction

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ikimaru · 2 years

Note

Hi sunny.. its been a while since i checked my tumblr.. just wanna say i really love your art and it reallyyyyyy inspired me to draw.. back before i only drew on paper but when i saw your art i too wanna try to do digital art! And so i did! I havent been drawing for a while.. but yesterday i picked up a pen and drew something.. it made me feel like i wanna keep drawing again.. uhmm if its not too much to ask.. can u give me some tips on how you do that lineart? I cant quite explain it but its just so amazing how you do that! Ya know when the lineart becomes that color.. lol when i draw my art looks so flat.. even if i added some shadows and stuff.. im just super curious on how you do art! Well anywayyy just wanna say it i love you and your art ☺️💖 thanks for being an inspiration!! 😘

heyy thank you so much! happy to hear that ;v;

ohh there's various ways, generally speaking unless your brush is a fully opaque line that entirely blocks out what's below, some of the color is gonna pass through, especially if you put it on multiply or add a filter on top like overlay, it's gonna change colors, I think you've mainly see me do one of these two lool (the first example is literally the SAI default brush and I only started using it again recently)

if you have a fully opaque line and want to change color anyway, you have to do so manually! hope this helps c:

#Sunnyasks

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sluttyten · 2 years

Text

morally gray area

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Nineteen: Role-Playing & Uniforms w/ Hendery

Word Count: 8,217

Once, during your second semester of university, you’d taken an elective class titled Good and Evil in Literature. You’d learned lots about the gray space between morality and immorality, about right and wrong, abuses and imbalances of power. It had been a few years since then. You’d changed majors twice, briefly taken a semester off to travel abroad, yet still you found use in your daily life to apply what you’d learned about the morally gray space.

Hendery.

He was a gray space.

A rather large one, or perhaps a small one, teetering right on the very narrow border between right and wrong.

The young professor was handsome and funny. He was smarter than some of his colleagues gave him credit for, and kinder than most of them as well.

You were at last in the final semester before you would graduate university, moving on into your professional life, and this is when you enrolled in a course taught by Professor Huang Guanheng, or Hendery, as he insisted on being called.

Quickly it became clear that Hendery was very intelligent. He brought up current topics from around the world at the beginning of every class, encouraging his students to weigh in. He spoke multiple languages--Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, English, a decent bit of Japanese--and was well-traveled. He was an ace in his field, having already achieved a doctorate degree even in his early twenties.

Maybe you were a little in love with him.

You certainly weren’t alone in becoming enamored with the young professor. Hendery was charming on top of everything else, and frequently he wandered around campus or had open office hours, during which there was bound to be at least one student seated in the chair across from his desk or a couple students walking beside him across campus.

You couldn’t help your attraction. His intelligence is what drew you in the most. Sitting there in class listening to him, you would just get lost in it, forgetting to take notes as you just listened to him explaining things in his smooth voice. Admittedly, more than once in those early weeks, you got wet sitting there in class.

You’d heard the term sapiosexual before, and at the time you’d thought it was ridiculous. It was something pretentious asshole men said to women who they thought were stupid---”I’m a sapiosexual, I like intelligent women”---but sitting there in Hendery’s classroom, you at last truly understood it.

It was sexy listening to someone talk about something that they’re passionate and knowledgeable about.

You spent your fair share of time sitting in Hendery’s office during his open office hours, folding yourself into that seat across from him or at least gathering in the doorway on the more popular days. You’d walked with him on campus, sitting down for lunch with him and a few other students several times.

Sometimes you liked to deceive yourself into thinking that Hendery might have a crush on you too. The way he would smile softly at you while you were sitting across from him, your feet up on the seat, your knees to your chest as you told him all about this topic you were researching for your mid-term paper. There were times he would catch your eye during class, flash a smile at you, and hold your gaze for a moment longer before moving on.

Momentously, there was a rainy day when you were leaving the building at the same time as him, and Hendery had lended you the dry space beneath his umbrella. He’d accompanied you to the bus stop, waiting there with you beneath his umbrella, talking and laughing about an anime you’d both been watching.

You wanted Hendery to like you as more than just a student. You were of a similar age, so there was nothing inappropriate in regards to that. But the touch of the morally gray space is what held you back from making your feelings known to him. He was your professor, you were his student, and as much as you might want to believe otherwise, a difference in power came into play. So you often did your best to eliminate that distinction when you were alone with him.

On a sunny yet chilly Wednesday afternoon just past the mid-point in October, you were seated in Hendery’s office. You’d brought two lattes from the campus coffee shop, a paper you wanted his feedback on, and your delightful presence, hoping to get him in a relaxed mood. The week was winding down, and this weekend held an extra day, which almost everyone was excited about.

“Are you doing anything fun this weekend, Hendery?” You ask, sipping your latte, watching him through the thin veil of rising steam. You’ve got one leg crossed over the other, your foot bouncing along to a song that’s playing quietly from his laptop’s speaker.

He’s scanning through your printed copy of your paper, the tip of a pen held between his teeth as he holds it ready in his hand to mark anything he thinks needs changed. “Hmm?”

“The extra-long weekend.” You lean forward, sitting your cup down on the edge of his desk as you scoot your seat closer. “An extra day for fun. Will you be having any?”

Hendery glances up then, his teeth release the pen. “That’s this weekend?”

You nod. “And the following weekend is the department’s Halloween party. Are you coming to that?”

Hendery drops the pen completely, leaning back in his chair to regard you instead of your paper. “I’m pretty certain I would get in trouble if I skipped. Everyone’s been telling me I have to go. Costumes are mandatory. Hangovers the next morning are also probably mandatory.” He lifts the second latte that you brought just for him, and he takes a sip before he asks, “Are you going?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. There’s a series of bonfires that burn all night, which is from some old superstition about warding off spirits. Usually there’s someone screening a horror movie.” You have memories of the past few Halloweens flashing through your mind as you tell him, “There’s dancing and awards, photo ops, and alumni come in from out of town for it, so it’s great for networking as well.”

