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dark-fics-4-you · 7 months ago

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After Hours Lesson

dark!Professor!Coriolanus Snow x f!Reader

A/N: i imagine coryo as being in his late 30s to mid 40s in this fic, but I left his age open to imagination. Reader is 21 and I imagine her as not being a virgin

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, somno, fingering, choking, strangling, drugging, teacher x student relationship, slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink

it wasn’t everyday that one of your university professors invited the entire class out to dinner at a nice restaurant, so of course you wanted to dress your best. looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt that the soft button-down white shirt and grey houndstooth jacket paired well with your pleated grey skirt, knee length white socks and black mary janes, and it was an outfit that would surely impress your professor.

only a couple other students had arrived so far and as soon as you made your way over to the table, you noticed his eyes on you. “y/n! sit by me,” he smiled at you charmingly, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. you nervously complied, shooting him a smile before sliding in to the open chair.

the entire night you could feel him looking over at you, even when he was in conversation with other students, his gaze always seemed to drift over to you.

it was your senior year at university and you had opted to take an elective class with a popular professor, professor coriolanus snow. you were surprised when you walked in on the first day and found that most of the students were women. apparently rumors about professor snow’s good looks had gone around the school, but you hadn’t heard anything about them when you were registering for classes, you just thought the course looked interesting.

“are you going to get a glass of wine?”

his question roused you from your thoughts and you blinked at him before he questioned you again. “well you’re 21, right?”

“i am, but i don’t know if i should drink tonight.” you replied nervously. “i mean, would that be okay?”

you looked around the table, noting that two of your classmates were also drinking.

“of course, y/n.” he told you before addressing the table, “dinner and drinks are on me, i’m paying for it all.”

you smiled at his generosity and thanked him before picking up a menu and browsing the wine list.

even though professor snow was in a conversation with the other students, when he saw you looking unsure about what to order he leaned over and pointed to an expensive vintage red.

“this is one of my absolute favorites. i think you’ll love it.” he caught the eye of a waiter and ordered you a glass before you could even think it over, much less process the price.

the appetizers were brought out to the table quickly, and you were excited to try the array of choices professor snow had ordered for the table.

before you could reach for one of them, coriolanus picked up the plate you had been eyeing and offered to serve you.

“oh, yes please, thank you very much professor snow!” you smiled at him and offered your own plate to him.

he placed two pieces of toasted bread on your plate before grabbing small bowl of the tomato sauce it came with to spoon some onto your plate.

his wrist slipped however and he accidentally dropped a bit of sauce onto the exposed skin of your mid-thigh, just below where your skirt ended.

before you could even react, your professor was apologizing profusely and he grabbed a napkin off the table and gently wiped up the red sauce.

you shivered when you felt his fingers brush against your skin as he cleaned you off and you felt a hot flush rising to your cheeks.

“thanks, i’m gonna um, finish cleaning this up in the bathroom.” you nervously told him, flinching away from his touch and rushing to the restroom.

you quickly locked yourself into a stall, breathing heavily as you tried to calm yourself. he was your professor! you didn’t want to be getting butterflies in your stomach at his touch.

you finished cleaning off the small remnants of the sauce on your leg, taking a deep breath and collecting yourself before going back out to the table.

your wine had arrived, as well as all of the entrees and you took a bite before trying a sip of the wine. it was probably the best drink you had ever tasted in your life and you looked over to see your professor staring at you with a raised eyebrow, as if to say ‘what do you think?’

“wow this wine is amazing!” you told him appreciatively and he grinned back at you.

“i knew you would like it, y/n. young ladies like you usually don’t have such good taste, but i had a feeling you would appreciate it.”

his thoughtful words made your cheeks flush again and you bashfully thanked him for the compliment.

you sipped the wine, enjoying the way it’s flavor profile complimented the dish you got perfectly. it must have been a higher alcohol percentage than usual however, because you were already feeling it’s effects strongly after drinking less than half.

“what are your plans once you graduate, y/n?” the sound of your professor’s voice surprised you and you met his gaze as you answered.

“i’m hoping to go to law school after i graduate.” you responded, pride rising in your chest as you thought of all the hard work you had put in to reaching your goal of law school.

“that makes perfect sense for a bright girl like you. i’m sure you’ll excel there,” he confidently told you.

his focus shifted to the other students and as the night carried on and you drank more of your wine, you found yourself feeling very tipsy.

after professor snow paid the bill and everyone finished up their goodbyes, you stood to leave and you were surprised when the world started tilting beneath your feet.

a firm hand steadied you at your waist, and you turned to see your professor behind you.

“are you okay?” he asked, voice filled with concern.

you tried to stand on your own again, only to nearly fall over a second time. “i don’t think so, i feel kind of drunk,” you slurred.

he frowned and looked at you with worry on his face.

“i don’t think you should drive yourself home right now, y/n. why don’t you let me take you?”

you wanted to argue with him and disagree, but when you tried to stand on your own again and felt so dizzy you could have fainted, you realized he was probably right.

“okay,” you mumbled, allowing him to support you as he walked you to his car.

your professor helped you in to the passenger seat, making sure you had buckled yourself in before going to the driver’s side.

you leaned your head against the cool window, trying to stop your head from spinning as professor snow pulled out of his parking spot and started driving.

you were watching the street lights blur past, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open, when you realized you hadn’t told him your address.

you opened your mouth to speak, but the next time you blinked, darkness filled your vision and you slipped into unconsciousness.

you woke to the feeling of warm, wet lips enveloping one of your nipples.

when your eyes cracked opened, you were almost too shocked to believe what you were seeing.

your jacket was missing, and your white button up top was split open, exposing your bare breasts. your professor was positioned on top of your, lips attached to your nipple as his hands squeezed and caressed your tits.

you were laying on a large bed, in what was definitely not your house and you felt like an idiot for not realizing that everything was off earlier.

terror filled you chest, lodging itself in you throat, and you tried to squirm away, but your body was frozen in place and your limbs felt so heavy you could barely move.

coriolanus sensed that you had woken up and when he looked down at you with a devilish grin, you shivered in fear.

“don’t try anything, y/n.” your professor’s cool tone made your stomach twist in disgust and a horrible chill passed over you as you realized this was why he had offered to drive you home.

“professor-” his lips smothered yours, cutting off your wavering voice before you could protest. your stomach flipped when he kissed you and your jaw dropped in surprise allowing him to force his tongue into your mouth.

when he finally pulled away, you gasped for breath. you saw stars behind your eyes and you weren’t sure if you were dizzy because of how fast the room was spinning or because of the way he had kissed you.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n, you know that?” he softly breathed. “ever since entered my class that first day, i thought you were perfect.”

your pulse was racing in your ears, anxiety gripping your throat as you helplessly looked up at him. everything was moving too fast, and your brain couldn’t accept the reality you had woken up in.

“and then tonight when you walked in with this innocent little school girl look? fuck, it took all of my self control not to rip this off of you and bend you over the table in front of your classmates,” coriolanus chuckled darkly, eyes scanning your body as he did.

his words were revolting, but even worse was the feeling of his fingers brushing your thighs as he lifted up your skirt. coriolanus situated himself between your legs, greedily admiring the soft skin of your thighs before pushing your skirt up and exposing more of you to his probing eyes.

when he saw the white, lacy panties you were wearing, he paused, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he took in the view before him. “aw sweetheart, did you wear these just for me?”

your cheeks flushed with shame and embarrassment at his words and he chuckled again at your silence.

the older man traced the lace near your hips before looping his fingers under the soft material and tugging your panties down. you tried to squeeze your legs together to stop him, but your professor easily pushed them open again and dragged your panties off of you.

you flinched when you felt professor snow’s hand nearing your core, and he held down one of your legs in a tight grip.

the tip of his finger traced your slit and you whimpered at the feeling. was this really happening? how had you found yourself drugged out of your mind at the mercy of your professor?

coriolanus watched your face as he slowly slid one finger into your heat. you were already so wet, he didn’t even need to warm you up, and the way you clenched around just one of his fingers had his pants growing tight.

your lips parted in surprise, a small moan crawling out of your throat. his finger curled inside you and tears came to your eyes when you felt yourself squeezing around his finger.

“you’re so wet,” he groaned before sliding his middle finger into you.

you tensed beneath him, whining when the pressure between your legs doubled.

“just relax,” your professor’s voice was a bit shaky as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt.

coriolanus’s thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive cluster of nerves. your body was tingling, every sensation was heightened in your fear and you couldn’t stop yourself from loudly moaning as he massaged your inner walls.

you realized you could feel yourself growing wetter and you blinked hot tears from your eyes. you were disgusted by everything that was happening, so why were you shifting your hips to match the thrusts of his fingers?

the twisted pleasure was building in your gut and coriolanus could feel it too. his thumb swirled over your clit and you came undone around his fingers. your thighs quaked as your professor fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, and your mind felt blank as you numbly sagged against his bed. shame and guilt fogged your mind, and you felt completely betrayed by your body

coriolanus slowly pulled his fingers out of you before pulling them apart slowly and watching your slick juices stick to his spread fingers in thin, pearly strings.

the older man brought his fingers to his lips, licking your juices off of his fingers while gazing at you through half lidded eyes.

“mmm, you taste so sweet, y/n,” he purred and when you realized you got butterflies in your stomach at his words, you felt bile rise in your throat.

he started unbuttoning his shirt and you could feel the room spinning around you. you wanted to look away, but you were weighed down by terror and too scared to even blink.

coriolanus removed his shirt, revealing his muscular, but still lean physique. panic began to really set in when he unbuttoned his pants and removed them and his boxers. your eyes widened at the sight of his erect length. he was bigger than any of the few guys you had been with before, and also unlike your previous experience, coriolanus was determined to take things at his pace.

you felt light-headed and you could barely twitch your muscles, much less move your limbs. that didn’t stop you from trying though, and pure adrenaline gave you the strength to squeeze your legs shut and attempt to prevent what you already knew was coming.

given everything your professor had done to you up until this point— drugging you, kidnapping you, trapping you in his house, and now forcing himself upon you— you would have thought that you wouldn’t be surprised when he slapped you across the face with the back of his hand.

any delusion you may have been desperately clinging to that coriolanus snow was a ‘good’ man shattered then and there.

your head whipped to the side and your field of vision went white for a moment. white hot pain seared into your cheek and when you opened your eyes again, they were blurry with tears.

the sight of you trembling and crying beneath him was a sight that your professor had been secretly fantasizing about for months and now that he was finally witnessing it firsthand, he was eager to make all of his deepest desires a reality.

“don’t fight it, y/n.” his voice was shaking with excitement as he positioned himself between your legs and started lining up the tip of his cock with your slick cunt. you whined when you felt the head slide between your lips and start to push inside of you.

his tip slid past the resistance of your tight grip, but he tilted his hips back to pull out, and you felt confused and hurt when your body wanted more.

professor snow grinned down at you wickedly, relishing the sight of your eyes begging with his and your plump lips parting more when he moved again, sliding the tip of his thick cock into your cunt a second time and earning a heavenly whimper from you.

“you like that, sweetheart?” he asked softly, smugness dripping from his voice like rancid honey. he pushed himself an inch or two deeper, and his arms, which were caging you in beneath him, were shaking slightly as he held himself back from sheathing all of himself in you at once.

your professor grabbed your wrists, holding them above your head tightly as he slowly stretched you out with his cock. his face was so close to yours that your noses were almost touching and he swallowed your noises of protest with messy kisses.

tears were streaming down your face when the tip of his cock nudged your cervix and you tried to shift beneath him to adjust to the intense pressure between your legs, but he pinned you to the bed with just one of his strong arms. his other hand rested on the outside of your thigh, roughly gripping your curves.

you were terrified, completely disgusted with your professor and desperate to escape his iron clad hold on you.

“please no!” you quietly whined, straining to break free of his grasp and failing. “it’s too big!”

coriolanus groaned when you twitched around his cock, and the pathetic way that you tried to resist him was so adorable it almost made him laugh.

he tilted his hips back and started pumping his cock into you. you could sense yourself getting more slick as his length dragged along your walls, and your legs instinctively wrapped around coriolanus’ torso, pulling him in closer to you.

your professor peppered open mouth kisses over any exposed skin he could find, making his way from sucking on your tits to sliding his lips over yours, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that the sensation made something twist deep in the pit of your stomach.

when you moaned against his lips, his hand captured your jaw, keeping you trapped beneath him as his hips snapped against yours. his cock stretched you out again and again and coriolanus was relishing every sigh and gasp you gave him as he fucked you.

“you’re squeezing me so tight, doll.” professor snow’s voice was strained, his teeth gritted as he began thrusting into you harder. the hand at your jaw traced to your throat, and you looked up at him through your lashes in fear when he started choking you.

“professor!” you forced the word out past the crushing hand at your throat and you swore you felt his cock twitch inside you in response.

his pace was relentless. after feeling tortured by you for an entire semester, coriolanus snow was going to take what he believed he was owed, whether you liked it or not.

the fingers at your throat tightened and your eyes widened in terror when his second hand wrapped around your throat as well.

each stroke of his cock made your sensitive clit tingle with overstimulation and you couldn’t stifle your whines any longer as you were pushed over the edge.

you squeezed your eyes shut when you came, unable to look at your professor after he made you come undone against your will for the second time that night.

his grip on your throat strengthened as you tightened and spasmed around his length, and you hopelessly gasped for air that wouldn’t come. you were beginning to feel lightheaded now, the pain of his hands constricting your neck was making your vision grow fuzzy around the edges.

the blond’s hips snapped against yours furiously, punishingly; and desperately scratching at the hands at your throat only seemed to make him choke you harder.

you were petrified at the thought that if you didn’t do anything to stop him, you were about to die, but his hold on you was so tight that you couldn’t get away. he was so much bigger than you, there was no way you could overpower him.

as your vision slowly faded away, you heard professor snow groan loudly, thrusting into you a few more times before pushing himself as deep as possible and gripping your thighs tightly as he spilled his sticky seed deep into your sore, weeping cunt.

and then everything went black

#coriolanus snow #professor coriolanus snow #professor!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #dark coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas #hunger games tbosas #yandere coriolanus snow #after hours lesson

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doomhands-jr · 1 month ago

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Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Needles, underage drinking, explicit language. This is the last filler chapter before shit starts picking up again.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

______________

The late morning streamed into your room, flooding the ornamental rug in dappled sun. A light snow had begun collecting at the bottom of your window, but the cloud cover wasn’t yet dense enough to obscure the light.

You’d woken up several hours ago but hadn’t worked up the wherewithal to drag yourself out of bed. Instead, you’d spent the time scrolling through various social media apps, keeping up to date with how your friends were spending their winter break.

Your mom had Facetimed you that morning to check in. She’d updated you all about the trip she and your father were on. Several prominent members from a network of churches in the region had flown to some obscure part of Africa and were currently building a school and a church. They were planning to open it on Christmas Eve and have a dedication ceremony. They’d also purchased toys for the kids to open on Christmas morning. Her excitement poured through on her face and in her voice, and despite your reservations about missions trips, you smiled.

As much as you wished middle-class families could participate in philanthropy and still respect the cultural belief systems of the people they were visiting, a school was a school, and you hoped it would be a net positive to the village.

Once you got off the phone with her, your stomach began to rumble, so you rolled over and dug through a drawer in your nightstand you’d designated as your snack drawer until you pulled out a pack of cinnamon pop-tarts. Probably not the healthiest breakfast you could have chosen, but whatever—you ate them without tasting, continuing to scroll while your thoughts drifted to yesterday.

You heaved a sigh, unsure how to proceed with Noah. He seemed like he was the real deal, but then again, he had seemed like that before and ended up hurting you anyway. Now, he was weaseling his way back into your heart, burrowing under your skin and making himself comfortable as an uninvited guest. Worse still, you found yourself growing soft for him, which was a problem for you.

It was possible that you were blinded by your attraction to him, giving him the benefit of the doubt because you were naïve and wanted him to be better than he was.

But yesterday, he’d treated you with more respect than you’d ever received from a man. It didn’t feel performative, either… Your intuition told you he was being honest, but even if he wanted to do better—was he capable? Could he turn his behavior around that easily? Was it all an act just to get back into your good graces?

You came upon a video that broke you out of your thoughts. Ava had posted herself and her little cousins playing some card game you didn’t recognize. You smiled, noticing how old they were getting. You’ve been close with Ava’s family since middle school and remember when her cousins were first born. As much as Ava fought with her parents, her cousins were always a soft spot for her.

You replayed the video, brushing the crumbs off your shirt when you heard a knock at your door.

Speak of the devil…

Cautiously, you slid off your bed and padded over to the doorway, opening it to find a very out-of-breath and sweaty Noah in a black tracksuit and puffer jacket. Impressive, in light of the cold.

“Hi?” you said, the question likely as evident on your face as it was in your voice.

“Hey,” he said, watching you observe the sweat that clung to his forehead. “I jogged here.”

“I can see that,” you replied, fighting a smile. “What’s up?”

“Do you wanna come work out?” he asked.

Your face contorted with confusion. “Work out? Right now?” you asked, leaning back into your room and checking the weather on the other side of the window. “It’s snowing.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “The gym isn’t that far away. I was on my way and thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to join.”

You pouted. “Gross.”

Noah’s face scrunched up as he snickered at you. “Come on,” he pressed. “It won’t be that bad.”

You wrinkled your nose. “It sounds hard.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Go get changed. We’re going to the gym.”

____________

“Ten,” Noah breathed. “Alright, you can do it. Give me two more and then you’re done.”

You tensed your whole body, squeezing your core as he’d instructed, the iron bar heavy across your shoulders, knurling cutting into your skin and bruising the back of your neck.

“I don’t understand why you want to see me suffer so badly,” you panted, struggling under the weight.

Noah laughed. “Call it a kink. Come on, you can do it.”

You flushed at his remark, diverting your gaze from his for a moment to collect yourself, and when you locked eyes with him once again in the mirror in front of you, his expression told you he knew exactly where your mind had gone.

He stood behind you, arms outstretched and ready to catch the bar should you fail. You dipped down into a squat, legs straining to keep you balanced and steady, and then with monumental effort, you brought yourself back up to standing.

“One more,” he said, voice coming out low and soft to soothe against the burn you felt in your thighs. “I’ve got you.”

You didn’t think you could do it, every muscle protesting against you, but you’d come this far. You dipped down once more, feeling your legs start to give out. When you got to the lowest point of the squat, you got stuck, legs beginning to give out under the weight of the iron.

“Come on, get it up,” Noah said, voice gaining in volume. You squeezed your eyes shut, gritting your teeth as you concentrated on standing. A few more moments of strain, and then Noah’s hands grasped you around your middle, warm and firm on either side, holding you steady. He added just enough leverage that slowly, inch by inch, you moved the bar until you were back to standing.

As soon as you re-racked the bar, you collapsed onto the black rubber mat of the gym floor. Sprawled out, chest heaving to catch your breath, you looked over to Noah, who fought to hide a smile behind a hand that pretended to scratch at his lip.

“And you willingly subject yourself to this kind of torture?” you said, legs somewhere between numb and burning. You kneaded the soft flesh, trying to bring back sensation into the limbs, now draped uselessly in front of you.

“Give it a few tries. You’ll get addicted to it,” he said, taking a seat next to you and removing the cap from his water bottle.

The gym he’d taken you to was in an old warehouse that had used to store lumber, Noah had mentioned on the snowy walk there. Inside, an array of rusted equipment littered the room with no real rhyme or reason. You had no idea what most of it was even used for.

The gym was mostly empty on a Thursday morning. Across the room, a middle-aged man performed set after set of bicep curls in front of the mirror. In the corner, a thirty-something woman jogged on a treadmill, and two teenage boys took turns bench pressing, which you only knew because Noah had given you a run-down of the most basic strength training exercises, as well as lectured you on why they were so important.

“You can either choose to suffer in ways you can control now or be forced to suffer in ways you can’t control later,” he said.

You rolled your head across your shoulders to look at him. “What are you even talking about?”

He rested his weight behind him on his palms and looked down at you with a patient sort of condescension.

“You’re young and fit now,” he said, “but that goes away more and more every year. Pretty soon, you’ll wake up with back pain and hip pain and all that other stuff. The longer you let it go, the worse it gets, and the longer it takes to fix. If you build a good foundation now, it’s a lot easier to maintain.”

“Ugh,” you scoffed, leaning back onto the floor and staring at the metal roof above. He had a point, but you hated when he got all preachy—you’d had enough of that in your life. “What got you into working out?”

“My job,” he said. “It’s really hard on the body—too much repetitive motion.” As if to hammer his previous point home, he hoisted himself up by the side of the squat rack and began loading heavy iron plates onto either end of the bar. “My body is my instrument.” He stepped under the bar, situating himself in the center to evenly distribute the load across his shoulders before he heaved the bar off the rack. “I have to take care of it.”

You allowed yourself to watch unapologetically, taking in the corded ropes of his hamstrings, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sweat that dripped down from his forehead, off the end of his nose, and down his chest, pooling in the space above his collarbones. The hard set of his jaw as he focused on his form. He bottomed out in his squat, pausing for a moment before exhaling a heavy breath, then ascended, every muscle in his legs straining against his skin until he stood tall and proud.

And then he repeated it.

_________

“Jesus?”

“Yeah…and?”

Noah winced, hissing through his teeth. Every time he booked a tattoo session, he was confident that he was familiar enough with the sting of a tattoo needle that it wouldn’t faze him, and every time, he was proven wrong.

“Nothing, I just…I thought it would have come up before now.”

Noah couldn’t see your reaction from where he sat in the chair, but he could tell you were mulling over the large portrait of Jesus Christ done in American traditional style on his back.

“I didn’t want you to read too much into it,” he said, sucking in a breath and holding it while Winston, his tattoo artist, colored in a particularly sensitive spot right over his spine.

He could tell that was exactly what you were doing by how quiet you were. The Jesus tattoo had started out as a joke—something that allowed him to reclaim a bit of religious iconography in an almost tongue-in-cheek way. As he absorbed more pain from the needle over multiple sessions, however, it morphed into something else.

In his mind, the figurehead represented a belief that suffering was ultimately the path to righteousness. Not suffering in an unnecessary or gratuitous way, but suffering as in self-sacrifice. And not righteousness in the way Christianity frames it, but from a mental health perspective.

Noah’s mental health had always been a delicate instrument with which he’d had to tinker. Lately, he’d been learning more and more about what improves it and what causes it to tank. Humble work through low-level suffering has been the best way for him to take control of his psyche. Engaging in pleasures of the flesh was fine every once in a while, but ultimately left him feeling empty.

It was something he supposed Jesus probably knew all along. Perhaps that what was Christianity should have been about.

“So why Jesus?” Your curious voice broke him out of his thought pattern.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I saw it in a flash book one time and I just liked it. It doesn’t have any meaning.”

It did, actually, but he wasn’t ready to unpack all of that yet, let alone admit it. Maybe with time.

“I’m thinking of getting one,” you said. Noah tried to turn his head to look at you, but his artist tutted and directed him to keep still.

“Like what?” Rather than look at you, Noah instead focused on the wall of framed artwork in front of him. Hundreds of tattoo designs hung on the wall ahead—sometimes several to one page. Noah had two of the designs on him: one a floral symbol on his hand, the other was a heart with a burning cross on top of it that he’d chosen to incorporate into his back piece.

“I liked this little rose I saw in one of the flash books,” you said.

“I could fit in a palm-sized flash tattoo after I’m done with him. My last appointment cancelled. Damn snow,” said Winston.

“How much?” you asked.

“Depends on what you want.”

He heard your footsteps behind him as you walked away and came back a few minutes later. Noah held his breath—Winston was working on filling something in right below his armpit and it took everything in him to keep still. He wished you would hurry up—the conversation with you was a good distraction for him.

“This one,” you said. You must have been holding the flash book up for the artist. Noah wished he could see which one you were referring to.

“Black and white or color?” Winston asked.

“Color.”

“Same size as the picture?” he asked.

“Can you do smaller? Like half the size?”

“Sure thing. That’ll probably run you about one-twenty.”

“What about for black and white?”

“If you just want linework, we can do eighty. If you want shading, it’ll be a hundred.”

“Is there an ATM nearby?”

“Right across the street,” said Winston. “But we take card.”

Noah gritted his teeth as the needle ran across a nerve, but he was finally starting to adjust to the feeling. It always took him a few minutes before he got in the zone.

“I don’t want the charge to show up.”

Winston huffed out a laugh as a response. He wasn’t overly-talkative, which Noah liked. He’d been going to Winston on and off for the last two years for his back piece, which was so large it took several sessions. He could have done it faster, but tattoos weren’t cheap, and piece work didn’t exactly pay a fortune. It took several months to save up for a session, and then he’d usually drop six hundred at once and sit for hours at a time.

Today, however, was just a short session. He’d received a small Christmas bonus and had some spare time, so he’d called up Winston that morning to see if he could get squeezed in. Since half the town had gone home for the holidays, the artist’s schedule was open. The last thing he’d expected was for you to want to tag along.

The bell for the shop chimed and Noah heard you walk back in.

“Did you decide on color?” asked Winston.

“Yep! I’m still deciding on where to get it though. I don’t want my parents to see it.”

“You could always get an ass tattoo,” said Noah. He’d meant it as a teasing remark, but the way you paused to consider it had his gut turning even more noticeably than the needle currently stabbing ink into his spine.

________

“You’re being ridiculous, you know.”

Noah didn’t think he was being ridiculous. If anyone was being ridiculous, it was you.

“It’s called having manners,” he defended. He stared straight ahead at a blank corner of the shop, fists clenched, trying to determine whether the paint on the wall was a true red or if it had a slight orange tint to it.

“It’s called being uptight,” you said.

He didn’t blink, set on winning the staring contest he was holding with the wall. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not the one hiding my nose in a corner because I can’t look at a girl’s hip.”

Noah rolled his eyes, turning around to face the bench and finding you sprawled across it, face down with the waistband of your pants pulled low on the right side. He swallowed, steeling himself against the sight lest his face betray his thoughts.

“Is mocking me distracting you from the pain?” he asked.

“Little bit.”

He relaxed at the same time you hissed and buried your face in your arms. Hesitantly, he allowed his eyes to run over the curve that stretched from the small of your back to the height of your ass cheek and back down to the top of your thigh.

The tattoo artist ran his needle over the stencil, outlining the small rose nestled right where your ass and hip met, just below where the waistband of your underwear would sit—he could tell from the vague hint of a tan line still left over from the summer you’d spent at the camp you told him about.

He could picture you there, getting out of the pool with a wet T-shirt draped over your body because the church camp had rules about modesty when it came to swimwear. Despite your best intentions, the shirt still clung to your curves, the hem riding up to reveal the swell of your ass, bikini bottoms suctioned against the skin, water dripping down your thighs, and…

“Like what you see?”

Noah’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. You peeked at him over your shoulder with a knowing smile playing on your face.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spat, but it came out whinier than he’d intended.

You burst into a fit of barely-suppressed giggles.

“Hold still,” commanded Winston.

You whispered an apology and tucked your lips between your teeth to keep from laughing until karma intervened and you winced at a sore spot.

________

“What do wanna do next?” you asked, practically skipping out of the shop in your post-tattoo high.

“Nothing,” said Noah from behind you.

You stopped in your tracks and looked up to find him staring back down on you without any expression you could read. “What?”

“Look around you,” he said gesturing to the snow. You did, recognizing the wind and snow could put a damper on the evening if you let them, but they didn’t have to.

“Okay, and?” you asked.

“It’s a fucking blizzard out. Come on,” he said curtly, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of your dorm. “I’m getting you home.”

Perhaps it was your temper, or perhaps you were still buzzing from the thrill of getting your first tattoo but you ripped your hand out of his. “No.”

Noah spun back around to face you. The wind whipped his hair in front of his face. “What do you mean no? I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not ready to go home. I want to do something else.”

Noah sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like what?”

“I want to get a drink,” you said, scanning the streets for any nearby bars.

Noah crossed his arms, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek. “Are you even old enough to get into a bar?”

“No, but Folio said he got into bars all the time when he was underage.” You didn’t always listen to Nick when he monologued instead of completing his community service, but that story clung to your mind.

Noah sighed again. “I told you, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. We’ve already been hanging out most of the day. I don’t want to get in too deep.”

“You’re not,” you protested. “Besides, you may not deserve it, but I do.”

At that, he stilled, and you continued. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the perfect Christian daughter, okay? I’m so tired of playing it safe. I want a taste of freedom. I’ve earned it. And to be honest, you sort of owe me after the way you treated me.”

He pursed his lips, considering it, but you already knew you had him backed into a corner with that last remark. A moment later, his shoulders dropped in resignation. “One drink, and then we’re going home.”

You let out a sound of delight, skipping again to catch up to Noah and then grabbing onto his sleeve when the snow caused your boot to nearly slide out from under you.

________

“Try not to die on the way there,” he muttered.

Noah studied the stained glass of the lamp that hung above the pool table, trying to decide whether the red spots were leaves or flower petals. Or were they feathers?

He wouldn’t let his eyes drift lower, because if he did, he’d have seen your exposed lower back, arching as you bent over the pool table to line up your shot.

Inside the bar was sweltering. The bartender had mentioned the temperature control on the furnace was on the fritz, and the only options were either letting it run continuously or shutting it off and letting the patrons freeze.

Sweat beaded at Noah’s temples and at the back of his neck, causing his hair to stick uncomfortably to the skin. Taking an elastic from around his wrist, he gathered his hair and tied it in a knot on top of his head. Even the thin short-sleeved shirt he wore began collecting sweat on the back.

When the two of you had arrived at his favorite dive bar, the Empty Keg was nearly just that—empty. Nobody had carded you, so Noah had led you to a small table near the back of the place behind the pool tables and told you to sit tight while he ordered drinks from Steve, the familiar bartender Noah had already established a rapport with.

Guessing at what would be tolerable for you, he ordered you a rum and coke, asking Steve to give you a light pour. He got a whiskey neat for himself and then went ahead and ordered some wings for the two of you to share, since you’d been complaining that you hadn’t eaten much.

It was torture enough watching you lick wing sauce off the tips of your fingers. Torture again when you peeled your sweater off your body to reveal a practically transparent camisole underneath. Torture a third time when, after your first drink, you asked him to teach you how to play pool.

He’d tried to remain as respectful, showing you how to hold the cue with verbal direction, rather than being obvious by lining himself up behind you to position you with his hands. A slight hitch in your smile let him know you were frustrated with this, but he insisted.

You made a show of bending over the pool table to line up your shot, cleavage on display, and Noah had to leave, making the excuse that he was going to buy another round.

At the bar, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt and slumped into a stool. The bartender immediately greeted him and asked if he wanted another round.

“Yes,” he answered, without looking up from where his face was planted in his palms.

“Girl troubles?” asked Steve as he began pouring the rum.

“I don’t know,” Noah answered, honestly. It wasn’t something he wanted to get into, and sensing that, Steve shrugged and finished making the drinks, setting the glasses in front of Noah with a clatter.

Noah knew you were flirting and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be tested so directly. You made him weak, transforming his resolve from sturdy to feeble with a simple glance and he felt like he was going to die.

He was in deep. It took every ounce of his resolve to continue treating you like a normal person and not use every single trick he’d acquired in his long history of fuckboyery to get you naked and in his bed.

It would be so easy, too. You were already doing your best to tempt him. He knew all he had to do was say the word and you’d be all over him in a second. In the humid, whiskey-soaked haze of the bar, it was growing harder and harder to think of a reason why he shouldn’t just give in.

Except that he wasn’t ready. He knew it. If he gave in too soon, he risked throwing himself back into his normal fight-or-flight response. He’d overthink it and find some reason to pull away in order to protect himself, like he always did.

No, this time he had to go about it the right way, and you weren’t making it easy on him.

Without a good reason to delay any longer, he carried the drinks back over, only to be greeted with the sight of you bent over the pool table, tank top riding up and exposing your lower back and the curve of your hips and the beads of sweat that had appeared along your spine and god, if Noah didn’t want to just collect them all with his tongue.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He inhaled and exhaled sharply through his nose, saying a silent prayer to excuse his language. Tensing at his jaw and in his fingers around the glasses, he set yours next to you forcefully before taking his place on the opposite end of the pool table so there was at least something sturdier than his resolve separating the two of you. You took your shot and sunk it into the corner pocket. You were obviously hustling him on top of everything else.

“Thanks,” you said casually, picking up your glass and sipping from it. “I think it’s your turn.”

“Right,” said Noah. He set his own glass down and searched for his next ball, glad to have something else to focus on.

He could tell you were unsatisfied with being ignored. You rounded the table and perched yourself on the edge of it next to him, crossing one knee over the other and swinging your legs casually. You leaned up against the pool cue, letting the strap of your tank top fall off your shoulder as you looked at him knowingly and it took all of Noah’s focus not to look back at you.

“Noah,” you said, voice low and breathy and full of everything Noah had been trying to avoid, and as soon as his name left your lips, Noah scratched, sending the cue ball shooting off the edge of the table.

“I got it,” he said at the same time that you huffed and jumped down from your perch. He rushed across the bar, chasing after the white ball and when he came back, you stood next to the table with your arms crossed, impatiently tapping your foot and staring him down.

You were going to have to work harder than that to break him, though. Noah was dead-set on getting out of this interaction without any incident and it was just a matter of who was more stubborn at that point.

Without making eye contact, Noah set the ball on the table.

“You’re up,” he muttered, grabbing his drink and letting his eyes nestle deep within the glass of amber liquid.

He could feel you boring into his face, but he wasn’t going to crack. As soon as you realized that, you slumped over the table and resumed the game. Noah hid his smile in his glass of whiskey and pretended not to notice the exaggerated arch in your back as you bent once more over the table.

________

Stepping outside the bar, a punishing rush of wind slammed into Noah, causing him to stumble a bit. The conditions had grown even more severe, and Noah knew there was no way they were going to make it all the way to your dorm.

You must have come to the same conclusion when Noah did, because you tugged on his jacket to get his attention.

“My dorm’s too far,” you shouted over the wind. “Can I crash at your place?”

The obvious answer was yes. Both of you knew it, but Noah was still reluctant to answer. This is exactly why he wanted to get you home earlier.

He trusted himself at the gym. He trusted himself at the tattoo shop. He even trusted himself (barely) at the bar. But in his home? Overnight? With alcohol making his head all fuzzy and softening the lines between your skin and the cloud of lust around you?

Noah was cooked.

“Come on, then,” he said, turning and beginning to trudge down the few blocks it took to get to his house.

You seemed to understand that it was important for you to be on your best behavior or else he might change his mind about letting you stay, so you silently followed, stepping in the footprints he’d left behind.

________

“Do you need anything to sleep in?” he asked as soon as the two of you reached the entryway of his dilapidated rental. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up—they’d started aching with the cold.

“I should be okay,” you said, still shivering despite the warmth of his home.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He scanned you up and down. Your pants were soaked up to the knees from melting snow.

“Maybe some sweatpants, then” you said, following where his eyes had gone.

Noah chuckled on his way back to his room, reemerging later with the same set of clothes he’d let you borrow last time. You thanked him, expression a bit bashful as you grabbed the pile from his hands and rushed to the bathroom to change.

When you came back, your hair was down, spilling pleasantly over your shoulders and Noah watched the way it reflected the low lamplight in waves as you moved. He’d seen you in his clothes before, but in a much different context.