Hendery nods. “What’s the dress code? Like, what are you wearing for a costume?”

You consider making up a costume, but as Professor Hendery lowers his gaze back to your paper and he takes a drink of the latte you brought for him, you decide to tell him the truth.

“I’m going as a naughty schoolgirl.”

Hendery chokes and spills the rest of his latte all at once. He coughs and hits his fist against his chest as the mouthful of latte suddenly goes down the wrong way. You sit there, watching a blush rise in his cheeks, as he hurries to grab a handful of tissues to wipe up the spilt coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

The copy of your paper sitting on his desk is a sodden mess now, but you don’t mind. It was an excuse to be in his office anyway.

Hendery mops up the coffee with a second handful of tissues, dumping them all in a small trash bin beside his desk. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “I, um… What did you say?”

You laugh.

He’s avoiding looking at you for the moment, pretending to be drying a spot on the desk that was never even touched by the latte.

“I said, a school girl,” you smile as you say it, taking note of the way his eyes flick up toward yours. “There really isn’t much of a dress code for the party, just nothing that’s too revealing, you know. They still have to pretend like there are some standards.”

Hendery nods, dumping the last of the tissues (and after a final look at your ruined paper, that as well) into the trash. He clears his throat. “So, my idea of a Chippendale probably wouldn’t fly?”

Now it’s your turn to choke on your drink, though you burst into laughter rather than just choking. Hendery laughs as well, his eyes following you as you fall back in your seat. You’re still laughing as you say, “I would love to see that. The faces of the department heads when you walk in wearing that!”

The visual image of the other professors’ faces makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, but the sobering thought is when you actually imagine what Hendery would look like in a Chippendale costume. You can just imagine him, shirtless in a tiny black pair of shorts, the cuffs and collar of a nice shirt with a little black bow tie all that adorns him.

Your laughter tapers off, and suddenly you realize you’re looking at him, and he’s looking right at you. And you’re thinking about him half-naked.

“Um, I should probably get going. I have a night class to get to.” You quickly stand up, scooping your bag off the floor and grabbing your latte from where you’d sat it when your laughing fit began. “I’ll see you tomorrow for class, and I’ll bring you another copy of my paper. Try not to spill a latte on it next time,” you tease.

Hendery smiles, a smile that’s soft around the edges, warming his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You can’t get the image out of your mind. Hendery in his tiny Chippendale outfit.

It doesn’t help anything that after the weekend there’s a rumor circulating the department that a small group of students spotted Hendery at a nightclub. You try your best not to listen to it (mostly because you don’t want to hear about him grinding up on some pretty girl at a nightclub), but you can’t help overhearing the gossip.

Which leads you eventually right back to your seat in Hendery’s office.

He has the finished feedback on your paper, and as you sit in the rest across from him, you find yourself fidgeting a lot more than normal. You can’t look at him because every time you do you either picture a bare chest with a little shirt collar encircling his neck, or you just visualize him in a club with another girl’s lips on her throat. You can actually see a hint of a hickey peeking out from beneath the collar of the sweater he’s wearing today.

Hendery clears his throat, and as you look up at him, he tugs at his collar a little, pulling it higher in an attempt to cover the mark.

“The paper’s good. You’re detailed, thorough. You hit all the points.” Hendery slides it across the desk to you. “I didn’t really have many notes, but I did mark them in there. Uh,” he laughs a little, sitting back in his chair and running his fingers along the back of his head. “I’m really not sure why you thought you needed feedback on this, it’s pretty much perfect the way it is. It’s a really great deep-dive into the topic, with some really interesting perspectives I’ve never considered before. Have you thought about pursuing this more?”

Your chest goes warm.

“I have, actually.” You smile and pull the paper from the desk, holding it in your lap and flipping through the pages for any signs of Hendery’s blue ink markings. “It took me a few years, some traveling abroad and discovering myself, and then a tiny bit of failure, but I landed in this major.” You spot some blue ink, but it’s just Hendery starring a section and a scribbled compliment. “I realized how much I love this area, like it’s a big interest of mine.”

You could talk about it for ages. This paper is just a condensed version of what you would really like to write, but this isn’t your graduate thesis, so you decided a very, very abridged version would suffice. Though as you sit there in Hendery’s office, you do expand more on the topic.

To your delight, Hendery asks questions. He mostly just sits and listens, smiling and nodding along, watching the way you light up as you talk about this.

By the time you’re wrapping up, you’ve forgotten about the mental imagery of him in a skimpy outfit or at a club. You’re just replaying him sitting across from you, excited to listen to you talk about this topic that you’re deeply passionate about.

You don’t even realize how late it’s gotten until your phone buzzes, and as you glance at the notification on the screen, you catch sight of the time as well.

“Oh!” You sit up straight. “It’s already after six. I didn’t even realize—“

Hendery too has straightened in his seat. Already he’s reaching to close his laptop, grabbing his phone. You’re on your feet, rolling his notated copy of your paper tightly and squeezing it into your bag.

“I should get going. I’m sorry, Hendery. I didn’t mean to use up all of your office hours today. You probably had actual work to get done.” You’re not looking at him, just trying to get this damn paper in your bag, but it keeps jamming up against something and not going in.

And then you feel his fingers touch your elbow.

As you turn your head, the rolled paper slides right into your bag. Hendery is standing right there at your elbow. He’s come around his desk, his bag over his shoulder, jacket draped over his arm, keys and phone in hand. “It’s alright,” he tells you with a smile. “I would much rather listen to you talk than worry about grading freshmen papers.” He glances towards the door and then back to you. “Can I walk you to the bus stop? It’s getting dark out.”

You agree, appreciating that he cares enough to not let you walk in the dark across campus.

It’s nice walking side by side with him. With night falling, a cool breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that line the campus paths, you feel much more relaxed than normal with him. Without a desk between you, without the confining walls around you, you feel freer to just talk with him without the idea of professor-and-student there.

“Have you decided on your costume for the party next weekend yet?” You ask him.

Hendery makes a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll just be a professor.” He looks sideways at you, a look that you’re not sure how to interpret.

“Well, that’s boring,” you tease, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

“How’s it boring? You’re going as a student! That’s what you are.” His argument isn’t as sound as he thinks it is.

You shake your head. “It’s not quite the same. I’m going as a school girl. A naughty school girl, remember.” Hendery’s gaze only touches briefly on yours now, staring absolutely forward as you keep walking. “The Chippendale dancer idea wasn’t bad, maybe keep that option available.”

Hendery laughs.

“I heard that you were at a club over the weekend,” you blurt out before you can help yourself. “Seeking inspiration for the Chippendale character?”

Again, Hendery laughs, but it’s not quite the same as the last one. This one is a little tense. “No, my friend invited me. The club just recently opened, and his friend is a DJ for the club, so he got us in for free.” When you look over at him again, he’s tugging once more at his sweater’s collar, pulling it up over the bruise on his neck. He clears his throat. “Are you really going dressed as a school girl? Like the little uniform and everything?”

This is where the barely-there layer of formality entirely fades away. Hendery turns his head to the side, looking right at you.

You tilt your head. “Mm, maybe. Guess you’ll just have to see at the party.”

Up ahead at the end of the path is the bus stop, and your bus is sitting there, a few people climbing on. You’re going to have to run if you want to make it in time.

“Thanks for walking me, Hendery!” You start to jog away, calling over your shoulder. “See you tomorrow!”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, watching after you as you make it to the bus and hop on just in time.

You spend pretty much the entirety of the day leading up to the department’s Halloween party to get ready for it.

You go out to buy some last minute necessities for your outfit, you spend quite a while trying on various iterations of the costume, and finally as the hour draws near, you check yourself out in the mirror hanging on your apartment wall.

This probably borders on inappropriate.

A cropped button-down that’s tight over your tits ends about two inches above your navel. Your skirt is a pleated solid gray, just long enough to cover your ass. And then you spend a little extra time deciding between fishnets, thigh highs, or foregoing them altogether.

By the time you walk out of your apartment to head to the party, you’ve got your hair fixed in two little pigtail braids. You topped your outfit with a full-length blazer that stretches down to about mid-thigh, offering some modesty while you’re on the bus. You went with the stockings that leave just a few bare inches of thigh beneath the skirt, some cherry red lipstick, and a pair of heels just to really add to the sexiness and the provocative theme of the costume.

The night is nippy. A sharp breeze cuts right through the shield your blazer provides, completely freezing your bare legs, and as you walk from the bus stop to the site of the party, you begin to wonder if you made the wrong choice. Sometimes avoiding hypothermia is a better option than being sexy. Even if a hoe never gets cold, you think a hoe might just get a little chilly.

As soon as you arrive at the party, you feel better. Bonfires ring the area, putting off a lot of heat, and in the press of the crowd, bodies packed in together, alcohol flowing, there’s no such thing as the cold.

The lawn that stretches out in front of your department’s building on campus has been transformed for the event. In addition to the bonfires, there are a few trees as well as a fountain topped by a statue of a man who holds some mysterious significance to the university. Lights are strung through the tree branches, a temporary bar/snack area has been set up under the safety of the lights, and there’s even another smaller firepit there. There is an inflatable theater screen at one side of the lawn, and as you arrive, there are already a couple dozen people stretched out on blankets or chairs in front of the screen as a horror movie plays. Some people are dancing, some are just talking and networking.

You find your friends first.

For the last few semesters since you transferred to this major, you’ve grown close with some of the students you’ve shared most of your classes with. A few guys and girls, but most notably Mark and Renjun.

Mark’s dancing with a girl, whispering something in her ear that has her giggling. Renjun stands a few feet away, arms folding with a mildly disgusted look on his face as he pointedly doesn’t look at them. But when he sees you his eyes open wide, mouth falling open. You let the blazer fall open to reveal the tight and short outfit inside. Renjun looks at you in total disbelief.

“Look at you!” He calls out at your approach. “Is it wishful thinking or an actual costume?”

You’re not the only one dressed in scandalously little, and everyone follows right along the borderline of the parameters. But, to be fair, you’re dressed like a slutty schoolgirl while you’re surrounded by professors, which does seem a bit more like toeing the line of propriety than the slutty nurses and slutty vampires you’re seeing.

But something about your costume just feels right. Like Renjun said, maybe it’s more of a wishful thought than just a costume.

“Very sexy,” Renjun says, and even Mark pulls away from the girl he’s dancing with to look at you. Their frequent tag-alongs, in the form of Jeno (who is Mark’s childhood best friend) and Haechan (who would have the world believe that they’re in a love triangle) and freshman Jisung (who idolizes them) are there too, each of them ogling you a bit.

Jeno and Jisung have the decency to pretend like they’re not looking, but Haechan checks you out openly, even going so far as to suggest that since he’s dressed as a police officer, he should punish you in private.

You want nothing to do with that, so you leave them all behind to go in search of something to drink.

This party is such an interesting thing, you think as you walk around. To have professors and students mingling, alcohol, music and dancing all together just seems like a situation begging for disaster.

You can’t entirely help yourself as you search the crowd for Hendery.

You highly doubt that he actually would come to this dressed as a Chippendale dancer, but you’re excited to see him regardless. You pass other professors, even stopping to chat with some of them. Classmates and strangers alike check you out in your costume, especially once you lose the blazer, leaving it safely in Renjun’s care when you cross his path again.

It’s been over an hour that you’ve been wandering the party when you finally see him. Hendery is standing beside a bonfire at the far end of the lawn from everything else, and he’s busy talking to two other professors, so he doesn’t see you at first. But you take your time looking at him.

Tonight, he’s dressed as a policeman. The dark navy outfit is fitted perfectly to Hendery’s frame, tight on his ass, hugging his shoulders. There’s even a pair of handcuffs glinting on his belt.