Now you were here, making yourself at home on the couch while his sweatpants and hoodie swallowed you in comfort. You rubbed your tube-sock-cladded feet together like a goddamn cricket and wrapped your arms around yourself, still apparently trying to get warm.

“Hey, do you have a blanket or something?” you asked, scanning over the living room.

“I was, uh,” he began, rubbing a palm over his chin. “I was thinking you could take my bed. I’d crash on the couch.”

“What?” you said, face twisting with confusion. “Noah, that’s ridiculous. You sleep in your bed. I’m the one burdening you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if you took my room,” he said. As much as he hated his hometown, some things about it still stuck with him, and southern hospitality was one of them.

“But you’re like, a million feet tall,” you countered. “Would you even fit on the couch?”

“Can you just humor me?” he said. “I’ve been needing to put fresh sheets on my bed anyway. This will be a good excuse.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes as you always did—an expression Noah was growing increasingly fond of, and gestured to his room. “Be my guest, I guess.”

He bowed his head an inch or so and returned to his room, rifling through his closet for the only other set of sheets he owned.

It was silly, and he knew that. Part of him just enjoyed the thought of you sleeping in his bed. He liked the idea that he’d have that shared experience with you. Both of you would know what it was like to be in his room. Perhaps tomorrow, once you were back in your dorm and he was done with his shift at the factory, he’d lay his head down and his pillows would smell like you.

Jesus, he needed to get ahold of himself.

He ripped the old sheets off, piling them in the corner of his room and began the arduous process of figuring out which end of the fitted sheet went where.

When he came back to the living room, you were sprawled out on the couch and with your eyes closed.

“You asleep?” he asked softly.

“Mmm, no,” you said without bothering to open your eyes and Noah took a second to taken in your relaxed features and how your skin glowed softly in the low lighting.

“Bed’s all made up.”

Your lower lip jutted out in a soft pout and Noah’s stomach did a somersault.

“Come on,” he said, nudging you with his knee. “Get up.”

You whined in protest, curling further into the sofa.

He sighed. It was cute, but not cute enough. “Get up or I’ll call the police and turn you in for trespassing.”

At that you opened your eyes, shooting him a look that perfectly communicated your annoyance. He nodded towards the room. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be out here.”

You huffed, finally heaving your body off the couch and stood in front of him. “Thanks for letting me stay,” you said in a rare moment of genuine gratitude.

“Any time.”

He watched you slump lazily towards his room and listened to hear the click of the door before making up the couch to suit himself. He had to grab a spare blanket from Ruffilo’s room, making a deal with himself to wash it and return it before his friend got back from visiting his family, and then spread himself out on the lumpy sofa, hoping to get a few hours of sleep.

Sleep, however, did not come. Instead, his mind wandered over to his bedroom, picturing how you looked curled up in his bed and wondering whether you were also having trouble sleeping.

His dick twitched.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away.

It was one night. One night with an attractive woman in his bedroom. He wasn’t even in the same room. You were on the other side of the house. He could get through this.

Rolling on his back, he stared at the ceiling and began running through all the steps needed to make a tapping block on his machine.

Set X to 1.5 inches. Set Y to 2.5. Run program. Remove block. Deburr. Place block back into clamp. Select tool #5. ¾ in. drill. Set Z axis to 1 inch. Run program.

Fuck. He forgot the next step.

He tried to get his mind back on the machine, but it was too late. An image of you writhing underneath him flashed in his mind like a lightning strike.

He dug his fingernails into his thigh, swallowed hard, and went back to the tapping block, already knowing it wasn’t going to work.

Sighing, he felt around for the remote on the coffee table. Maybe he could put on a documentary or something to distract himself until he fell asleep.

His hand clasped around the black plastic and he thumbed the power button. The TV flashed, momentarily hurting his eyes until they adjusted.

Choosing the first streaming service he could find, he searched the documentaries and came up with one about how the Himalayas were formed, and that couldn’t possibly be sexy, so he selected it and waited for his mind to switch off.

Two minutes into learning about why scientists have found fossils of cephalopods he heard the squeak of a door opening, followed by soft footsteps.

Of course.

“What’s up?” he asked softly, without taking his eyes off the screen.

“I can’t sleep.”

Your voice came across quiet and drowsy. He looked at the clock and it had already been an hour since you’d gone to bed.

Sighing and, with great effort, sitting up, he scooted his body to one end of the couch and gestured for you to have a seat at the other.

“Learning about the Himalayas,” he said.

“Is this the PBS one?” you asked.

Noah shrugged, turning his attention back to the TV and trying to ignore the way his body buzzed in your presence.

“Hard to believe they’re younger than the Appalachians,” you said. The documentary hadn’t mentioned it. This was information you’d apparently gathered elsewhere.

“I didn’t know that,” said Noah.

“Yeah,” you continued, resting your toes on the edge of the coffee table. You started doing that thing again where you rubbed your feet together like a cricket—not that Noah was paying attention. His eyes were trained on the screen. “The Appalachia date back to Pangea, and actually part of the range continues on into Europe.”

“Nerd,” he said.

“You’re the one watching a documentary about it.”

Noah said nothing, but his heart thrummed in his chest.

You kept quiet after that, the two of you watching side-by-side as the narrator talked about the four thousand species of flowering plants native to the zone, and the diversity of fauna, and how the landscapes and ecosystems around the range changed dramatically after the formation.

Eventually, Noah looked over to see you dozing quietly on your side of the couch. He smiled to himself, knowing that it would probably be better if he moved back into his own room.

Perhaps in a little bit, he would. It was a really good documentary.

________

Taglist:

Please let me know if I missed anyone or if I tagged someone who no longer wants to be tagged.

@mentallyillbartender

@gothic-pumpkin

@alwaysfightforwhoyouare

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@lobolocaamo

@alytarg2009

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#the devil's advocate #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fic #fanfiction

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badwritinghabit · 3 months ago

Text

Hello and Goodbye (part 2) | Chef Luca x fem!Reader

Previous Chapter

Warnings: Explicit smut (mdni!). Specifically oral (reader receiving) and vaginal sex, along with some minor pinning down/controlling vibes but still very sweet with lots of checking in.

Word Count: 2,835

Summary: You and Luca go on a date and reflect on the past. Then you take him home with you.

Author's Note: I was torn in a few different directions so I just wrote what felt right-- some fluffy nonsense and then smut. I am tempted to go back and write a one or two chapter prequel with some cheesy romance between younger Luca and reader from what I hinted at in the start of this chapter. Let me know if you'd be interested! Probably wouldn't be smut, just a fluff/idiots in love type story.

Months. Luca was going to stay in Chicago for months. The words hadn’t left your head since Luca had said them. You’d left the party with him, feeling floaty and light. The street lights, the far off sound of music pouring through an open window, Luca’s fingers threaded through yours. Chicago didn’t usually feel romantic. It felt like work and school and trudging through the snow on January mornings. But that night, Chicago felt like the warm and fuzzy moment in a romantic comedy. When the main characters had reached the end of the story and had fallen in love, for real this time. And the feeling followed you home as Luca walked you to your apartment. When you unlocked the front door, he stopped you with a gentle tug on your wrist. You’d wanted to invite him up but he had leaned forward, pressed a kiss to your lips, and said he wanted to take you on a date.

He was being sweet.

Now you’re sitting in a bar. It is next to the apartment you lived in years ago, when you and Luca had worked together. The bar had changed ownership at least once but Luca had insisted that you go check it out, for old times sake.

Luca reaches a hand over the table and grabs yours. He trails his thumb lightly across your palm, again and again. Calming and sweet. He doesn’t even seem to be thinking about it particularly, his other hand setting his pint glass down on the table after taking a drink.

“I don’t know if I like it as much anymore,” you say, as you look around the bar again, voice quiet so as to not be heard by any of the bartenders.

Luca smiles and raises his eyebrows questioningly. “It’s cleaner.”

You laugh. “It is cleaner. But it doesn’t feel the same anymore. I don’t think they’d let us stay until 3 am playing cards like the old days.”

“Probably not,” he agrees, his thumb still tracing your hand. “I was surprised they let us do that in the first place. I think they only let us because of you.”

“Me?”

“You underestimate yourself. You had everyone wrapped around your finger back then,” he says. His tone is light but your heart speeds up at his heated eye contact.

“I think you might be misremembering things,” you demur, flipping your hands on the table so that yours is on top and curling your fingers into his so that you are holding hands.

He hums and shakes his head. “Remember when you stopped us from betting money on cards? You had us flicking each other’s foreheads when we lost.” He was smirking.

“Everyone loved that! It was fun. And we weren’t wasting money,” you defend yourself, face heating as he chuckles at your insistence.

“Part of the fun is wasting money, love.”

You feel your chest tighten at his use of love. “I was just being the responsible one. Someone needed to be!”

He laughs again and squeezes your hand. “I liked it.”

You squint at him suspiciously and he just chuckles.

“I did. Everyone did. You had us all charmed. I’m just saying, you could have convinced us lads to do anything.”

You roll your eyes, unsure how to respond. It was a good group, you’d connected quickly and had spent an awful lot of time together outside of work. You had been too focused on him back then to really pay attention to how the other’s treated you. You don’t dwell on it, instead you brush your thumb against Luca’s and challenge him to a thumb war. He grins and immediately accepts. Unfortunately, his hand is much larger and you are quickly overpowered.

“You cheated,” you grumble.

“How did I cheat?”

“Your hands are too big. You have a longer thumb-span.” He laughs at that and goes back to tracing his thumb over the soft skin on your palm. “And you said I had you charmed. You didn’t even let me win.”

He leans forward over the small table and your eyes briefly dip down as his elbow comes to rest on the table. The dark button up shirt he is wearing looks smooth in the dimmed light of the bar. His sleeves are rolled up from earlier in the evening and your eyes are drawn to his arms. His movement causes the warm, slightly woody smell of his cologne to wash over you. You meet his eyes again and he’s smirking at you, as if he could read your mind.

“Did you want me to let you win?” his voice is low and you glance at his lips before you can stop yourself.

“No,” you blurt quickly. “I take thumb wars seriously.”

“I admire your competitive spirit.”

You blink at him as he grips your hand again, preparing for another thumb war. His eyes are still locked on yours. You couldn’t help but think he had become too good at flirting since you’d last seen him.

The bartender brings you another drink, and before long you realize it has gotten later than you realized. Luca walks you home, giving you his jacket when he catches you shivering after a gust of wind.

You hesitate at the door. You stick your keys in the lock, faltering slightly but opening it. “Are you going to come up this time?” you ask, shifting nervously as you stand on your doorstep and turn to look at him.

“I’d like to. If you’ll have me.”

You smile and grab his wrist to pull him in after you. You unlock the door to your apartment and swing it open, sliding off your shoes as you walk in. You take off the coat he gave you and put it on the hook near your door. Luca follows, looking around your apartment after setting his shoes next to your own.

“I like the painting,” he starts, “where did you–”. Before he can finish, you’re leaning up and pressing your lips against his.

When he hesitates, you pull back. “Sorry, I thought–”

And then he is cutting you off, hands on your cheeks as he pulls your mouth back to his. He’s soft and so painfully sweet, your heart skips a beat. His hand slides down, fingers warm against the back of your neck as his thumb presses against your chin.

You reach up and pull lightly on his collar, urging him closer to you, inviting him to kiss you harder. You open your mouth and his tongue meets yours. Still soft and sweet. After a breath you nip gently at his lower lip and he groans, making you smile.

One of his hands drops and finds your hip, pulling you closer and then sliding up, playing with the hem of your sweater. You undo the top button of his shirt and then the second. You pull back for a breath and his hands are careful, as they slide under your shirt. His eyes never stray from yours, making sure you are okay with him taking the next step.

“Let’s go to my room,” you breathe. And he follows you down the hall. You pull your sweater off over your head. Before you can unzip your skirt he stops you.

“Let me take my time,” he says, voice low in your ear. He’s standing behind you. You feel small under him as his hands slide from your hips, upward. You arch back the slightest bit, pressing your ass against him. You hear him exhale harshly and his hand cups your breasts over your bra. He slowly unzips your skirt with his other hand and you stop yourself from whining as you want him to go faster. He seems to notice your impatience.

“I’ve thought about all of the things I would do if I got another chance with you.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers and you arch again. He keeps talking, his voice and the exquisitely dirty things he says, making you more and more needy. He groans your name.

“Luca. I need-” you say, somewhere between a gasp and a whine.

“I know.” His voice is low, almost a growl. Him taking control is making your knees quiver. His hand trails down from your chest to your panties, middle finger sliding gently over your center. He presses just the tiniest bit, a teasing pressure against your clit making you grip his wrist.

“Is this okay?” he asks, staying his hand but not moving away.

You nod quickly and then say aloud, “yes”.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, yeah?”

“I won’t want to stop,” you say immediately. He grins and you feel it as he presses his lips to the column of your throat and nips gently at the sensitive skin. His hand slips inside your underwear, running his finger through your folds. You jolt a little at the sensation and he pulls away gently, pausing to slide your underwear down your legs.

“You’re still dressed,” you say, suddenly self conscious. He finishes unbuttoning his shirt and your eyes drop and trace the smooth, chiseled lines of his chest. Your eyes trail along his tattoos and you reach out to the touch one on his shoulder.

He presses you forward and you lay back onto your bed. He unbuckles his belt and slides his pants to the floor. He is left in his underwear as he leans over you. He presses his lips to your neck and then chest, mouth going lower and lower.

He kisses the curve of your stomach, pressing his lips gently across your hip. He bites the soft skin at the point your thigh meets your hip and your leg flexes involuntarily.

He’s teasing you. Your breath exhales in a whine as he moves across to your other hip, not paying any attention where you need him most.

“Luca,” you say as his teeth gently mark your skin. You twitch, moving your hips closer to his face.

“What is it?” he asks, still not giving you what you want.

“Please,” you gasp. And then his fingers are spreading your folds and his tongue is gentle against your clit. You nearly sob, a choked breath exhaling at the relief. He slides a finger inside, and adds another, you breathe in, not even realizing how empty you felt until he was there. His tongue keeps a steady pressure with his soft licks as he starts pumping his fingers in and out.

You’re trying not to buck too hard into his mouth. He presses an arm against your thigh to keep you open for him and something about his casual control makes your heart pound harder.

He doesn’t stop the perfect drag of his tongue on your clit, even as you plummet over the edge, gasping his name. His fingers glide against your sensitive walls until you buck away, overstimulated from his ministrations.

He slides his fingers from inside of you and crawls up to lay beside you. You blink up into his eyes, catching your breath as you watch him. His hand is gently stroking up and down your side, as if helping calm your body after your orgasm. You lean forward and pull his face to yours, kissing him hard.

“I have condoms,” you say as you pull back to catch your breath. He sits up and grabs his own from a wallet beside his bed.

You watch as he slides his boxers over his hips and he catches your eyes, grinning at you teasingly for having caught you checking him out. He’s already slid the condom on and before he can say something to tease you, you climb into his lap. His eyes widen in surprise but he grips your hips and helps you stabilize yourself on top of him.

You kiss him as your hand slides down his chest, fingers trailing across the firm heat of his chest, downwards. You feel him twitch in your hand as you grasp his cock and press yourself down onto him, slowly. You groan at the feel of him, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his.

The feeling of him inside you is divine– hot and hard and the perfect stretch. You breathe shallowly as you lower yourself fully onto him.

He gives you a moment, not moving as he feels you squeeze around him torturously. He presses kisses to your neck, soft and sweet. After a few breaths, he reaches up and runs his hand through your hair before gently grabbing it at the base of your neck in his fist and tugging lightly. Your thighs clench reflexively and you meet his eyes.

“Are you still feeling good, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Sorry, just adjusting.”

“No apologizing,” he admonishes gently, cupping your cheek. “You feel so good,” he says, “better than I remembered.” He says your name in a sigh as you clench around him, his other hand gripping your hip a little more tightly. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” he continues, voice low. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

You press your lips to his for a quick kiss then move your hips up. The feeling of him moving inside of you forces you to take a breath and you pull back, mouth open.

“So pretty,” he says, watching you arch on top of him, his hand moving from your hips to your ass, squeezing before pulling you to him a little as he lifts his hips under you. You gasp as he presses even deeper inside you. You speed up your movement on top of him as he starts to meet your hips.

He feels your legs shake after he thrusts again and he wraps an arm around your waist and rolls you over, his other arm propping himself up over you. He thrusts slowly at first but increases the pace until you are gripping his shoulders, legs locked around him, heels pressed into the heated skin of his lower back.

You reach a hand up to hold onto his wrist resting near your head. He immediately grips your hand, entwining your fingers with his and pressing your hand to the bed. You arch up and he shifts and grabs your other hand as well, pushing it up by the other and pinning both to the bed. He meets your eyes to make sure you’re okay and you immediately nod, gasping out his name and pressing your hips up to meet his again.

You exhale as he presses his hips all the way against yours in one smooth motion. Then he is pounding into you, little exhaled sighs leave your lips with each thrust. You’re stretched full and the force has you just on the edge of pain. Every stroke your clit rubs against his pelvis and you feel yourself get close again.

He’s coaxing you to another orgasm, his thrusts hard and deep and hitting all of the right places.

You only catch a few of the things he says to you as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge--

“Fuck, can you hear how wet you are?”

“So good for me.”

“I want you to let go. Come on, pretty girl.”

“Luca,” you say his name, eyes locked on his for a second before they slam shut as you tumble over the edge of your second orgasm. You arch up, twisting lightly in his hold and he continues to press into you, holding your wrists down as he fucks you through the waves of pleasure. After a few more thrusts his hips stutter and he presses inside of you and groans as he reaches his own peak.

You’re breathing heavily as he slides out of you. He disposes of the condom and lays next to you again. You’re still breathing heavily and he is holding you, warm and stable next to you.