As you walk around the fire, waiting for his conversation to wrap up, you hear a distant announcement from a speaker. Something about a costume contest, possibly.

Party-goers begin to walk away from this bonfire, away from the other bonfires around you. You watch as the party begins to draw in toward the center. Hendery and the other two professors begin to make their move as well. He lags a step behind them, his head swiveling side to side as he walks, and you move quickly up behind him, you give the handcuffs a quick tug.

Hendery spins around.

You hold your hands up in surrender, quickly saying to him. “My apologies, officer. I just had to see if they were real.” Over his shoulder, you see the other professors drawing further and further away without noticing they lost their colleague.

He smiles as he looks you up and down. “You really did come dressed like this. Aren’t you cold?”

The couple of drinks you’ve already had since you arrived at this party have loosened your lips a bit, perhaps more than they should’ve been. You smile, leaning in closer to him, as you whisper, “And what if I say I am cold? Will you warm me up, Professor?”

Hendery’s throat bobs. He looks around quickly to see if anyone is paying attention.

They’re not. There’s not so many people out at this end of the lawn anymore, and the few that are out here aren’t doing a lot of people-watching.

When Hendery turns his head back around to face you, his gaze seems drawn down to your bare belly, then a little higher to the low cut of the top, unbuttoned down over your tits. You take a small step closer to him.

“Or should I call you Officer?” You ask, reaching again for the handcuffs. “I like a man in uniform.”

Hendery tips his head back, staring up at the sky, or maybe praying for forgiveness. But with his head tipped back like this, you can clearly see the remnants of that hickey low on his throat, barely even concealed by the collar of his uniform.

You badly want to press your lips to it, to remake that mark as your own.

You’ve almost definitely loosened up a little too much, inhibitions thrown to the wind as you fully act on your thought, leaning in and just brushing your lips over Hendery’s throat.

Hendery gasps, but he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t make any move to get you to stop, only wraps an arm around your waist. Actually, he probably pulls you even closer instead of putting any amount of distance between you and him.

It’s probably at the same moment as you remember who you are and what you’re doing that Hendery recalls the exact same thing. You’re a professor and a student, touching in ways that a professor and a student shouldn’t.

Yet you tilt your head back, leaving the skin on his neck cold as your lips move away.

“Do you like me, Hendery?” You ask, and your hands clutch at the front of his police costume. You can feel his heartbeat, and you stare into his warm brown eyes, waiting for an answer. You want to kiss him, more so than you did even a moment ago because now his lips are right there in front of yours. Pink, inviting. If you just pressed forward on your toes, you could do it.

“I like you.” He says, but he says it in the way anyone might say it. I like you as a person. I like you as someone I have a professional relationship with.

You sigh. “But not the way I like you?”

“I didn’t say that.” His throat bobs again, his lips twitch. Hendery’s tongue dips between his lips, wetting his bottom lip. “I like you in the only way I can right now. You’re my student, I’m your professor. There are professional boundaries I don’t think I can cross, no matter how much my subconscious tries to push me over them.”

Can you even blame it only on the alcohol? Maybe it’s just you getting tired of holding all of this wanting inside you?

You tug on his shirt at the same time as you press forward on your toes, crushing your lips against Hendery’s.

He kisses you back.

It’s wrong and you both know it. Wrong, but you’re not entirely sure why. You’re both consenting adults. You both want each other, you’re of a similar age, neither of you is committed to anyone else. But there’s the power he holds over you, the rules of conduct (written and unwritten). So, you find yourself in the confusingly gray space between morality and immorality. To do it, or not to do it? That is the question that weighs heavily on you at that moment.

Though, not heavily enough that either of you ends the kiss.

Hendery’s arms both press against your back, pulling you in so you’re held against his chest. The handcuffs at his belt dig against your hip.

A sudden explosion of voices from the crowd in the center of the party is what finally draws you and Hendery apart.

You stare at each other for a moment, tangled together.

“I shouldn’t have—” Hendery starts to say, but you kiss him quickly again to make him quiet. “You can’t just—” Again, you kiss him to shut him up, and this time Hendery smiles as he kisses you in return. His hand comes up behind your head, and you think he’s just going to kiss you deeper, but instead Hendery tugs at one of your pigtail braids.

This time, when you open your mouth to speak, he’s the one to dip in and kiss you. You push at his chest, and Hendery backs away only enough to give you room. “Should we go somewhere else? We’re a little exposed out here.”

“You’re the one that started it.” Hendery’s hand falls away from your head, fingertips trailing down your arm to your hand, which he picks up in his. “I don’t know–Do you think we could maybe put a pause on it? I’ve never done this with a student before, and, honestly my head is reeling a little right now. If anyone sees us, if you’re just drunk right now, if the board of directors finds out….”

You don’t know why, but you put your hands to Hendery’s cheeks and bring his mouth down to yours.

The kiss seems to calm him a little bit.

“I’m not drunk,” you whisper the words against his lips. “Or maybe I am a tiny bit, but I swear to you, Huang Guanheng, that I would’ve kissed you a hundred times sober. What’s the saying? Drunk actions are sober thoughts, or something like that.”

Hendery laughs a little. “I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“No, but it’s true.”

Movement over Hendery’s shoulder catches your eye, a shadow passing in front of the next bonfire along the outer ring of the lawn. You push him lightly backwards, and Hendery must be able to read it on your face because he immediately drops back fully.

“Your office,” you tell him as you quickly walk by him, “Meet me there in, like, ten minutes.”

You don’t wait to hear Hendery’s answer. You don’t look over your shoulder at him, nor do you look in the direction of the bonfire where you’d seen a shadow passing by. You don’t look to see if anyone else could have possibly witnessed what just occurred between you and Hendery.

Straight for the building, you’re confident that you’ll be able to get inside. They have the doors facing the lawn unlocked for people to use the restrooms inside during the party, so no one looks twice at you for walking through the doors of the building, and you do make sure that no one’s watching as you slip through the door of the stairwell.

Hendery’s office is on the third floor, and you make it there with still several minutes left in the ten minute window you gave him. The door is locked, but you once watched him reach above the door lintel for a secret key when you met him for his office hours. Stretching up on your toes now, brushing your fingertips just barely along the dusty edge of the doorframe, your fingers brush against a cool piece of metal, knocking it to the floor. Your fingers are shaking a little, though you don’t realize it until you’re trying to fit the key in the lock, but you somehow manage, and you even replace the key in its hiding spot before you slip inside and close the door behind you.

You consider turning on the light or leaving the room dark. You wonder if you should sit in your usual seat, maybe sit in his seat, or just pop yourself right up to sit on the edge of his desk.

You’re nervous, excited, very much liking where this is going. You had hoped that Hendery had feelings for you too, and even if his feelings are just sexual, you don’t really care. You can do just sex. You’ve done that with guys before that you had feelings for. You’re almost used to the one-sidedness of love, so if that’s what this turns out to be with Hendery, well, there are only a few weeks left in the semester before you graduate, then you won’t have to see him again if this doesn’t work out.

You’re still fidgeting around, unsure of where to sit or how to position yourself, though you did finally decide to turn on the desktop lamp to offer at least a little bit of light, when the door finally opens.

All at once, your confidence floods back in, and you drop down to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing one leg over the other as you lean back on your hands.

“Hello, Professor.”

Hendery steps inside, never pulling his gaze away from you as he presses the door shut behind him. He leans back against it.

“You’re really playing it up, aren’t you? The naughty school girl.”

You smile at him, trying to look your most coquettish as you say, “And what if I am? Are you going to pretend that you don’t like it, sir?”

Hendery pushes away from the door, coming closer until his knuckles fold against the desk top on either side of your thighs. His lips are a breath away from yours. “No. I like it a little too much, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you knew about it, sweetheart, but I have a thing for little outfits like this. Anything with a short skirt, tiny tight top.” His thumbs stretch out from his fists to brush along your thighs. “So imagine my total surprise when I turned around and saw you tonight like one of my wet dreams in the flesh.”

You shiver. “Have you dreamt about me, Professor?”

Hendery makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Too many times. You’d think I’m gross if I gave you even a ballpark number. How many nights I’ve dreamt of having you right here on my desk, spread out in an outfit too similar to the one you’re in right now.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Your voice comes out breathy. You tilt your face up, wanting him to kiss you again, and Hendery’s eyes flick back and forth, trying to read any sign in your eyes of this not being exactly what you want. “Pretend like you’re dreaming, Professor, what would you do with me?”

The first thing he does is kiss you again, his hand flying up to grip your little pigtail braids both in his hand as he kisses you roughly. Hendery presses you flat onto your back on the desk, and you slide your hands over his chest, one hand sliding up to his shoulder, the other down to where he’s got his shirt tucked into his pants.

“You know, I like uniforms too,” you tell him as Hendery’s mouth drifts away from yours to kiss along your jaw. “Authority figures are very sexy.”

Hendery makes a small sound, his hand sliding up the outside of your thigh. You eagerly spread your legs apart, and he sinks forward. His hand reaches up under your skirt, flicking it up to expose your panties, and that’s when you reveal, to Hendery’s absolute delight, that you’re not wearing any panties.

He stands up straight to look down at you. “You’re actually a little fucking slut, aren’t you? To wear such a short skirt like that in public without any panties. Any perverted boy could’ve seen your pussy, sweetheart.”

“Are you going to charge me with public indecency, sir?”

Hendery makes a little face of confusion, and then he laughs. “Am I roleplaying as a cop, or do you want me to be just your professor?”

You think about it for just a moment before you decide. “You are my professor, but tonight you’re a cop. I wanna see your baton.” Boldly, you paw at the front of his pants, fingers snagging at his belt.

Hendery grabs your hands, and you let him push your arms above your head, pinning them against his desk. “Well, as your arresting officer, I can’t let you lay hands on me. Or else I will have to show you my weapon.”

“Oh, God, please do.” You rock your hips up off his desk, and with the way that your skirt is flipped up and your pussy bare to Hendery’s eyes, there’s no hiding how much you want him.

Hendery slides one hand down to your pussy, fingers sliding between your folds. “Do you submit to a strip search?”

You nod. “Of course, anything for an officer in uniform.”

Hendery’s hand leaves your wrists above your head, the other hand still spreading your slick around. His fingers make quick work of the buttons on your blouse, though to be fair there aren’t many of them. Soon your top lies open to either side of your chest, revealing the pretty bra beneath that pushes your tits up nicely.

Just two days ago you sat in this office chatting about your developing ideas on your study topic until that conversation spun off into talking about anime with him. Sitting there then; you hadn’t even imagined you would find yourself like this, exposed beneath Hendery’s eyes, spread out on his desk, his fingers plunging into your pussy.

How are you ever going to sit in this room again and just have a casual conversation with him without thinking of this. Without vividly remembering the feeling of Hendery’s fingers curling against your walls, his thumb at your clit, the press of his cock through his pants against your leg.

“Is that your baton, sir?” You moan. “I wanna see it.”

Hendery, clearly amused by you begging to see his cock, gives in. He undoes his belt, unbuttons his shirt, and then he undies his pants as well. “You want to see it so badly, sweetheart, here it is.”

When he drops his pants, you lift up on your elbows to get a good look. Much like he’s dreamt about you, you’ve spent hours fantasizing in class about him.

Seeing his cock, you’re well-pleased.

He’s exactly what you’d hoped for.

Exactly as over-the-top as your fantasies would have let you believe. Hendery’s packing a big cock, above average, swollen and heavy as he wraps his hand around it right now. He moves closer to you, and when he taps his cock against your clit, your thighs jump, a surprised whine spilling from your lips.