You know you need to get up and clean yourself off. Instead, you reach up and pull his hair, now slightly damp with sweat, bringing him in for another soft kiss.

“Have you really been thinking of me all of this time?” you ask, breathless as you pull away.

“Every day,” he confesses readily, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Your heart races at his admission. His easy affection.

“I’ve thought about you a lot too.” You meet his eyes and see only the softest adoration so you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed when you say it. Or when you lean into him again, hugging him tightly to you. He hugs you tighter and you giggle as he nuzzles his nose into your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck.

“Let’s take a shower, yeah?”

You agree and stand up, stretching your arms over your head. You catch him looking at your chest and he grins at you, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Round two in the shower?”

You laugh, cheeks warming.

“We have to make up for lost time, love.”

#chef luca x reader #the bear fanfic #the bear smut #smut

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eupheme · 2 years ago

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Warm With You | Day 9: First Snow of the Season

sdv!harvey x f!reader

Rated E | 3.4k

Tags: fluff, established relationship, first time together, soft!dom!harvey??, fingering, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, PiV

inspired by “nice boys don't kiss like that”/ “oh yes, they fucking do” from bridget jones’s diary

You didn’t know your boyfriend - the sweet Doctor that he is - could have such a dirty mouth.

You steal kisses under the thick quilt, pulled up over your heads to keep out the chill. Legs slotted together, hips pressed snug as your fingers wander - tracing across his white undershirt, to where his thick hair curls at the base of his neck.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to end up like this, but you think you might be grateful for the snow that has been falling down in thick, puffy flakes all afternoon.

Not seeing how it had picked up during dinner, too starry-eyed and tender-hearted to notice anything other than each other. The dishes neatly stacked and drying as you watched a movie together on your couch - your fingers laced with his.

Only seeing the way the snow piled against your door as he was getting ready to leave for the night - the icy chill of the air cutting through your cozy cabin of a home.

“You could stay.” You had offered, hopeful. “Will you? Stay?”

It would be a new step. The next big one - he hasn’t slept over before.

A lot of your dates have been in public, a lunch grabbed during a break at the clinic. Meeting at the Stardrop Saloon for dinner. Both of you busy - the farm in full bloom during the fall. His work picking up as he doled out flu shots as the season turned - taking care of sniffling colds.

“Yes. I’d like that.” Harvey had smiled, “Very much.”

With the public dates came another sort of slow dance - the ache of desire you had for him stamped down by the surrounding of your friends. The eyes that seemed to drift your way out of interest, excitement.

Stolen kisses, a moment where he had you backed against the door of your cabin as he breathlessly kissed you farewell. You had wanted him to come inside that night - it had been on the tip of your tongue - but he truly had an early morning the next day.

You weren’t sure if he’d even want to sleep in your bed, though you’d hoped he would.

Everything about him gentlemanly - from the way he asked you out, to the flowers he brought you. Polite and kind and taking his time with each step, making sure you were right there with him.

But right now - tonight - there’s a shift. You’re unsure whether it’s the fact that you’re alone, or the slow tease of denial over the past few weeks, or whether it’s the distinct lack of clothes - but there’s a tension, a need, that you can almost feel.

It’s there in the way your fingers tug at his hair, the way he pulls you just a little more flush against him. The soft hum when his tongue brushes against your lip, until you lets him in.

The needy little whine in your throat, when the slow, deep kisses are both not enough and too much, when you want more.

He makes his own sound at that - a deep groan, while you guide his hand beneath your shirt. The heat of his palm as he cups you, his other arm curling around you to tug you closer. The barest brush of a thumb across a taut nipple, your hips shifting against him in response, encouraging.

Feeling where he’s straining against his patterned boxers, your own fingers trailing over the cotton fabric as his sound turns sharp.

You pull back, lips kiss-swollen, fingers going still.

His eyes crack open as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”

A low laugh at that, barely a huff of breath. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, his nose brushing against yours, “Don’t stop, sweetheart. Please.”

His hips shifting into your hand, as your fingers unfurl so you can cup him - feel the heavy weight of his cock as you stroke him over the fabric.

A groan rattling in his throat at your hand, his own catching the tight bud of your nipple between thumb and forefinger, giving the lightest tug.

You own moan echos his, working at the front of the boxers - tugging them down to pull him free.

Harvey’s nose bumps into yours when your hand wraps around him fully, fingers lightly squeezing, his mouth open as he exhales. Half-lidded eyes needy under the fan of thick eyelashes, and your lips finds his again as your hand strokes over his swollen, flushed cock.

There’s the drag of skin on skin as you tug on him, one, twice, three times before you’re making a little sound - breaking the kiss to push yourself up.

Eyes bouncing back and forth between his as you ask, “Can I taste you? I want it to feel good, I-”

He makes a low sound, one you take to be his permission - a cold gust of air sneaking into the space as you sit up. Pulling your shirt off, leaving it tangled in the sheets as you move between the thighs that spread open for you.

Admiring him, for a moment. Because you can, because he’s yours. The trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton, neatly trimmed at the base of his cock. A drop shining at the tip, but not enough to prevent the chafe of your hand.

Your tongue peeks out to drag over his cock as it bobs against his stomach. His voice coming after, a rasp to it that you haven’t heard before, “Just get me wet, and come back up here. I want to touch you.”

His words are unexpected - making you clench, breath hot against his skin as you take him into your mouth. Sucking, slicking him up like he asked, tasting the salt of his skin, reveling in the way he makes your lips stretch around him.

Taking as much as you can into your throat, if only to hear his moan, the way his thighs flex under your hands. His hands, fingers gentle as they touch at your face, your eyes watching the way he pants when you hollow your cheeks, your fist following as your head bobs.

“Up here.” He repeats, the slightest edge that has you listening, smiling as you swallow the spit that pools in your mouth. Settling next to him on your side again, your fist still stroking as his lips crush against yours.

Fingers toying at the hem of your shorts, his mouth dropping to your chin, your neck, as you arch against him. Then, sliding beneath, reaching until his fingers part you, finding where you’re slick and aching for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grits out, his hips jerking into your fist as he pets at you again.

He’s ruining you already, the words spilling from his lips ones you wouldn’t have expected. You don’t think he’s even trying to do it, not intentionally. They seem to flow from him when he sees how his voice affects you. It makes you want to hear more - already thinking about how he’ll sound when he’s buried in you. When he’s close.

His palm cups you, the heel pressing against your clit, before his middle finger just nudges against your entrance. A low gasp as he sinks inside, as if your pleasure was his - a slow pump of his finger, and then another.

Your teeth catch on his lip, the softest scrape, the tightening of your fist. His nose nuzzling against yours, the suck of air through his clenched teeth.

“So warm and wet,” Harvey breathes - watching you, your head tilting back as a second finger slips in, pressing them deep before carefully crooking and stroking.

The gasp you make is sharp, a pleased hum as his mouth moves to your neck. Doing it again, finding a rhythm as his thumb moves to rub against the swollen bud.

“Harvey.” You croak, breathless - the slick pump of his fingers followed by the scratch of his mustache as he presses an open-mouth kiss against your throat.

You didn’t know it could be like this - everything winding tight, a building pressure that has you gasping, hips flexing as you ride his fingers. His name on your lips again, a plea this time.

“What do you need, baby?” He asks against your skin, moving down to where your fingers had teased at your chest. Blinking up at you, a lazy smile beneath the flush of his cheeks, when you find you can’t answer.

Not even stroking him anymore - too distracted, too close - to do anything more than hold him.

“You want to come?” He croons, rubbing the tip of his finger against a spongey spot that steals your breath.

You nod, managing a gasping, croaking “please”, before you see the peek of his tongue, the hot swipe of it against your breast.

The groan that bursts from you then - wanton and needy as he flicks his tongue over your again, his thumb circling your clit with each of your gasping breaths.

Your hips bucking into his hand as his lips close around and suck, the softest brush of his teeth. The muscles in your thighs strung tight, a short, harsh breath punctuating each of your words.

“Fuck, Harvey. Right there, oh, I’m so close-”

His answer, the low, coaxing smoothness of his voice, “That’s it honey. Come for me, let me feel you.”

Gasping then, as he hums against your skin, the bursting pulse of pleasure between your thighs as you clench around his fingers. They slow, pressing deep - his head tilting up so he can watch the blissed-out droop of your eyes, the way your lips part.

Blushing and pleased, his teeth flashing white as his chin presses into your sternum.

Leaving you limp on the bed, moving back up until his lips press into your jaw, your cheek. Fingers drifting over your shoulder, stroking as soothing as you come back down.

Until your head is tilting to meet him, soft kisses that turn hungry - as you shift a knee over his stomach. Carefully easing until you’re straddling him, thighs spread wide over his hips. Arched over him, fingers splayed and balancing yourself on his chest - pressing into his warm skin, the dust of hair.

Your hips shift, until you can feel the hard press of him against your center - his hands flexing where they rest against your bent knees.

One coming up to brush a curl of hair back from his forehead. His own hips canting upward, his cock trapped between your pussy and where it curves up towards his stomach.

The words, heavy on your tongue, “Yoba, I want you.”

And how he smiles at that, sweet and slow as his chin tips up, so he can see you better.

“You want to ride me, sweetheart? Like you rode my fingers?”

Your exhale is sharp as you nod, and he makes a slow, pleased sound. A thudding heartbeat between your thighs, your mind a hazy, needy swirl as your grind down. Each pass making his cock a little more slick, the flushed head bumping against your clit.

“I don’t want to make a mess in your bed.” He groans, though he’s moving with you, meeting the rut of your hips, “Do you have condoms?”

And oh, you want him to make a mess of you - but you understand what he’s asking. Appreciating his care even when he’s aching for you, and you’re nodding, gesturing towards the bedside table.

His arm stretched as he reaches for it, a finger hooking around the wooden knob, giving it a tug. Fishing around for the small cardboard box, dropping in on the bed next to him as grabs his glasses where they are resting next to the lamp.

Brows furrowing as he slides them on, the tip of a fingernail slipping under the edge of the box. Ripping the edge of the foil after, fishing it out before his other hand grips the base of his cock - carefully rolling the condom on.

Holding himself steady for you, afterwards - as you gaze down at him. A flutter of excitement in your chest as you lift up, a palm pressed against his chest for balance.

Lining yourself up, feeling the tip drag against you until he’s nudging against your entrance, and then you’re sinking down onto him for the first time.

A rough moan is pushed from your lungs as you take him, slow and steady, feeling him stretch and fill you. Something you’d imagined frequently - but never dreaming he’d feel as good as he does right now.

His own low curse, your name strung out as he’s buried in you - until your hips are snug against his, and you’re wrapped warm and tight around him.

Your head dipping, fingers curling against his chest as you take a long moment, peeking up to where he’s watching, lips parted. Hands that move to rest on your thighs, where his fingers bite into your own flesh.

Bracing yourself, as you lift up - feeling the drag of him within you as your eyes slide shut. Another, and then another, your heels pressing into his thighs as you find your rhythm.

The pant of your breath matching his, his hips jerking up to meet each bounce, nudging him just that much deeper with each thrust.

“Just look at you,” He’s groaning, broad hands sliding from your thighs to your hips. Grabbing on, arms flexing as he helps you ride him, “Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

It makes you whine, makes you want to kiss him. So you do, leaning down over him, your breasts pressing against his chest as his chin lifts. Meeting you, moaning into your mouth as the sharp slap of your hips turns into a grind.

Changing the way he feels in you, the thrusts shallower. A nudging against your clit that leaves you breathless, your nose bumping eagerly against his as you sigh against him.

Fingers cupping the back of his neck, the other hand bracing against his shoulder. Drawing back to look at him, where he’s watching you as you take what you need.

“Is this okay?” You ask, suddenly a little self-conscious under his gaze. Still disbelieving that he’s beneath you, inside you - feeling better than you’ve ever imagined.

His smile soft and stretching across his face, “So perfect, sweetheart. You’re doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

It makes you clench, where he can feel it. A hand leaving your hip, sliding between his lips and sucking, as your lips press into the stubble on his jaw. Slipping them between you, to rub the wet tips against the bud of your clit.

You jolt - leaning back to give him more room. Touching you like he did before, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrates - his eyes lifting to yours again.

“Aren’t you?” He coaxes again, the slightest edge to his voice. Not a command, it’s far too soft - but it’s firm, drawing your attention.

“Yes.” You moan, ignoring the dull ache in your muscles in favor of the slick swirl of his fingers. Chasing something you can almost taste - a pressure building and building where he’s buried in you.

He watches you, shoulders curling against the generous pile of your pillows, eyes traveling from your face, down to the bounce of your breasts. Lingering, before dropping - focusing on his fingers. Where he can see you, the way you wrap around him, the flex of your muscles as you arch into his touch.

A low, rough hum when your fingers tighten where they rest on your thighs. Your gasping breath, the small, “Yoba, Harvey. Just like that.”

He stays steady, giving you just the tiniest bit more pressure. It’s bliss, and you can feel that pressure again, the tight swirl in your belly.

“Oh, you felt so good around my fingers, sweetheart.”

The praise makes you whine, his voice soft and coaxing, “Want to make you come again. On my cock this time, so I can stop imagining it at work, and start remembering, instead.”

Your eyes flicker to his, his own gaze-heavy lidded, wanting. His hip flexing up to meet you, a hand braced on your waist and helping keep the pace.

And he sees it, the question in your eyes, the flash of teeth beneath his mustache as he smiles, “I’ve wanted this for ages. Wanted you. Just didn’t want to rush.”

It’s his wanting that tips you over the edge. His voice, the press of his fingers, as your thighs flex, tighten. Pushing him deep into you as you come, the tight clench of your cunt around his cock - your hands brace on his chest as you arch over him.

His name, pretty on your lips and drawn out over long syllables that sounds like a hymn with the way you sing it.

The soft swoop of his hands over your hips, thighs - soothing and comforting. Until your heart slows from where it was pounding in your chest, making itself known.

Now that you’re no longer moving, the chill settles in, and you shiver. Harvey feels the tremble of your fingers against his chest, and he’s catching them, before pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Come here.” He pats the space next to him, gently coaxing you off him.

You miss him as soon as he leaves you, an emptiness and an ache in your thighs from the exertion. But the bed is warm where he’s been laying, and as soon as you’re settled, he’s swapping places, rolling on top. Fitting between your spread thighs.

He’s kissing you this time when he fits himself inside you. The hiss of his breath as he sinks in, a soft, drawn out “fuck” that you hope you never get used to hearing. Something just for you.

Your fingers grasping his shoulders when he pushes deep, a pleasurable force to his thrust that has you gasping.

The clumsy brush of his cheek to yours, his glasses against your face as you smile. Reaching to remove them for them - tuck them away safely.

A low, grateful sound in his throat as he find his rhythm. The flex of his hips as he rocks into you, his weight warm and welcome.

Your lips against his throat, memorizing the sounds of his gasps, a low moan when you clench around him. A thigh, hooking around his hip, keeping him pressed deep as his breaths grow shorter.

“Want to make you feel good, too.” You tell him, the tilt of his chin he watches from where he hold himself just above you.

The smile when you see how he cheeks flush, how his hips stutter at your words.

“Oh, you do.” He groans, eyes half-lidded as he sinks into your heat, “You feel so fucking good, honey.”

His mouth warm against your when he leans down, swallowing his sounds as you start to move with him. The snap of his hips against yours, the muffled slap of skin on skin.

Coaxing him to shift, until his arms are wrapping around you, embracing you. Your hands on his jaw, his neck as you kiss him again, drawing back to tell him just how much you want him. How you’ve thought about him, about this.

His thrusts have gone shallow, and then - he’s there.

You watch with glassy eyes as he comes, the pretty pinch between his eyebrows, his parted lips, his long, broken moan. The way he’s gazing at you as he thrusts deep one more time, holding himself there as the last pulsing flexes of his cock wane.

The bristly brush of his mustache as his lips press to your cheek, the low, content sigh in his chest. Easing carefully from you a few moments later, removing and tying off the condom.

His legs swing off the side of the bed, as he gets ready to throw it away in the bathroom - to clean up. Leaving you with a, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

The gentle confirmation is sweet. You think he’d stay, even without the storm. It’s a nice thought, and you’re content to stay in your cozy bed beneath the blankets, basking in the afterglow.

It’s only better when he rejoins you, curling himself against your back, lips pressing against your neck. How easily the two of you seem to fit together, the tickle against your skin as he sighs, and finally - relaxes.

Your fingers find his, wrapping around them. Bringing them up to your lips, cradling them carefully as you kiss them. Actions laced with unspoken words of affection, as you revel in the moment. In just being with him, right now.

The warmth in your bed seeps into your heart, as his arms tighten around you. Secretly happy for the storm, even if it means you’ll have more work in the morning.

Because at the moment… there’s no place in the world that you’d rather be.

(tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto)

#just thinking about a soft and gently confident Harvey #wwdilfcember #sdv harvey x reader #stardew valley smut #stardew valley Harvey x reader #sdv Harvey x f!reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Rook, Ortho: Princess Power

BRUH 💀 Go figure, giving the guy obsessed with beauty two of the least flattering screenshots in his background frames… But hey, his groovy is very different from everyone else’s so far! ^^ Very relaxed and peaceful.

Cbjssbjsjskendb new tidbits about pre-Pomefiore Rook?? He used to cut his own hair with a knife and focused on keeping his bangs out of his line of sight… and he wasn’t as confident about his style (mood). It’s also interesting to know that he started doing ballet on Vil’s recommendation, and that has helped a lot with his posture, working out muscles he doesn’t normally use, and appreciating the art of performances. We love Pomefiore out here breaking gender norms 👊

A Tale as Old as Time.

Rook drew out a longing sigh, gently easing into the quiet of the museum. The soft sound lingered, coiling around his fingers like thread from a spool. It, too, did not wish to part ways with the stunning beauty laid out bare before it.