You’re a little too intoxicated on the idea of fucking Hendery to even think about the repercussions of unprotected sex. You know you’re both likely sexually active, that even with your birth control there’s a risk of pregnancy, that if he cums inside you it’s gonna be messy on top of those other two issues. But at the moment, you don’t really care.

You just want him.

You reach for him, forgetting what he’d said just moments ago about not touching him. Maybe he forgot too, because when you wrap both of your hands around his cock, Hendery doesn’t voice a single complaint.

His fingers return to playing with your pussy, and you stroke his cock with both hands.

The tip of his cock still glides right against your clit, your pussy growing wetter and wetter, each stroke of his fingers inside you making more of your arousal leak out.

Hendery’s head is lowered so you can’t see his face, but you know he’s just watching your hands on him, watching his fingers disappearing inside your sweet pussy. He grinds into the circle of your fingers, thrusting forward to meet your downward strokes.

“Officer, shouldn’t you check to make sure I’m not hiding anything deep inside?” You spread your legs a little wider on the desk.

Hendery looks up at your face then.

“You sure about that, sweetheart? Offering yourself up, I could charge you with attempting to bribe an officer too.” Hendery brushes your hands away from his cock, his fingers leave your pussy as well. “Though, I suppose I’d better do a really thorough search, hadn’t I?”

His hands take over from yours, slicking his cock with his arousal beading from the tip.

You moan, sitting up on the desk just enough to slide your arms out of your shirt. The material flutters down over the edge of the desk, and as soon as it’s out of the way, Hendery pushes his hand gently against your sternum, pressing your back flat to the desk again.

The lamplight falls right over your face, casting a decent glow up at Hendery’s face and body above yours. You like this angle. Seeing his bare chest, his toned abdomen, and of course that blessedly big cock.

“Fuck me,” you beg quietly, not really meaning for him to hear it, but of course he does.

Hendery teases his cock along your slit, and he leans down over you, holding himself above you with one arm to the side above your head. His fingers brush the top of your head as he lowers his face over yours. “Maybe I’ll let you go on good behavior. No charges for your indecency or bribery.”

“Yes, Officer.” You breathe in, taking a deep breath as Hendery rolls his hips forward, impaling you with his cock. You groan a little, perhaps a bit underprepared, and Hendery pauses, but you bring your hands up to his sides, squeezing against his ribs. “Just give it to me.”

Hendery’s the kind of big that just fits so snuggly and perfectly inside you, not leaving a single spot inside your pussy untouched. He’s really a perfect fit, his lower abdomen right there against your clit, his cock fully buried inside you as he grinds in small circles and just lets you get used to him.

“Fuck, ‘Dery,” you mumble, sliding one hand to his elbow, squeezing. “This. Good. Should I have made a move months ago?”

He laughs a little, resting his forehead against yours, and he starts moving, pulling his hips back just to snap forward, driving his cock into you with shallow thrusts. Hendery pushes up, lifting himself up so he’s looking down at you as he fucks you.

He wants to see the way your tits bounce in your bra, wants to see your pretty pussy sucking around his cock. Hendery wants to look at you in this pretty hazy golden lighting, looking like a dream of his made real.

Since he fits inside of you so well, it’s like constant stimulation, and when Hendery actually starts to thumb at your clit again, it’s almost too much.

For tonight, you’re more than happy to just lie here on the desk and take it. His cock has you feeling boneless, feeling good, and maybe some day in the future you’ll be able to take a more active role, but tonight you’re finally fucking the man you’ve spent the last few months lusting after, so you’ll take the insane satisfaction his cock is giving you.

Your hands press against Hendery’s sides and his back, nails scraping and digging in. Hendery hisses and groans, thrusting in harder each time your fingernails bite into his skin.

The constant friction against your clit and the matching spot inside your pussy soon has you feeling close. You want to cum, you want him to cum with you.

You want to feel the pulses of his cum deep in your belly, feel your pussy throb around him as you cum. You want Hendery to mark you up, and you want to leave your mark on him too. Let people see it and wonder if you gave them to each other.

You don’t have to wait much longer for your wish. Hendery’s orgasm comes up faster than yours. He bows his head, and pulls out of you.

With one hand Hendery grabs at your skirt, pulling it down into place, but holding the front of it up so that as he jerks himself off, as his orgasm hits, Hendery shoots strings of cum across the inside of your skirt, over your pussy, upper thighs, and your abdomen.

Hendery drops his cock, pushing his fingers back inside your pussy, working fast to get you off too, his fingers paying special attention to stimulating your sweet spot.

The pleasure busts inside you, flooding through you, and your hips lift off the desk with the force of it. You can feel yourself squirting as you cum, dribbling over Hendery’s hand, leaking down onto the desk.

He lifts you up before you’re done, pulling you off the desk onto unstable legs.

“Can’t let you get your skirt too messy,” he murmurs as his fingers stroke you through the last waves of your orgasm. Your body is twitching, legs barely holding you up, only Hendery’s arm around your waist really keeping you upright.

You press your cheek against his chest, catching your breath, giving yourself a moment to recover from the intensity of that. Hendery just holds you, though after he pulls his fingers away from your twitching pussy you do hear him reach for the tissues in his desk, cleaning up his hand and arm and probably the surface of the desk too.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” Hendery’s tone is soft, distracted as he tries to clean up one-handed.

You don’t want to turn your head to see the mess, but you twist around anyway. “I made a mess. Feel like it’s not fair to make you clean up after me.”

“I don’t mind,” Hendery laughs a little. He runs his one hand up and down your back. “I thought it was sexy, kinda cute how you couldn’t handle my cock.”

“I could handle it!” You push at his chest, leaning back to frown up at him.

Hendery smiles, bumping his fingers beneath your chin. “Sure you did, sweetheart. Lying there all boneless, moaning like a whore for me, and all I could see was the whites of your eyes. My cock that good?”

You frown. “I think I need to knock you down a peg, Professor. Who let your ego grow so big?”

He just smiles at you affectionately. “Maybe next time you can prove to me that my cock doesn’t make you dumb. But if I’m right and you turn a little cock-dumb for me, then we continue private lessons, my sweet schoolgirl. If you’re right, and you can actually handle my cock, I’ll do whatever you like.”

You think about it, trying to think about what you want from him. But deep down you know, it doesn’t matter what you decide on, because he’s right. You’ll just default into a cock-dumb whore when you have him again.

“I’ll accept that bet.” You break out of his arms, putting a little distance between you and him, holding out your hand to him. “Shake on it.”

Hendery is all smiles as he takes your hand and shakes on the bet.

After that, you each pull your clothes back on. You start to grab a tissue to wipe at the mess of his cum inside your skirt and at the top of your thighs, but change your mind, deciding to wear it like a badge, a little secret present from your favorite professor. And besides, when your skirt is down, you can’t really see the splatters of his cum dried on your thighs unless you’re really, really looking for it.

“You might still want a tissue,” Hendery tells you when he notices you withdraw your hand. When you give him a questioning look, he points at his face and then at yours. “Your lipstick. You look a little like a clown, but I mean that in as kind a way as I possibly can.”

Hendery has a small mirror hanging on the wall of the office, and when you walk over to look into it, you see that your lipstick is smeared all around your lips. How Hendery’s face isn’t totally smudged with it, you don’t understand.

You wipe at it with a tissue until you’re satisfied that you’ve taken all of your lipstick off, but Hendery still watches you with a tender smile. He leans in, thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth, and then he kisses you again. His thumb presses lightly to your chin, tilting your mouth up against his.

“I’ll see you down there.” He murmurs, pressing one last kiss before he’s turning away, disappearing through his office door.

You wait a few minutes before you follow. You lock the door behind you, stop in the bathroom on the ground floor just to double-check your lipstick clean up and to pee, and then you rejoin the Halloween party.

It’s still going, and you don’t think anyone has missed you even though you were gone for a while. You walk with a little bit of swagger in your step, feeling the night air tickle against your bare pussy, the sticky feel of Hendery’s cum drying against your inner thighs.

You find your friends again lounging on the grass in front of the horror movie screening.

Mark is making out with the girl from earlier on the next blanket, and as soon as you arrive Renjun happily hands over your blazer. “I saved this from being used as their pillow,” he tells you, nodding over at the couple. “Where did you disappear to?”

“I was just making my rounds. Saying hi, talking with some of the alumni.” You sink down onto the blanket with Renjun, Jeno, and Haechan, though you use the blazer to keep yourself covered up. “I had a lesson on the gray space between what’s moral and immoral.”

All three of them look curious, but at that moment, the gray space himself walks by. Hendery winks, and you just smile to yourself, excited already by the thought of what your next time will hold.

#hendery smut #nct smut #wayv smut #hendery #wayv #nct #nct kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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zandiiangelspit · 1 year

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A Greater Memory Of You // Leon x Ashley

A simple seek and secure mission that had become a well of memories, haunting and traumatic but there was still some light in the form of golden hair and baby blue eyes. A rosy smile that kept him sane and grounded through the entire ordeal, made it bearable and something to fight for.

Who knew even during the worst week of your life could you find something so warm and beautiful. Who knew you could find home in a person.

It had been months since the events in Spain, or maybe longer as time began to bleed together. With the mission complete and over, life had returned to normal, or what little normality it seemed to hold these days.

Who knew even during the worst week of your life could you find something so warm and beautiful. Who knew you could find home in a person.

But now she was home, safe, never to endure such horrors again. Out of harm's way. Returned to her family and was secured from the outside world. It was unlikely she’d ever be alone again, always escorted by her security detail, kept well beyond arm's length for the rest of her life.

He often found himself looking back at the photo of her, once a piece of evidence now a momento he hadn’t the heart to hand in and get rid of. To see her smile again was bitter sweet. It brought him joy but each time the photo reminded him how he’d never see her again. It had never crossed his mind, especially after growing so fond of her, that the possibility of never seeing her once she returned home.

After spending every waking hour with her in mind, having her so close and beside him, learning more about her unbridled spirit and her captivating enthusiasm, to never see it again felt like a piece of him was now missing.

Something about her lifted his spirits, she was everything he never knew he needed. Sure, he has saved people before, stayed in contact with them and felt the relief of a life saved. But Ashley… he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Pining for her.

A knock at the door drew him from his spiral of plaguing thoughts, snapping him out of the daze he often found himself in. Tucking the photo back into his wallet he heaved himself from the chair at his desk.

To his pleasant surprise it was the welcome familiar face of Claire at his door. One of the few people who seemed to pull him back on his feet. Never judging him for taking longer than he needed, knowing the horrors that haunted him as well. Maybe too well, her own experiences are like a creeping shadow on her own mind that she could never fully shake off. She just had a better way of hiding it.

“Hey,” she started, smiling the best she could while seeing the lost look in his eyes, knowing how distant he seemed to be, especially lately, “I know you’re still recovering and taking your time but I thought I’d bring you this..” Offered out to him was a large white box, neatly wrapped with twine and a brown paper envelope tucked in with it.

Furrowing his brow, he looked to Claire with some hesitation, her smile never faltering as she offered it out again to him. “Some M.I.B. looking guy handed it over to me yesterday, so I figured I’d give it to you directly before it gathers dust.”

“Huh, some gift basket ‘thank you’ I see,” he scoffed, taking the box and looking over the envelope for the way his name was written. His eyes softened and his heart nearly skipped a beat. It was handwritten, not typed. Just his first name, no full formal surname or title copied and pasted from a template.

“Oh yeah, sure. Probably some nice soaps or fancy cheese.” She chuckled, stuffing her hands back into her jacket away from the cold. “You get used to it..” Noticing the bewildered look on his face, she smiled to herself. Sure he was stronger and tougher now, but he was still that tender young hopeful man beneath the hardened exterior she had first met.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Claire announced, turning on a heel to leave the porch, knowing well Leon was now distracted. “Take care of yourself, Leon.”