A fair maiden was framed in shining platinum. Hair black as ebony, lips as red as the rose, and skin as white as snow... Truly, she was the fairest in all the land.

Her graceful frame was folded, kneeling on the forest floor to greet the woodland creatures that had gathered. The pale yellow skirt of her gown spilled out, blue bodice and puff sleeves fitted well by her figure. Her face round and gentle, in spite of the high collar encircling it, crowed by a petite red bow.

Here was pure innocence, a young girl reveling in nature.

“Beauté,” he marveled—to no one in particular, but such beauty warranted verbal acknowledgement.

“It seems that this painting has captured your interest, Rook Hunt-san!” a voice chirped. A neon blue light emanated from the darkness, accompanied by the silver flash of metal.

“Bonjour!” Rook greeted Ortho. "I must confess, I have been enchanted by this particular work of art! The brush strokes, masterful! The composition, immaculate!! The subject—oh, how it makes my heart quiver with nostalgia!! I am a man close to being moved to tears!!”

Ortho curiously glanced at the girl and her animal friends. No strong emotions arose within up from him. Perhaps he did not feel as much, or perhaps Rook felt too much. “Is there a sentimental experience or memory you have related to this painting…?”

“Oui! It is a tale as old as time.” Rook gestured to the snow white young lady. “They say that this maiden was a princess forced to flee from her home country, as a hostile presence threatened her life. She retreated into the woods and found comfort in a humble life there. Her tenacity is most admirable!!”

“Tenacity… That’s the value that Pomefiore was founded on!” Ortho, floating overhead, beamed at Rook. “I understand why you would like that story. It has a good moral that sticks with you.”

“That is the beauty of telling tales! They inspire those who hear of it, ensuring that the spirit of the story is never truly extinguished.” The huntsman’s eyes held a keep glint to them. “Tell me, Ortho-kun. What do you believe makes a princess?”

The boy blinked. A split second, and he had already input the term into an internal search engine, the formal definition loaded up to recite.

“Prin-cess, noun. The daughter of a monarch or wife to a prince. A woman having sovereign power.”

“An efficient, succinct answer!” Rook applauded, his cheer never faltering. “However, my desire is to know your interpretation. In Ortho-kun’s own words, what makes a princess?”

“My own…?” The words stretched, unsure, on his tongue. Ortho hesitated—seeking, processing, and analyzing. Rook’s heartbeat sounded where there was the space for the boy to think.

Then, finally, Ortho spoke.

“From what I’ve observed in movies and books, the princess is a pop culture icon. She’s usually presented as a role model for little girls. Someone who is beautiful, dainty, and composed, wearing a pretty dress and a glittering crown."

A pause. Ortho assessed Rook’s hard-to-read, bright expression.

“… Is that closer to the response you were looking for, Rook Hunt-san?” he asked.

To this, the third year’s lips quirked. “There is no correct or incorrect answer! I was curious to see your perspective. Everyone holds one that differs, lenses of all designs and colors with which to see the world through! You have my most heartfelt thanks for sharing your view with me.”

"Oh, I see! You're collecting data from a variety of sources to compare to a standard." The android (literally) lit up from within. "Let me ask the same back! Rook Hunt-san, what do you think makes a princess?"

"Mon dieu! You've set my own trap upon me," Rook teased.

The Beautiful Queen, the Fair Maiden, Vil, his peers... So many fragments of beauty in his collection. Plucked, collected, hoarded.

He ran a finger along his chin, contemplating. The thoughts assembled like a collage. Ideas taken, cut up, and pasted together into a new, glorious artwork.

"A princess can be many things," Rook declared with certainty. "They are a princess to their very core, even when their power is stripped from them or they are dressed in only ashes and rags. What defines them is not royal heritage or political influence, but the strength of their character, their values and virtues. They are not bound by a singular trait, but are aspirations to all in their own ways."

Ortho's eyes swelled. "Eh...? That's so broad! By your definition, anyone could be a princess—even you or I!”

The huntsman threw his head back and laughed. "Broad it may be, but I am of the opinion that we all have it in us to live up to the title~”

He indicated the woman in the platinum frame. Ortho’s gaze obediently followed. "Even without a kingdom to call her own, she remained kind-hearted rather than turn to cruelty. That is why she was, and always will be, a noble soul. A princess who puts out good into the world.”

“Rook Hunt-san…”

“Ortho-kun!” Rook dramatically extended an arm to him. He was practically sparkling in the dim room. “I, too, endeavor to put out as much beauty as what is gifted to me! That is my one true calling as the Hunter of Love: to not only seek out beauty, but to cultivate and to contribute to it!”

Ortho silently stared. Nii-san did warn me that Rook Hunt-san could be eccentric, but… maybe there’s some meaning to be found in it.

Cutting through the numbers and the formulas that governed him was a fuzzy warmth. Not the familiar jolt of electricity that powered his circuits. It was too wild, too unpredictable.

Something undeniably human.

Ortho let out a giggle. "Hehe. Then you must be a princess too!"

Rook's mouth formed a small "o". Unsubtle surprise—or perhaps purposefully exaggerated. "Me? Whatever makes you think that?"

"Strength of character!" Ortho parroted mischievously. "I've never met someone as uplifting as you are. Rook Hunt-san is the type of person that sees a princess in everyone."

The boy lowered himself to a few centimeters off of the ground, pretending to dip into a curtsey. "Your majesty!"

"Fufufu. You're quite charming yourself, Princess Ortho-kun!" Rook bent into a deep bow. "Most clever in all the land, computing complex problems in the blink of an eye!”

Upon straightening, the third year laid both hands over his heart. He lifted his head toward the painting of the fair maiden in the forest. A serene smile at his lips.

It was as if he was pledging his allegiance, making a vow. A worshipper at the altar to pray.

“May we all live happily ever after,” Rook whispered raptly, “like the princesses of old.”

Forever and ever.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Rook Hunt #Rook birthday takeover #spoilers #something no one asked for #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Ortho Shroud #I hope y'all notice but Rook was basically describing what makes a Disney 'princess'#since not all of them in the lineup are actually royalty

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mandoriana · 2 months ago

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HEADCANON ARTHUR PENDRAGON

Arthur likes goats. (No reason, he just likes their personality)

He had a goat when he was 6, he was his best friend, but Uther forced him to kill his goat and eat.

Arthur could never play with the other children, only the ones Uther allowed, but his father didn't have time for him, so Arthur never went out to play.

Although everyone thinks that Arthur is not the smartest between him and Morgana, in fact, he has read all the books in the library and has mastery of many complex areas (mathematics, history, literature, philosophy, politics, etc.)

Arthur believes that studies are very important and always takes them very seriously.

Arthur likes affection in his hair and always lets Merlin comb them. (He's like a pompous cat who loves to be brushed)

Arthur is very unsure about everything he does because his father always made him doubt himself.

He's afraid to get closer to people because he's afraid of suffering.

Merlin is the only person Arthur allows to approach during sleep.

Arthur likes to draw, but he doesn't let anyone know because his father called him a "girl" for it. He has a notebook full of drawings by Merlin, Gwen and Morgana, there are drawings by other knights, but most of the drawings are by Merlin.

Arthur is afraid of spiders.

His favorite color is blue, but he always wears red to honor his kingdom.

Despite loving Gwen, he could never love her as he loved Merlin.

She always envied Morgana's relationship with Uther because Uther always loved her more than he loved Arthur.

His favorite flowers are the purple lilies, Merlin once spent days searching the forest because he wanted to present Arthur with them.

Arthur gave Ygraine's symbol to Merlin knowing what it meant (marriage request), but didn't mind explaining what it meant for fear of Merlin denying her gift.

Arthur admires the way Merlin is good to people.

He took potions/medicines for depression after the bloody events at the Druid camp.

Sometimes he hide under the bed or in the closet to have some moments of peace from all your responsibilities.

He hasn't cried since he was 5.

His father disciplined him with flogging, a way to "make him stronger."

Arthur has a high tolerance for pain.

Sometimes, when Merlin saves Arthur from love's incantations or potions, when Arthur wakes up he feels sick and needs to take a bath, the feeling of being touched against will always terrifies Arthur.

Arthur loves rain and snow.

Arthur hates "rabbit food" (green and vegetable), but when Merlin feeds him he always eats it.

He shares food only with Merlin.

It's jealous for fear that Merlin will find someone better than him.

Leon was his first youthful passion.

He's not afraid of magic, he's afraid of people and what they can do with so much power.

He has fought a small army of 20 men and won alone.

His nickname on the battlefield is Mad Titan or Bloody Beast. (Arthur hates these nicknames)

#headcanon #merlin x arthur #arthur pendragon #arthur pendragon headcanon #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #merlin #merlin headcanons

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slaymitchabernathy · 5 months ago

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A Husband’s Duty

| a companion to ‘Cold & Calculated’ |

Often times Coriolanus finds picking out his daily attire to be the most difficult part of his day.

Surely, he could wear the same outfit every day, buy the same shirt seven times and take the thinking out of it. But he always enjoys how satisfying it is to see it all come together.

His vision.

He fastens the knot of his tie and nods at his reflection. He looks distinguished. Well put together without trying too hard.

In other words, like a Snow.

His gold wedding band shines brightly in the mirrors reflection and he catches himself staring at it for a moment. He’s a married man now. It’s been a little over a month since he married Soarynn, formerly known as Soarynn Nightingale.

Their relationship has been…strict.

They’ve been doing everything strictly by the books.

Consummate the marriage the night of the wedding? Check.

Moving in together? Check.

Making public appearances as a newlywed couple? Check.

Sending out thank you cards for all those who attended the wedding? Check.

Forming a genuine relationship with his wife? He’s still working on that one.

It’s not like Soarynn is some horrible, wretched creature that he’s now stuck with until the end of time. On the contrary, she’s stunning and kind, she’s quiet and polite. She’s everything he could ever dream of.

He glances out of their shared closet into the bathroom where she’s currently standing in front of her vanity brushing out her long blonde hair.

And that’s another thing about her. The girl is very hygienic. She smells like vanilla, her hair is so soft, her skin is so smooth. She’s so feminine and gentle.

She’s….she’s bleeding? She’s bleeding!

Coriolanus has to do a double take before venturing into their bathroom but there is blood dripping down Soarynn’s leg and onto the bathroom tile. She doesn’t seem to notice at all which is what truly worries him. Has he married a girl who is already going to die? He’s heard stories of young adults like them losing their lives at such a young age.

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, “Soarynn?”

She looks over her shoulder at him and her eyes are just so dazzling he nearly forgets what he came out here to talk about with her.

“Yes?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. Why must this be so difficult? She could be dying and here he is struggling to bring up a valid concern.

“You’re bleeding,” he nods towards the floor where more blood has pooled and Soarynn looks down, taking a step back once she notices the issue.

“Fuck,” she whispers and his lips twitch into a small smile. Soarynn is so eloquent and polite that hearing her swear is something almost foreign to him.

Soarynn tosses her brush onto the counter and rushes into the small room where the toilet is and shuts the door. Coriolanus listens to it lock and then all he can hear is some shuffling around and the flush of the toilet before she’s coming back out, flushed in her face.

She looks up at him before looking back down at the floor, seemingly nervous for whatever she’s about to tell him. “I got my…my cycle.”

She whispers the last word so softly that he has to lean forward, “You got your what?”

Soarynn sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose before looking back up at him, a hint of embarrassment behind her eyes, “I got my period.”

His eyes widen as he finally registers those words and what they mean. “Oh.” Soarynn nods and rocks back and forth on her heels, “Yes. I um, I honestly didn’t know when to expect it since I got the implant removed before the wedding,” she tells him but Coriolanus is still hung up on the news she just delivered.

Soarynn tilts her head and he shakes himself out of his daze, “I’m sorry, yes, yes I remember you scheduling the appointment to get your implant removed. So that you can get…”

“Get pregnant,” Soarynn finishes for him, her cheeks turning even more pink. “I guess I’m not yet.”

They both stand there for a moment, unsure of what to say to each other. Does she need a hug? Should he comfort her? Is she scared?

“I…I wasn’t very prepared for this,” she admits, running a hand through her hair, “could you please go get me some…some things?”

Coriolanus blinks once, twice, “Some things,” he repeats and Soarynn nods, “Yes. Some products so I don’t continue bleeding out on the floor.”

Well she has a good point. But why can’t she go out and buy the products? Coriolanus immediately scolds himself for his way of thinking. He’s a husband now and his wife needs him to be a man and buy her some feminine products. And of course, she can’t go out right now, she’s still in her nightgown and she’s bleeding out for heaven sake. Even if she wanted to go get them herself he wouldn’t let her.

Soarynn needs to rest, lie down and eat something maybe.

“Of course,” he nods, “is there anything in particular you’d like me to get for you?” Coriolanus has limited—no—knowledge of women’s feminine products considering he didn’t grow up with a sister and his mother never mentioned being on her period. She probably got the implant again the second she could. At least that’s what he would do.

Soarynn furrows her eyebrows before shaking her head, “No. I honestly have no idea. I got the implant when I was quite young so I’ve never really gotten my period before,” she says softly. Coriolanus feels his normally stern expression soften slightly when hearing her say that. Soarynn is still so young and she’s still learning. It’s up to him to help her through this.

“I trust your judgment when it comes to these things,” she adds, giving him a small smile. Coriolanus returns it with one of his own and straightens up, “All right. You get some rest and I’ll be back in no time.”

He quickly grabs a coat and his wallet, slipping on a comfortable pair of leather shoes for his short journey. It’s not too cold and he doesn’t mind a brisk walk every now and then.

When he comes into their bedroom he’s met with a sight that makes his heart ache. Soarynn sits on the edge of the bed, one arm wrapped around her waist while she holds onto the bedpost with the other, taking in slow and deep breaths.

Petunia is next to her, nuzzling her nose against Soarynn’s leg in means to offer her some comfort. She’s even brought her favorite toy at the moment, her pink mouse. Petunia meows at him and Soarynn lifts her head, their eyes meeting momentarily before he breaks his gaze away, “I’ll be back soon. Do ask the cook to make you some tea if you’re feeling a bit under the weather,” he suggests.

It’s not like she’s sick. But Coriolanus has a feeling that bleeding out for a good seven days can’t make you feel good either. Soarynn merely nods before closing her eyes again and he takes that as a signal to leave.

Now a man on a mission, he sets out into the Capitol in search of one thing and one thing only.

Period products.

꧁ ꧂

The jingle of the bell on the door announces his presence as Coriolanus strolls into the familiar establishment that is the pharmacy he and his family have been going to since he was an infant.

He and Soarynn have only come here once since meeting one another and that was to get her some medicine for a headache that popped up right before they were going to the theatre to see a show.

Other than that, they’ve made separate trips.

It’s the finest and most reputable pharmacy in the Capitol due to its location being within the inner circle of the city, the safest place for one to live. So it makes perfect sense that it’s merely a block away from the Corso, the street in which all prominent Capitol families reside.

Coriolanus heads straight to the back of the store where he’s met with a rather daunting aisle of different feminine care products. In all his years he’s never gone down this aisle but there’s a first time for everything.

He’s beginning to wish he’d asked Soarynn to give him some sort of idea as to what to purchase for her. There’s so many options. Pads, tampons, and…cups? Absolutely not. You have to be a very brave person to shove a cup up there.

Coriolanus takes a step back and sets his hands on his hips as he surveys all the different boxes. There are so many brands with different types of packaging although most of them are all pink which he supposes is for aesthetic purposes. If he were to have a say, the packaging would be blood red so it’s probably a good thing that he’s not been left to make such decisions.

Coriolanus looks to his left and meets the eyes of a woman who’s also shopping for feminine products. She shoots him a nasty look before walking further down the aisle, putting more distance between them.

He must look terribly out of place. A broad shouldered man, well above anyone’s normal height standing in this aisle with a confused look on his face.

His friends would tease him about this for weeks if they saw him like this.

He almost wants to assure the woman that he’s not some creep. ‘I’m not a pervert, I have a beautiful wife at home, please help me!’

He scans the prices of these products and nearly doubles over at how expensive these things are. Why are they so expensive? And aren’t they just thrown away once they’re used? If they were multi use products then maybe he could understand but this is outrageous. Is this what women deal with on a daily basis?

From what Soarynn told him on one of their many dates, the birth control implant is very expensive as well which is why only the richest women from the richest families can afford them.

He’s going to have to speak with a board of representatives about these prices because this is just ridiculous.

But being a Snow, his eyes drift to the most expensive products the pharmacy offers, top shelf.

If they’re that expensive then it’s for a reason. They must be the best and Soarynn deserves the best.

He wonders what she’d prefer though since he’s still faced with many options from this luxurious brand. He looks back down the aisle to ask the woman for help but she’s already gone.

Coriolanus huffs and simply grabs one of each box. Soarynn can decide what’s best for her.

As he walks down the aisle he notices a small display of pain relievers as well. Soarynn certainly looked like she was in pain when he left. He’s heard that some women experience cramps or back pain, or even tender breasts. He doesn’t hesitate to grab a bottle.

He’s almost at the checkout line when he also spots a heating pad at the end cap of another aisle. He grabs that too.

He gets a bit of a strange look from the cashier who happens to be an elderly woman but he ignores it entirely. “Will that be all for you today sir?”

He pulls out his wallet, “Yes.”

The woman hums and rings up his total, a whopping amount in his opinion but it’s better than blood soaked floors and a miserable wife for a week.

“Heavy flow today?”

Coriolanus almost chokes on his spit at the cashiers question as he hands her several bills, “It’s for my wife,” he quickly explains, his porcelain face turning pink. The cashier raises her eyebrows and hands him his change, “Then she’s a lucky lady to have a husband like you.”

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus returns to their bedroom, he finds Soarynn sitting in their small seating area next to the fireplace. She’s got a blanket covering her and she looks to be in good health.

She offers him a tired smile before eying the large paper bag he’s brought with him. “Did you buy the entire pharmacy?” She asks and Coriolanus grins, happy to see she’s still able to crack a small joke every now and then.

Soarynn can be very funny when she feels like it. He’s only witnessed most of her jokes when they’ve been in the company of friends she’s known her whole life but he hopes that one day she’ll truly let loose around him and give him a true taste of her sense of humor.

“I almost did,” he replies, sitting on the edge of the sofa she’s currently perched on, “I didn’t know what you’d like so I just got everything. Oh, and I got you some pain reliever and a heating pad as well.”

Soarynn’s expression softens as he hands her the bag and she peers in to see all that’s he’s brought for her. “Thank you,” she says, “that’s very kind of you.”

Coriolanus feels his focus on her being pulled away when he feels something tugging on his pants. He looks down to see Petunia lying on her back, clearly demanding attention. He was a bit hesitant to let Petunia move in with him once he and Soarynn were married.

It’s not that he’s doesn’t trust the feline but his penthouse has very nice and expensive furniture that she could so easily scratch up with those long claws. But Petunia has been very well behaved. She only annoys him every once in a while and it’s usually when Soarynn is gone so she has no one else to bother but him.

He gently scoops the cat up and gives her a good scratch behind the ears, “I suppose you’ll never know what it’s like hmm?” Soarynn chuckles and shakes her head while watching the two of them, “Unlike me she’s rather lucky. She got spayed as soon as she was able to. Mostly for the sake of not having kittens.”

Coriolanus nearly shudders at the thought of smaller versions of Petunia roaming around the apartment. He’s already outnumbered as it is. Both their maids are women and so is their cook. It’s five against one.

Petunia purrs and leans into his touch, momentarily making him forget that he should probably be doing something productive like working now that he’s done running this spontaneous errand.

He clears his throat and sets her back on the floor, ignoring her meow of protest, “Well, if you don’t need anything else I’ll be in my study.”

He doesn’t miss how Soarynn’s face slightly falters before she recovers and puts on a smile, “Of course. Thank you again for getting me what I need.”

Coriolanus grunts and rises to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants, “It’s a husband’s duty to look after his wife.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, he just walks to the bedroom doors and closes them behind him, leaving his wife and her cat alone.

In another world he’d spend all day with her, lay in bed and feed her sweets, fetch her water and braid her hair.

In another life.

| tumblr drabble/oneshot |

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elsweetheart · 2 years ago

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i just wanna adopt a cat with ellie :((

i luv this ,, wrote this half awake enjoy

“babe? babe! fucking — ahh! shit, crazy little shit!” ellie whisper yelled, followed by loud crashing about in your living room space. you shot up, eyes finding the alarm clock that read 12:28AM, rubbing one of your eyes as you woke yourself up. this was the usual time ellie was meant to arrive back from patrol. usually, she’d shower and crawl into your bed with not much fuss— most times you wouldn’t even wake up, so for her to be causing such a ruckus you figured you should probably go and see what was going on.

you pad out your bedroom, rubbing the sleep out of your eye feeling the chill hit your body, only adorned in a tank top and shorts.

“el, wh’s a matter.” you croaked out, thinking this shit better be worth it. ellie, facing the couch spun around — an odd mixture of mischief and exhaustion on her face.

“babe, don’t freak out. i— i just couldn’t leave her okay, she’s really cute when she’s not freaking the fuck out — and, i know this is technically your place but i thought hey— why not—” ellie rambled as you squinted in the low light, the auburn haired girl having flicked on a lamp upon her arrival.

“what are you talking about?” you yawned, walking up to ellie in confusion. your eyes caught movement behind her and you frowned, craning around to see what it was.

it moved too fast to be able to tell at first, a bundle of black fur and two big sparkly beads. ellie moved aside, and you crouched down — coming face to face with a kitten.

the kitten seemed to calm at your slow movements, pupils dilated as it stared up at you curiously.

“a kitten?” you whispered, expression softening in awe. you had only seen a cat once before, it was a rarity to see any kind of animal that would be considered a pet in the old world.

“found her held up in some house. she hissed at me a bunch until i gave her some of the food i’d packed. she’s got her priorities straight, i respect it.” she chuckled tiredly, kneeling down beside you to look at her. “you wanna keep her? i mean, she can be ours. together.” ellie scratched the back of her neck, slightly nervous at the proposal.

“oh my god, yes. of course. i love her.” you pouted, slowly reaching your palm out. she sniffed it curiously before unsurely nuzzling her head into it.

“i see she has a favourite already. that’ll change, don’t you worry.” ellie sarked, standing up and stretching, body sore after her long hours out in the snow.

��uh huh.” you giggle, crossing your legs as you get comfortable on the floor.

“why don’t you make her a little bed for now down here. we can deal with her in the morning.” ellie suggested, her hand brushing your shoulder fondly urging you to stand. you did so, the two of you creating a makeshift cushion cat bed, the black kitten circling it a few times before settling. “there we go. now let me shower and i’ll be in bed. i’m fucking beat.” ellie walked toward your bathroom, already chucking her jacket aside.

you head back to bed, the sleepiness taking back over as you crawled beneath the warmth of your bed sheets. ellie joined you not so long after as you lightly dozed, sliding in behind you in a clean hoodie and shorts. her warm hands slid beneath your tank, resting on your tummy as she snuggled into you.

“we gotta—” you croaked, half awake.

“hm?” ellie lift her head slightly, placing a kiss beneath your ear.

“gotta… find a name for her.” you murmured, the matter clearly very important. ellie dropped her head back onto the pillow.

“pfft, already done. ellie junior.” she joked and you smiled lazily despite fighting sleep.

“seriously.”

“we can discuss it in the morning. maybe it’ll come to you in a dream.”

“maybe.”

“goodnight, baby.”

“night els.”

#anon #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams prompt #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fluff

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goosita · 1 year ago

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attending a gala with young!politician!snow is both more and less terrifying than you’d imagined

he’d picked you up at 7pm on the dot, waiting outside of his car for you. coriolanus was dressed in all black, a departure from his usual red color palette. the moment you’d stepped outside to meet him in the dress and shoes (as well as necklace) he bought you, he’d smiled charmingly at you and offered his hand.

“you look absolutely enchanting, miss y/n,” he breathed, tone full of sincerity. you could feel your cheeks blaze at his compliment, giving a timid grin.

“thank you, coryo.”

coriolanus brightened even more, opening the back door of the car with his free hand and keeping you steady with the other as you slid in. he followed just after you, settling in beside you on the seat. now here you were, on the way to a big fancy party full of people who made more money in an hour than you did in a whole year.

“are you nervous?” he asks, glancing at you.

“absolutely terrified,” you admit with a soft laugh. “i’ve never been to anything like this. i don’t want to do or say the wrong thing.”

“you’ll be fine, i promise. just follow my lead, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

you nod, but still can’t force down all of your nerves. aside from this whole event being unfamiliar to you, you’re still jittery and unsure with coriolanus. he’s been so hard to read lately. you’re not sure if he’s just toying with you, but it feels too bold to think that perhaps he has a real interest in you either. too indulgent of your daydreams, your fantasies. you can’t seem to stop the fluttery drumming of your fingers against your thigh, until coriolanus is taking your hand and sliding his fingers between yours to stop their incessant tapping. your gaze snaps up to look at him, surprised by the touch.

“everything’s going to be okay. trust me,” he says gently, giving your hand a soft squeeze. for someone who’s last name is snow, his hands are so warm. his thumb brushes over your knuckles soothingly, looking down at you with a calm expression, and you nod. you do trust him. he adds, “i’ll be right beside you all evening.”

his promise makes you feel better, some of the tension leaving your body at both his words and his soothing touch. you glance down at your interlocked hands, his so much bigger than your own. his fingers are so long, pale and beautiful as if they were carved from marble. the veins along the top stand out, raised little rivers of blue that crawl up into his sleeve. his silver watch band rests against the delicate skin of both of your inner wrists.

once you arrive, it feels like a whirlwind of colors and lights and sounds. you find yourself dissociating from most of it, from the moment coriolanus leads you inside with a hand at the small of your back. you try to focus on the way his cologne catches your nose when he turns or moves, the familiar scent helping to ground you. the event passes in a flurry of coriolanus’s voice chatting pleasantly with Very Important Men, fond introductions of you at his side by your name and never your job title, being handed flutes of posca that you only sip on here and there. your date, however, seems to have no trouble at all socializing and sharing drinks with these people.

he’s a natural people-person. coriolanus charms and wins over just about every person he speaks to. the men respect him and listen to what he has to say, while the women giggle and let their eyes wander his face and body. you don’t like that the latter bothers you enough to sling back an entire flute of posca at one point while some district 8 office holder’s wife practically undresses coriolanus with her eyes. if he notices the female attention at all, he doesn’t show it. coriolanus simply keeps one hand planted firmly along your spine, occasionally stroking the exposed skin there softly.

finally, finally, the night comes to an end. coriolanus is loose from the bubbly drinks he’s had, making him a bit more smiley than you’re really used to. his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink that spreads over the bridge of his nose and makes him glow.

“did you have fun, darling?” he asks as he gets into the car with you. while he waits for an answer, he fumbles until he finds the button that raises the privacy screen between you two and the driver.

“fun is…certainly a word,” you offer, unable to stop your grin. coriolanus seems younger like this, spine less rigid and jaw less tense. he looks his age right now, you realize.

“hm. yes, well, i don’t have much real fun these days,” he laments, undoing his tie and shrugging off his suit jacket. “especially not with a beautiful lady on my arm.”

he glances sideways at you as he says it, sly smirk making his smile line in his cheek stand out. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it, instead looking down at your hands in your lap. you never know what exactly to say when coriolanus says things like that. you’re not sure if he’s being sincere, or if it’s just meaningless flirting to him.

he says your name softly when you avert your eyes, gingerly lifting your chin. “look at me, darling,” he whispers. he’s turned his body to face you fully now. his eyes search your face for a long moment before they trail down, landing on the snowflake pendant resting between your collarbones. his finger trails a path down your throat before tracing around the charm.

“it suits you,” he murmurs. the air in the car is suddenly so very warm, electric with the energy between the two of you. he’s so close to you, you wonder if he can hear your heart racing right now. if he knows its because of him.

“coryo,” you exhale, breath trembling slightly. you feel his touch again against your cheek, cradling it softly in his palm. his eyes seem to almost glow in the low light, the streetlights you pass making them appear almost translucent when they reflect off his irises. you both lean in simultaneously, eyes fluttering closed.

the first brush of coriolanus’s lips is soft, curious even. as if he’s giving you the chance to push him away. instead, you sigh and melt into him. his free hand comes to rest on your waist, squeezing softly as he kisses you more firmly when you don’t pull away. his mouth is plush and slick against your own, tasting like the sugary posca he’d drank.

you lose yourself to his kisses, slow and languid and indulgent, making you dizzy with how good it feels. coriolanus slides his hand down from your waist to your hip, then further down to tease at the slit in your dress that splits over your thigh. his teeth nip at your lip playfully, and he smiles against your mouth when you gasp at the way his fingers curl behind your knee to hitch your leg up over his own.

he encourages you to move so you can straddle him, sitting pretty in your silky dress on his lap. your hands land on his broad shoulders while his lips parts from yours, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses along your neck. his tongue drags along the side of your throat, making you shiver and moan softly.

“there’s a good girl,” he mutters, hands smoothing up and down your thighs that splay over his. “you make such pretty sounds for me.”

coriolanus’s words make you feel lightheaded, paired with his wandering touch and exploratory kisses. you shift in his lap just slightly, gasping softly when you feel how hard he is beneath you. his cock presses into the apex of your thighs, his hips pushing up subtly. he lets out a quiet groan, the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. the uncontrolled noise spurs you on, gives you the nerve to cup his jaw and bring his mouth back to yours and demand more of his heated kisses.

“stay with me tonight, my darling,” he pleads, panting against your mouth.

“yes.”

#ehehehe i PROMISE next part is when i’ll stop edging u guys and give u what we all want #i just love a slow build #its about the yearning 🤌🏻#politician!coryo x secretary!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #tbosbas #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth

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aealzx · 1 year ago

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After too many attempts to use his ninpo to escape, only to have it shredded as soon as it left him, Donnie’s captives had switched their nullification machine to be on continuously. The horrid external drum of constant pressure against his skull only added to the internal throbbing his brain was doing trying to escape the stimulus it was getting. Every brush of gloved fingertips against his skin became scraping abhorrences against his thoughts. To the point he couldn’t distinguish the hands from the blades carving out tiny samples of his body. He barely bled from their cuts, but they were still quick to clean the wound with stinging alcohol before placing a bandaid over it. Augustine hadn’t been lying about keeping him as physically unharmed as possible, but that did little for his mental state. The only welcomed attention was the quiet employee with an irrigation bottle full of saline water trying to rinse his mouth out so they could get a clean saliva sample. Getting rid of the bloody taste did little to cure the nausea he felt, but at least it was from a different source. How much blood did they take? No, he didn’t want to think about it. Enough to make him dizzy, and therefore too much.

For now he kept his eyes closed to try and keep his mind isolated from the world around. It was all he could do to keep from continuing to scream at them for invading his personal space, stealing what didn’t belong to them. He didn’t need to exhaust himself with useless actions. They had Lil Mikey. He needed to focus on how to get them out of there. But it was so hard to think of anything other than wanting to sink into a black oblivion of stifling silence and soft blankets.

That was, until the drumming anti mystic pressure swelled to a nigh unbearable force against his body before abruptly declining into nothing. Sweet, blessed calm amidst the chaos of soft chatter and clinking tools. It almost felt like a heavy snow had fallen over the room with how much frozen peace the absence of the machine’s nullifying energy brought.

Donnie’s fingers twitched, and a ripple of purple energy traveled down his arm, from shoulder to palm, without getting torn apart by external interference. With the barest hint of a smirk, Donnie pulled his eyes back open, nevermind the stabbing light invading his unfocused pupils. Another ripple of energy was released with purpose this time, snaring the machines keeping him pinned and breaking their hold on him with shuddering creaks as the shackles snapped open. His overriding ninpo disabling the locks, and ordering the beams pressed against his back and legs to raise.

The employees naturally cut off all conversation, all five bodies gasping and backing up, unsure if this was part of a plan by their employer or not. They remained uncertain as Donnie pushed himself to his knees, keeping his gaze on the floor. He wanted to be cordial. Or eloquent. Or at the very least capable of crafting a full sentence from the language that used to come so easily to his mind. But instead only a single word escaped his lips in a hissed half whisper.

“Leave.”

They didn’t quite obey as quickly as he would have liked. Not until his own machines started piecing together in the air around him. “I SAID LEAVE!” he shouted. The crack in his voice smothered by the clinking of his fabricated machines. Harmless constructs, but it was enough to earn a yelp from the women before they frantically escaped his presence, one of their hands slapping against the keypad and opening the door.

Breathing a steadying sigh once the bodies had vacated, Donnie let his constructs fade before they were completed, reveling in the additional step towards complete silence.

And then the announcement blared into the room from the hallway speakers.

Donnie barely heard what the grating voice stabbing into his coveted silence said over the intercom. His eyes snapped back open under furrowed brows, glaring at the offending atrocity. At least he could shut it up now. Curse this forsaken hell hole into silence. Every whirr and hum, crackle and clink from the electric machines operating the damn woman’s base. Gathering up a specific charge into his hands, Donnie let a pulse of curated ninpo crash down his arms into a rolling wave across the floor, up the walls and into every crevice the building had. The energy made short work of the establishment’s power, robbing it of life as it greedily ate through the framework until the main generator swelled into an overloaded crash, halting the systems and bathing the base in temporary darkness.

Blessed darkness and silence.

It would take a moment for the backup generator to bring everything to life again. In that time Donnie reached his ninpo out just enough to locate where they had stashed his equipment. He wanted something on his back immediately. It was taking a lot of will to not rip off the sticky bandage stuck over the fresh cut there. On his back, legs, arms, the coban wrapped around his elbow. He deliberately kept his hands from being in contact with anything. Fingers twitching in the air as he brought himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Basic steps. Simple commands. One foot in front of the other. Get his tech, and find his brother. He could do this.

Donnie dragged his feet towards the exit as the backup generator brought the base humming back to minimal life. The red lights bringing false color to his pale cheeks. Break down his actions into basic steps. Simple thoughts. Ignore everything else. Everything was going to be fine.

Or else.

___________________

Previous Next

___________________

Everyone is free now~ yeeeey~ And totally 100% fine. ¯\_(979)_/¯

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise + 2003 crossover #cross dimension kidnapping #Donnie #rise donnie #overstimulation

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sixeyescurseuser · 1 year ago

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Bunjo

Thinking about canon but make it hybrid au - bunny hybrid Gojo and human Geto.

The Gojo clan is very adamant about breeding within the same species of rabbit family. Something about maintaining a pure bloodline and having a mate that will instinctively know what’s best for you.

Then, THE Gojo Satoru goes off to Jujutsu High, and imprints on a HUMAN.

The thing is, Gojo’s never had trouble controlling his bunny instincts - not since he was a kid. But whenever he’s around Suguru, his self-control goes out of the window.

Meanwhile, Geto came from a small country town so he’s not used to this many hybrids there are in the big cities - and so many varieties!

It’d be so funny if the first time Geto “met” Gojo was when Gojo was in bun form.

Bun Gojo - “Bunjo” for short - gets restless when he doesn’t shift for more than a week. Upon wanting to explore the campus in his bun form, he lost track of time, aka the moment their new classmate arrived on campus.

So Geto comes across this snow-white bun snoozing in one of the chairs in the main dormitory room. He slowly approaches, unsure if the bun will startle or not.