Pulling himself away from the box, she had already taken her leave, looking up just in time to see her wave from the car as she pulled away. His eyes lingered until she was gone from view, dropping his eyes back to the box as he went back inside the apartment.

Setting the box down at his desk, he carefully pulled at the twine string, admiring the bow lovingly placed in the centre. Removing the envelope he studied his name again, a knot twisting in his stomach as he tentatively opened it. The paper inside was pretty and pastel, a border of floral filigree along the edges to frame the delicate handwriting inside. His heart nearly stopping as his eyes scanned the first few words,

“My dear Leon,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re happy and safe.

I could never find the words to truly thank you for saving me. Your kindness and devotion mean the world to me.

You mean the world to me.

I miss you…

Thank you again…

Maybe one day we’ll see each other again, I hope every day that we do.

Love,

Ashley

P.S. I hope this fits you. I decided this colour would suit you best, as your loyal stylist.”

He read over the letter a few times, subconsciously sat against the back of the couch, unable to pull himself away from the gift. His eyes kept going back to her name, the way he could see her perfectly even in the way she writes. There was a smile on his lips he hadn’t felt in weeks, not since the last time he saw her. His heart ached and chest grew tight, reading again the last few lines.

“I miss you too,” he quietly murmured to himself in the cold emptiness of his lonely apartment.

Standing up he moved to the box again, gently setting down the letter and lifting off the lid to reveal the tissue wrapped gift inside. Unfolding the soft orange paper, his smile grew and he let out an airy laugh.

Neatly pressed inside was a leather bomber jacket, near identical to his previous one now lost to an abandoned village in Spain. It was cleanly made, fresh and new. The fresh smell of leather and cotton filled the air with a faint scent of perfume. Her perfume. Clearly she had handled it before carefully packing it away, neatly wrapping it herself.

Pulling it out he looked it over adoringly. The lining was tidy and the sheepskin lined collar was soft to the touch. The leather was smooth and expertly tailored, a burnt umber collar with matching cream lining. The buckles were the same, all shiny and fresh, polished to match the brass colour zips.

Unzipping the front, he noticed it had one additional element, a small label beneath its patch of authenticity, a golden colour with dusky purple embroidered writing, adorned with a small heart.

‘My hero, love Ashley’.

His fingers gently brushed over the embroidery, too stunned by the immense care and love she had put into a gift just for him. The fact she has remembered such an insignificant fact about him, something so throw away and trivial in comparison to the greater things at stake.

He had briefly mentioned about his jacket while they took a breather one night, gathering their energy to continue through the castle they had unfortunately found themselves.

‘I’d offer you my jacket, however, it seems one of our unwelcome guests has taken a shine to it’. Leon signed, frustrated he couldn’t offer Ashley more comfort from the cold, especially since the rain had picked up and soaked them both.

‘It’s okay, I can manage,’ she smiled, trying her best not to show her trembling body or chattering teeth. Even with her jacket and adrenaline the chill has seemed through to her bones. ‘Could you not get it back?’

He sighed, checking his ammo count for a second time, ‘I would if I could, however I don’t fancy it now it’s burned and covered in gore. Don’t think it’d suit me.’

His smile was sarcastic as he loaded up another mag, her eyes following his hands then back to his face when she realised the jacket was no more. The explosion from his precise aim to a tanker earlier had consumed it along with the hoard they had been escaping.

‘Oh’ she frowned, ‘that sucks…’

‘Yeah, I loved that jacket. Got it with my first paycheque. A long time ago now…’ snapping the mag back into his pistol, he shrugged, ‘anyway, let’s get going. Got more important things to worry about than my choice in fashion.’

‘I’ll get you a new one, we’ll go on a shopping trip when we get home!’

He chuckled, meeting her hopeful expression with a raised brow. ‘A shopping trip? You got it. You can be my stylist.’

Ashley nodded enthusiastically, ‘yes! I mean, who doesn’t love clothes shopping?’

‘I’d happily watch paint dry with you over this hell any day.’ Her expression faltered, a soft flush across her face as she reached for his offered hand to her. Smiling up at him, she nodded shyly as she squeezed his hand, unable to respond to his remark with any kind of composure. It was endearing, how quickly she could go from level headed and confident to shy and hesitant.

Pulling her close to him, Leon smiled, raising her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. ‘But first, let’s get you home and out of the cold.’

Raising the jacket to his lips, he pressed his lips to the label, closing his eyes to savour the scent of her on the leather before it faded. Inhaling deeply then slowly releasing. His shoulders relaxed as he looked down onto it again, unable to stop himself from smiling, even though his heart was aching.

“Thank you. Ashley…”

Pulling it on, adjusting the collar and checking the cuffs, he shook his head to himself, impressed with just how perfectly it fit. Of course it did. Ashley has made sure it would. Even without a tape measure and reference, she knew fashion when she saw it. It was clear from her own choice of clothes, expensive and high end, neat and designer. She knew what she was looking for even from a brief summary and just by looking at him. Ashley knew his taste better than he did.

Glancing at the reflection of himself in the glass of the cabinet beside him, admiring the colour again, he noticed it would have matched the colour of her own clothes, the rich orange of her blaser. Ever thoughtful with a keen eye for the little things.

He now had a piece of her with him, not just a crumpled faded photo to remember her by, nor distant memories corrupted by nightmares. Just the simple gift of her remembering him, thinking of him, and missing him too.

Maybe one day they’d meet again and maybe he could return a greater gift to her. Though nothing would be a greater gift than to see her golden smile again.

#writing #fanfic #one shot #RE4 #RE4R #resident evil 4 #leon x ashley #ashley x leon #leon kennedy #ashley graham #leon kennedy x ashley graham #this ended up being a little longer than I thought #but still #bittersweet angst is my favourite

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