When Geto cautiously reaches his hand out, his fingers brush against soft white fur, and the bun’s ears twitch a bit.

Cute! Geto thinks.

***

By the end of their first year, everyone now getting along very well, lizard-hybrid Shoko comes to find Gojo has SCENT-MARKED Geto, which is a big no-no between hybrids without consent.

Shoko: “You idiot, you can’t do that!”

Gojo: “Huh? Do what?”

Shoko: “...have you smelled Geto recently?”

Gojo: “Duh. And Suguru smells the same.”

Shoko mentally facepalms. Gojo didn’t even realize he had scent-marked Geto? That’s somehow even worse.

It seems that to Gojo, Geto smelling like him feels so right that he didn't even notice.

***

Geto 24/7: “How are you a bunny hybrid but you hate veggies?” 💀

Gojo: “Say that again and I will bite you.”

***

Gojo turns into a bunny when he’s angy. Like when he stubbornly doesn’t want to talk to anyone and childishly runs away.

Poof! He’s a bun and then HE FLEES. (Bun on the loose!)

Geto is usually the one to find him and bring him back. Even if Geto was the one who made Gojo angy by accidentally forgetting to meet Gojo at the new bakery he wanted to try.

(Geto, chasing after the white blur: “Satoru STOP”

Hearing those words, the white bun speeds up impossibly faster.)

Whenever Geto finally convinces Gojo to stop running, he has to have a piece of clothing ready to carry the white bun back. Usually, that’s one of his sweatshirts, which he’ll swaddle bun Gojo in and scoop up into his arms.

Yet another sweatshirt Geto will have to wash because it has white hairs all over it now.

***

Geto gets cute aggression with Bunjo, starts squishing and pinching the cute bun.

(Geto does that with human Gojo’s cheeks too.)

Gojo wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves pets, and Geto’s hand is sometimes the best reward.

Bunjo will hop over to Geto and flip over onto his back - exposing his tummy. Geto doesn’t hesitate to stroke the soft fur, which smells so sweet somehow; he buries his face into Bunjo’s furry body and showers him with kisses.

Whenever Bunjo has been running around for the day, he comes back all dusty. Cue Geto picking Bunjo up and patting the dust off like he’s a rug.

After one final shake, Geto finishes the patting session with a kiss to Bunjo’s head.

***

Bunjo being a brat and dive-bombing Nanami during a training session. In bun form, he’s somehow hopping so high in the air and lands a kick right to Nanami’s ass. 😭

Nanami immediately yells, “GETO-SAN, COME PICK HIM UP. PLEASE. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!”

Geto, who is busy helping Haibara train, shouts back, “Just indulge him for a bit!”

Nanami: “HAH?”

Geto: “Spar with him!”

Bunjo’s back leg thumps the ground twice as he launches himself into the air to push a paw into Nanami’s face.

Nanami: “GETO-SAN, THIS IS RIDICULOUS, WHAT DO YOU MEAN SPAR WITH HI-“ *gets kicked HARD on his face by Bunjo*

When Geto finally comes over, Nanami is on the ground holding Bunjo up by the armpits and as far away from his face as possible.

As soon as Geto takes Bunjo into his arms, the white bun melts against Geto’s body, ears twitching happily.

That’s the first day Nanami begins to lose respect for his senpais.

After that, Nanami has war flashbacks anytime he comes across a wild rabbit that’s the same shade of white as Gojo.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu fluff #satosugu headcanon #jjk headcanon #satosugu fanfic #hybrid au #bunny gojo #human geto #cerdrabbles

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earlofbats · 4 months ago

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One Last Dance

Hey! Sorry @zipper-ghost it's not very long! My gift for the @palestaticexchange I wrote you a little vignette about Kim and Harry returning to the church a few years later:

“You, do you really think it'll be there?” Kim looks up to the church.

It's cold again, many years cold.

You tighten the grip on the cane and shift it under the weight of your palm.

It's fine wood body holds your weight and moors you to the earth, keeps you on the ground.

Kim's hand comes to hold your shoulder, you feel yourself sinking into the mud.

Soon you'll be buried there.

“It's still there…” you offer, distracted as you take in your surroundings.

It isn't, not really.

The church has a thin blanket of snow snuggled up against the doors.

The ice on the steps cracks and shatters like glass under your weight.

Kim hesitates at the stoop watches with nervous eyes as you rest your hand against the handle.

He’s uneasy, you’re acting strangely and despite his trust in you he is unsure.

“There's no music.” he states firmly.

“…oh? But can't you hear it?” You give Kim a smile that crinkles at your eyes as you push the doors open.

They drag along the rough wood, bending and splintering, metal rust flaking off the hinges.

The space is set with a stillness, its dim and silent air floats dust particles into the light.

No one has been here in years.

“They boarded up the hole..” Kim follows loyally behind, looking down at the base of the portrait where wood has been paneled along the base of the giant glass pane.

You look up.

Gone is her ethereal beauty, her soft and gentle features now reclaimed.

sprayed across her face a new visage, cartoonish and dripping down red against her glowing lungs.

A dead man smiling.

The defeat of history… The Hard Core.

Your grin widens yellowed teeth shining gray in the light.

You turn to Kim and point.

But he isn't looking in your direction, no he's looking towards the center of the room.

It's bigger, the size of a newborn, an infant it grows everyday bit by bit.

A child of a real revolution, a true undoing.

You turn back, limping over toward where Kim stares off into the rafters.

“You would have said no.” You state your hand coming to brush against the back of Kim's.

He looks down at it with a fond and tired expression, a long weathered kind of look.

“Probably…” Kim turns his palm up and wrangles your fingers into his.

You give it a light squeeze and nestle in close to him.

Your eyes flutter close, your breath seeps out into vapor.

Thoughts orbit around your head in their fine line across your halo.

Little drops of ideation swirling around the pull of your mind's gravitation.

Tender thoughts.

Thoughts you think about when you need the softness against the folds of your brain.

Kim's mustache against your cheek, his body against the curve of your spine, his breath against the back of your nape.

“Please….” Kim breathes against the inside of your collar “can we-” he stops himself with a hitch of breath.

You open your eyes wide, the reflection of them glimmering in the shine of Kim's spectacles.

“Kim,-” you turn to face him grabbing his other hand in yours, “I had to know-” you tighten your grip “I just wanted to see how much time we have.”

“Wh-” Kim stops himself. He wants to ask questions, but knows he doesn't want the answers.

“It's okay,” you assure him.

“We didn't come for the club…did we?”

You don't let your smile falter “we can still dance.”

“Harry…” Kim scolds.

“No, the club is not here. It's in Jamrock…boogie Street maybe. It's under the earth in the concrete…” you trail off,

The long steel rafters intertwined like spiderwebs crawling outward along the ceiling and down to the foundations, the thumping vibration against the catacombs of intersecting housings, the music at the end of the world brought to you by the youth of the final generation.

A sound you had seen the birth of.

The hole in the world lingers in its stratus.

The revolution is sound and radio waves.

You shuffle your feet, running your hands to find their homes at the dip of Kims pelvis, thumb resting over that narrow jut of bone.

You hum a tune and sway from one foot to the other.

Kim tries to hold back a smile he rests his head against the wide expanse of your shoulder and allows himself the respite.

The ocean breeze seeps through the cracks, glides along the wood and rotting varnish, brushes up against your cervical nerves, prickling hairs on the back of your neck.

There in the Jamrock Quarter, she stands proudly, the new church, the new faith, three friends sit at the helm of a technological wonder, at the new vibrations.

The Paliseum, a sanctuary of a new religion.

Kim stops your movement and pulls you away from him.

Ever so softly he kisses you.

His lips feel like hope and the kiss tastes of a future worth existing and you think to yourself,

“Disco is dead, long live disco.”

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #fic #palestaticexchange #pale static exchange #gift #its maybe a little sad #I didn't mean for it to come out sad

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redahlia-writes · 2 years ago

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be still my foolish heart. | joel miller

Abstract: He still felt unsure, unsteady, both wanting to keep her at arm’s length and welcoming her back in his life like before, drown in the comfort he’d found in her presence year after year since they were kids. She’d tried to reassure him, and he knew she was right–you could not live in the world they did and not change. But he remembered her in pigtails on the first day of school, he remembered her prom dress being awfully 80s, and he remembered the first time he’d seen her with Sarah–gentle voiced and wide eyed, holding her as if she might shatter should she breathe a little too hard.

Words: 9.7k

Content: f!reader (called “sugar” as a nickname, described as shorter than joel); childhood friends to lovers, mentions of child’s death, grief, mentions of attempted suicide, PTDS, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, this was supposed to be about joel and sugar but there’s a lot of joel/ellie too. a lot, idiots in love, slow(ish) burn, ellie being a loving little shit, canon divergence (they get to jackson and don’t leave but i never explain why), some very minor spoilers for tlou2, purple prose, unedited

A/N: loosely inspired by almost (sweet music) by hozier; the song they listen to is night and day and can be found in ella fitzgerald sings the cole porter song book (1956).

also on AO3 - masterlist

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

Ellie had never seen a deer in headlights, only saw pictures of the creatures and heard the expression every now and then from older people.

She imagined the way Joel looked in that moment was what they meant.

Frozen still, eyes wide and lips parted, even holding his breath if the lack of condensation by his face was any indicator, Joel stood next to his brother with his back straight, the only indication he hadn’t suddenly turned into a piece of rock the light twitch in his right hand.

There’s someone you should see, Tommy had told him, half a day after they’d gotten to Jackson–they’d had time to eat and leave the few stuff they still had in the house, and right before she could hit the shower Tommy had walked in. Not keen on the idea of being left alone, Ellie had followed the Millers quietly. Joel had even teased her about it.

“Who’s the quiet one now?” she’d huffed at Joel’s sudden immobility. Tommy had looked at her with that half grin that she imagined Joel must’ve had, too, at some point, and then lifted his arm to wave a hand in the direction of a small group by the school. A woman pulled her head up, a green woolen hat low on her brow, and then waved back, a smile visible even from there. “Anyone you know?” she asked, looking back at Joel.

He still did not bat an eye.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she exclaimed, extricating herself from the rest of the group with a quick apology. “Joel Miller,” she called, the name rolling with a certain familiarity out of her mouth as she approached them, brushing some snow from her coat.

“Sugar?” the word came out strangled–his mouth was dry, the ground unstable beneath him. Suddenly, he wasn’t 56 anymore but 16 years old, and around him a shitty classroom that could do with some fixing, or an all too familiar living room, a cluttered bedroom with dark walls–and the smile he was offered had not changed a bit.

“Sugar?” Ellie echoed, a little baffled. Her eyes darted towards the girl, a glint of curiosity.

“Only one who still called me that after we left high-school,” the woman chuckled, stepping forward with her arms open. “Come on, c’mere–it’s been too long.”

Joel hesitated–when was the last time he’d hugged someone? Maybe Tess, though he could not remember when, but that had always been more a clinging-to-each-other type of thing. A hug, that was different, and he felt stuck on the spot all over again.

Before he could overthink it too much, Ellie pushed him forward, making him grunt in protest as he almost fell into the woman’s embrace–he wrapped his arms around her, the movement somewhat foreign, and slowly leaned into it. Despite the cold and snow, she was warm underneath all the layers of clothing she donned, and smelled of freshly cut grass. It reminded him of another time, and if he closed his eyes he could almost see it. He exhaled.

“You stink, Miller–how long have you been out there?” she laughed softly, one hand cupping the back of his head, same way she used to when they were younger. He remembered dancing.

“A while,” he admitted, unable to argue with that, easing into the embrace furthermore. “Sorry,” he added, and she patted his shoulder gently, another delicate chuckle that rang crystalline to his ears.

“I’ve had it worse, it’s alright,” she murmured, chin hooked over his shoulder–he could feel her straining to stand on her tiptoes, slightly unbalanced, and lowered himself against her, face buried in the curve of her neck wrapped by a soft scarf that matched the hat. She sighed softly at the movement, her fingertips scratching across his scalp. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” voice slightly muffled and blind to the world, Joel was able to admit that. Maybe it was nostalgia, making him forget everything else for a few moments as he lingered in the peacefulness of that familiar touch, or maybe it was exhaustion, blurring the edges between who he used to be and who he was now.

“I’m so sorry, Joel,” she whispered then, and it felt like ice through his veins. He pulled back slightly, the urge to run away making his limbs tremble–but she kept him caged in, the arm around his shoulders stronger than he remembered (was he tired? Was he too out of it?), and the hand that had brushed his hair falling to his cheek, brushing away some of the grime he’d grown used to by then.

But it was her gaze that kept him rooted, though, that softness he didn’t think could still exist in the world they lived in, and emotions he had almost forgotten, ignoring them each time they presented themselves–it’d be too risky to feel them, too easy to surrender to it again: sorrow, grief. It cut his breath all over again.

“Tommy told me,” she kept her voice low, her touch gentle, rubbing her thumb across his uneven beard. The bustling in the air was foreign after so many months of quiet, and he wasn’t sure which one made his body ache–the current life, or the past death.

“Of course he did,” he scoffed, and her expression shifted, a reprimand in her gaze that used to make him laugh when they were younger, and furthermore when she grew into that same expression, year after year of standing together.

“Joel,” she chided, still soft-voiced, still attempting to comfort him through that small motion on his face. He remembered that touch and kind, encouraging words with a baby in his arms; he remembered his name called out through laughter–hers, his daughter’s; he remembered winters and summers and years before that. He closed his eyes, a furrow in his brow.

“No, of course he did,” he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry, it’s just–she really liked you, you know?” his eyes remained closed, trying to push back the pressure building behind his eyelids, trying to swallow the knot in his throat.

“I know,” he felt her nod, press herself closer just as her name was called from behind them. When he looked up at her again, her eyes were shimmering, that vulnerability he hadn’t had the courage to show again after the ringing in his right ear had stopped. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, bringing her other hand to his face, too, holding him like that. He nodded, afraid that if he spoke right away he would crumble.

All it had taken was a gentler touch, and he was ready to fall apart.

“You oughta go–looks like you’re needed,” he cleared his throat, the damn knot clinging to his larynx seemingly impossible to push away. She looked over her shoulder, the group she was with before waving her over, and sighed before turning back towards him.

They still hadn’t let go of each other, and neither seemed willing to make the first move.

“I’m expecting you all for dinner,” she spoke a little louder then, turning her head as if to look past Joel’s shoulder but without moving her gaze from him. “Alright, Tommy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the younger Miller called, his eyes returning to the pair after having wandered elsewhere for the duration of their reunion–the most privacy that could be given in that context. Ellie hadn’t been as subtle, her head tilted and a curious look in her eyes at the sudden burst of emotion that seemed to roll off Joel’s back. It was astounding.

In the end, she was the first to depart, a kiss to Joel’s cheek that seemed to melt away what little tension was left in him. He stumbled back as she walked towards the group, one last look over her shoulder that ended up being directed towards Ellie, a quick smile and small wave she returned, somewhat unsure.

“I felt the same way,” Tommy rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder, as if to shake him from the haze that seemed to have permeated him thoroughly.

“She been here long?” he was frowning again, forcing his gaze away from the back of her head to look at Tommy. The younger Miller nodded a couple of times.

“Even before I got here,” he said, slowly beginning to lead him away, Joel seemingly rooted to the spot once more. “You know Sugar, she’s always been a step ahead of us,” he added, and in his murmur there was a fond smile.

“Sugar?” Ellie repeated, her eyebrows arched with her returned bafflement.

“Just a stupid nickname,” Joel muttered, shaking himself off in a way that seemed more a recoil–he turned and cleared his throat. “Old nickname. Don’t even know who came up with it in school. It stuck.”

“For you it stuck,” Tommy was smiling, clearly amused. They seemed so different, Ellie thought. Had they always been like that? She wondered if she could ask her. “Pure irony, really,” Tommy continued, addressing her. “She always fought people–a real spitfire.”

“You only say that because you got slapped,” Ellie’s eyebrows arched furthermore at Joel’s scoff, a tint of amusement in his words.

“And you,” the younger Miller retorted, making Ellie’s lips part.

“Oh, I like her,” she exclaimed, turning to look at her–she was back at work, the scarf now covering the lower part of her face, though she could still hear her laughter ring clear.

A week later, they stood in her living room.

Though they’d met again around town after that first day, it had taken both Joel and Ellie a moment to settle in. The house felt odd for them both–Ellie having never had one, Joel not remembering his old one. It helped that she lived just around the corner, and in the morning he’d see her walk by to head towards the center.

Slowly, he found a routine, found a way to make himself useful, and leaned into it. Ellie was wilder, refusing to go to school and spending most of her time in her bedroom, Walkman constantly on as she went through pages and pages of old diaries, old books.

“Wanna come to this thing with me?” was the only thing he asked her that night–they threaded carefully around each other, murmured confessions before he sent her to bed at night (the only thing he was firm with, leaving her her space otherwise). It wasn’t time that did it, Ellie’s head resting on his shoulder as she fiddled with the new record he’d found for her. When I got bit in the mall I wasn’t on my own, Riley’s name bitter on her tongue.

“What thing?” Joel’s hair was slicked back, a new shirt Tommy had gotten for him along with his jacket. He actually looked put together, which was the reason why Ellie sat up quickly. “Are you going to Sugar’s?”

“Stop calling her that,” he muttered, though it was the only way he ever referred her as–old habits, he thought. “Yeah–Tommy and Maria are gonna be there too, we’re all adults so if–”

“Let’s go,” she hopped up.

And so they were in her living room, scarcely decorated but recognisable as hers nonetheless, and Ellie walked around the place with a curious gaze, hands fidgeting at her sides.

“How did you convince her to come here?” Maria asked quietly, as the three of them waited for the lady of the house–she had categorically refused any help in the kitchen, ordering them to wait by the set table. Old habits, Joel thought again.

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, watching the kid linger at a picture set in a cracked frame, the dance of her fingers ceasing for just a moment. “I think she likes her–probably has to do with the slapping stories.”

“Definitely has to do with the slapping stories,” Tommy chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Ellie asked, without turning to look at them. “Actually–him I can understand,” Joel scowled at Ellie’s remark while she pointed at him, spinning around to face the three of them. “But why did she hit you?” Maria chuckled at that, while Tommy almost choked on his drink and his face burned a brighter shade of red.

“Ah, well, I–” he cleared his throat–it was another time, he thought. So many years before. “I–kind of made a move on her. And then told her I was gonna join the army,” he rubbed his jaw, some sort of nervous twitch as he glanced in a grinning Maria’s direction. “Still not sure which one pissed her off more.”

“The army,” she said, coming into the living room while holding a fuming pot she was quick to place on the table. Joel’s posture changed, a slight shift towards her by the head of the table and his head twisting so that his gaze would be on her, the ghost of a smile across his lips. “If one of you was going to be a self-sacrificing idiot and leave, I expected that to be Joel.”

“You shipped yourself off to college,” Tommy protested as they sat down–Joel remained next to her on left, Ellie next to him (she didn’t like being on his deaf side, but she preferred it to sitting away), Tommy and Maria on the other side.

“Definitely not the same thing,” she wrinkled her nose in a half-grimace, plating up the food–whatever it was, Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelled something so good, her stomach already grumbling. Tommy scoffed lightly, passing on the plates.

“Wait, you made a move? If anything I thought–” before Ellie could finish the sentence, Joel pinched her leg, making her yelp and turn to him wide-eyed. “What the hell was that for?”

“Manners,” he muttered–at the corner of his eye, the woman tried to fight off a smile, setting the last plate in front of him. “Eat your food.”

She looked at the older Miller and the kid throughout the dinner and the chats, the scowls and grins, his reprimands and her sharp tongue. It was a familiar scene, late dinners stolen in a living room she once knew like it was her own.

The younger brother leaving early on was familiar, too, Maria tiring easily from the pregnancy and Tommy refusing to leave her side for longer than necessary–her heart ached at the thought of Tommy Miller having grown up, until it functioned as a reminder that growing up in their world now meant surviving. It was easier to think of it like that.

“Just means you’re gonna have to come back for dessert,” she said as Maria hugged her, winking in Tommy’s direction, too.

“We should get going, too,” Joel cleared his throat once it was just the three of them, heading for the rack where his and Ellie’s jacket hung. She had the fleeting thought that he was trying to avoid being alone with her–though they weren’t really alone–as he had for the whole week. A quick greeting and then away, never lingering too much around her. She figured it was because he was still settling in–hoped that was the reason, in spite of the years gone by.

“But I want dessert!” the girl protested, still sat at the table (by herself).

“Ellie,” he sighed heavily, not turning to look at her as picked up her coat.

“Joel,” she retorted in the same tone, unmoving. The woman looked between the two of them with an eyebrow arched, fighting the smile off of her lips the moment Joel sighed again, head falling forward. It wasn’t needed, but Ellie took it a step further, softening her voice for a, “Please?”

Joel Miller had always had a hard time saying no to his daughter. Guess things hadn’t changed that much.

“If we’re bothering–” he started, his gaze flicking from Ellie to her.

“Oh, quit that, Miller,” she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Ellie, grab your plate, come,” Joel remained frozen for a moment as the girl beamed, standing with the plate in her hands and quickly following her towards the kitchen. A beat, and then he went after them, bringing with him the rest of the dirty dishes they’d left behind.

“What is that?” Ellie had stopped abruptly at the entrance of the kitchen, eyes wide, forcing Joel to walk around her at the last moment, stumbling towards the woman who was placing a tray onto the counter. He lingered a moment, his gaze following the twisted pattern made of golden dough, and once more he felt transported back ages in time.

“My mama’s apple pie,” she said gently, a smile grazing her face–there was a bitterness to it, too, with the realization that that was probably the first time Ellie saw one outside of pictures. “We produce the flour ourselves, and have the dogs check it for possible contamination, so it’s safe,” Joel could almost see the hope in her eyes in trying to reassure the kid, grabbing the knife and offering it to her by the handle. “Wanna have a go?”

Ellie’s eyes shimmered with excitement as she took the sharp knife, getting closer to her–she leaned with one arm on the counter, while with the other hand she showed her where to start, mimicking the movement of cutting down towards the crust. As he placed the dirty dishes in the sink, Joel inhaled deeply, the perfume coming out of the still warm filling in fumes.

“Jesus,” he muttered with a soft groan, turning around quickly. Ellie stilled, her gaze flickering from where she held the knife up to him, then back to the grinning woman who was looking at him, too. “Sorry.”

“You know, your–” she stopped herself, clearing her throat before straightening her back. “Joel would always know when we made this at my place. I don’t know how but he did–never failed to show up when my mama got one in the oven.”

“Sixth sense,” Joel chuckled, getting closer as well, his mouth already watering. “Smells just like then,” he mumbled, shifting on the spot when she bumped her hip against him, her smile widening. “You know, Sarah wanted to call you to bring it over, before–” he cut himself off.

Ellie shuffled on the spot, the knife in her hand a sudden weight she didn’t like–Joel had mentioned just in passing Sarah to her, admitting first and foremost to her existence, half-joking over their differences. But whenever he did his eyes would go unfocused, gaze dropping to the broken watch.

She watched as the woman pressed herself slightly closer, hand brushing the back of Joel’s, right up to the cracked watch before she even looked up, the movement seemingly enough to draw Joel’s attention towards her; she watched as the man cleared his throat, right hand twitching before he exhaled, pulling back as if in afterthought, reaching for the cupboard; she watched Sugar’s head drop slightly, and then straighten again with a forced smile in her direction. Ellie returned it tentatively.

“Alright, kiddo–it’s best when it’s warm,” she encouraged, taking the knife from her as Joel returned with clean plates. She deposited the slice on one, pushing it in Ellie’s direction. “Too bad we haven’t got any ice cream, tastes even better with that.”

“Can’t miss what I never tried, right?” Ellie shrugged, that crooked smile still on. “Thanks,” she added then, stepping away, back towards the living room. She’d started to learn when others needed space.

“Joel,” his name whispered was like a bucket of ice water thrown in his face, a shuddering breath leaving him when he turned to look at her. Her head was slightly tilted, a soft gaze that tethered on mournful. Joel didn’t want pity. He wanted so much, but not pity.

“Can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. Her hand reached for him again, slower, fingers brushing his knuckles as they whitened with the clench of his fists above the counter. “Sugar, I can’t,” he repeated, looking down. She pressed her palm over the back of his hand, a firm knead to unfurl his fingers from where they pushed into his own palm, blunt nails still leaving their mark. He shook his head.

“It’s just me,” she kept her voice low, soft.

Tommy had told her a lot–the whole of it, really. Sarah’s death. Joel’s attempt. The shift in him–the shift in them both, but mostly Joel. The anger. The bad, awful things they’d done. The anger, the only thing Joel seemed to have felt for the past 20 years.

It nearly broke her heart.

“I know,” his eyes flickered towards the door leading to the living room, Ellie’s head peeking from behind the backrest of the armchair. “You haven’t changed one bit, but I–”

“That’s not true,” she shook her head, scooting closer. “I have. Everybody has. We had to,” curling her fingers around his hand, she slowly picked it up, bringing it closer to her. There were calluses on her fingers he didn’t remember from the years before, lines across her face he thought were a trick of the light. “You think you lost your humanity when Sarah died, but that’s not true,” she tilted her head towards the living room, gaze flickering to Ellie, the scrape of the fork against the plate the only sound coming from her. “She’s proof of that. You must see that.”

“She was a job,” his hand felt cold in hers, fingers twitching slightly. Each time, she squeezed it softly, bringing it closer to her stomach. He could feel her warmth even like that.

“She was,” she nodded in agreement, shifting so she could meet his gaze. “And now?”

“It’s complicated,” he returned, and a bittersweet smile grazed her lips.

“You always saw things as more complicated than they actually were,” she let go of him, and Joel clenched his hand suspended mid-air in her direction, while she turned towards the counter, taking the knife up again to cut two more slices of pie and plate them. “Perhaps you’re not exactly your old self, but you’re still almost you, no matter what you tell yourself, Joel,” she pushed one of the plates in his direction, glancing at him once more. “Eat up.”

Joel had a hard time breathing. It happened less frequently–it had been weeks since his last episode, he’d almost forgotten about it–but it still did, every now and then. He hated it.

He wasn’t sure what triggered it: he wasn’t doing anything specific, was just thinking about how to fix the creaky step that led up and down his patio, when all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and his chest ached, right in the middle, like a weight trying to pin him down against the ground–but the ground didn’t feel stable, and he had to lean against the wall for support while everything spun around him.

Worst of all was the ringing in his ears. He’d gotten used to the muffled sounds in his right ear, and the sudden high pitched noise made him dizzy, made his vision waiver, made him unable to exhale. The next breath scratched at his throat, like a badly chewed bite refusing to go down, no matter how many times he tried to swallow.

“Dad?” he gasped, the town suddenly in front of him again. The edges were still blurred, but right in front of him stood Ellie–a few steps behind, Sugar had her head tilted, a curious gaze in her eyes.

“What?” his voice rang still distant, somehow, and he shook his head, trying to clear the clouds away.

“I said are you alright?” Ellie frowned, getting a step closer. “Joel, are you going deaf in both ears?” she asked, and that melted away the tension in Joel’s shoulders with a sigh.

“Very funny,” he muttered, pushing himself off from the school wall. “I just got distracted, is all. You ready?” he cleared his throat, glancing briefly in the woman’s direction.

“You know you don’t have to come get me every day, right?” Ellie mumbled, moving at his side. “It’s not like I can run away,” Joel gave her a look–eyebrows arched, head slightly tilted, that same expression he used when Tommy said something dumb. Ellie could almost hear it.

You ran away from FEDRA and sneaked into a sealed mall. I wouldn’t put it past you.

Maybe he had a point.

“Bye, Ms. Sugar!” a girl called from behind them, dark hair pulled away from her freckled face. “Ellie, you coming?” she waited, expectantly. Ellie turned towards Joel, whose face had shifted into a simil-scowl.

“So that’s what you meant, huh?” he crossed his arms, to which Ellie responded with a lopsided grin, looking at him expectantly, the mute question clear in her eyes. Can I? “Wait, Ms. Sugar?” he turned to look at the woman who still stood there, and she snorted.

“Ask Ellie about it,” she retorted, clearly amused by the guilty look creeping across the girl’s face. “She’ll be right there, Dina!” she called out then, a little louder.

“I didn’t mean to, okay?” Ellie protested, with a small kick to the melting snow in front of her. “You call her that all the time–it just came out of my mouth,” she argued then, pointing at Joel.

“Are you blaming me for calling your teacher with a nickname?” he returned, baffled.

“Yes,” Ellie nodded. Behind Ellie, he saw her stifle a giggle, quick to lower her head and cover her mouth with a hand. The girl looked up at him still, eyes softening in a pleading motion. “Can I go?”

“Sure,” he sighed–the word was barely out of his mouth before Ellie was already darting away, running towards her smiling friend. “I’m sorry,” he said then, turning to her.

“It’s alright, Joel,” clearly amused, she shook her head and took a step closer to him, hands dropped at her sides. “Besides, I think only Dina heard her. Maybe Cat, too, but it’s no big deal,” she shrugged, standing right in front of him now. Joel tightened his grip around Ellie’s bag strap, lowering his gaze to her.

“She good?” he asked, a little quieter. “This Dina, she–”

“Yes, she’s a good kid,” she said with a smile and a small nod, tilting her head slightly. “You can rest easy, Mr. Miller,” at that, Joel snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Mr. Miller,” he mocked, to which her smile widened. “Haven’t been called that since I had to meet with Sarah’s teachers,” as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his expression fell slightly, gaze unfocused. He thought he was about to stop breathing again, when she placed her hand on his upper arm, pressing gently against the jacket sleeve.

“Joel,” with a whisper of his name, he snapped his eyes back up towards her–a worried crease crossed her forehead, knitting her brows closer. “What is it?”

She knew what it was. She’d seen it, in people younger and older than him; she’d felt it on her own skin, clawing at her throat in a desperate attempt to clear her airways. Hers had never been as immobile as Joel’s. She kicked and screamed and cried until she was spent and aching all over.

“Just–” he clicked his tongue and thought of lying.

He still felt unsure, unsteady, both wanting to keep her at arm’s length and welcoming her back in his life like before, drown in the comfort he’d found in her presence year after year since they were kids. She’d tried to reassure him, and he knew she was right–you could not live in the world they did and not change. But he remembered her in pigtails on the first day of school, he remembered her prom dress being awfully 80s, and he remembered the first time he’d seen her with Sarah–gentle voiced and wide eyed, holding her as if she might shatter should she breathe a little too hard.

“It’s like starting all over again with her–not sure if I’m doing right or wrong whenever I make a decision,” he admitted then, voice low–she got closer, gaze softening. He wanted to lean into her all of a sudden, but clenched his fists instead, the strap of Ellie’s bag digging in his palm. “I can’t disappoint her, can’t–I can’t fail her, too.”

“You didn’t fail anyone, Joel,” he almost disagreed, but the look she gave him didn’t leave room for any argument. He snapped his mouth shut. “It’s odd, adjusting to this place–I didn’t sleep properly for a year, flinched at every noise. When Maria asked me if I wanted to teach I thought she’d lost her mind,” she scoffed, shaking her head lightly. “And then I had my first full night of sleep. The kids and parents started waving at me in the streets. I ate food that hadn't expired 10 years ago. It’s–give yourself some time to adjust, Miller. Both of you.”

Joel exhaled, tipping his head slightly back and looking up towards the sky–it was sunny, mercifully, the cold starting to become bearable. He felt her shuffle forward rather than see her, eyelids fluttering when she rested her hand over his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Ellie’s doing good,” she reassured then, smiling when he looked back at her. “She’s–a little wild, maybe, but she feels safe here. With you. She’ll be alright,” head tilted slightly to the side, the scarf wrapped around her neck slipped–he almost reached up to fix it for her. “So will you.”

“You always knew what to say, didn’t you?” he sighed, turning his head a little–he felt her hand move from his shoulder to his upper arm, warmth spreading wherever her touch lingered. He leaned into it.

“Not really, most of the time I winged it,” she shrugged, and his smile returned, although tentative, while shaking his head. “How’d you think I made it through college?”

“Brains, Sugar,” without thinking too much about it, he reached up and pinched her chin, gently tilting her head back a little. “You’ve always had more brains than us combined. I think we both should’ve listened to you more.”

“Took you long enough to admit that,” she grinned, following the curve of his arm down to where his hand still brushed her face. She brushed her fingertips along the back of his hand, lingering at his knuckles. “It hurt to say it out loud, didn’t it?” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, actually. I’m quite alright,” her eyebrows arched, wrapping her fingers around his hand for balance before reaching for his forehead with her other one. Joel laughed then, taking one small step back to balance them both, eyes crinkling at the touch. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever,” she replied, nonchalantly, shifting her hand over his temple, over his cheek. “God forbid this affects you physically,” she added in a mock whisper, unable to hide the amusement in her words. Still laughing, Joel let go of Ellie’s bag to reach up and grab her other hand.

“Alright, alright,” he pulled his head slightly back, holding their joined hands between them–she’d tipped forward, unbalanced, and he held her upright, looking back down towards her grinning face. “You’ve made your point. Thank you.”

“Good,” she chuckled. They remained like that a moment longer, simply looking at each other, before she cleared her throat and glanced quickly over her shoulder. “I should go. Gotta fix up the classroom or else Hell might just break loose tomorrow.”

“Right,” he let go of her, his palms tingling still. “Well, I–thank you, Sugar. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” expression softened again, she stepped back–they had barely realized how close they were. Joel missed it right away. “I’ll see ya, Miller.”

“Sure,” he murmured in return, one of the hands he’d kept lifted doing a half-wave as she turned around. He kept it up, gaze lingering on her back until she’d vanished back into the building.

“Damn,” he whipped around with his eyes wide, gaze immediately falling to Ellie at his side.

“What are you doing here?” he muttered, a quick look over his shoulder and then past Ellie’s head. “Language,” he added right away, making her snort.

“Didn’t know you could laugh,” she retorted, her eyebrows arched.

“That's bullshit, you’ve heard me before,” he frowned, and Ellie’s grin widened.

“Language,” she mocked him, making Joel scowl. “Sure I did, but it wasn’t like this.”

“Like what?” still frowning, he watched her shrug and point vaguely at him.

“This,” she repeated, then shrugged and grabbed her bag from the ground in front of him. “Anyways, I came back to get this. Bye.”

“Ellie!” he protested, though she was already skipping away. “Like what?”

Winter passed, and the first glimpses of Spring came to Jackson in the shape of flowers and fruit, an unfrozen ground giving them the first rewards. Ellie would spend more days outside with her friends, but every now and then she’d hang back with him, sitting on the porch while he tried to teach her how to play guitar.

“Now try the next one,” he nodded, after a while she’d been repeating the same three notes, a small melody she’d been practicing.

“I can’t do the next one,” she protested, keeping at it. Joel began to argue, but a movement at the corner of his eye made him turn around–with his good ear towards Ellie, he didn’t hear the woman’s steps until she was in his peripheral vision. He followed her with his gaze, head turning as she went–her hands were occupied by a large box, and when she noticed them she just smiled, but didn’t stop. “No, Ellie, don’t say that. You’re doing great. You can do it.”

“What?” he cleared his throat, snapping his head back around towards the kid. She was scowling, arms crossed over the guitar as he stared at him. “You are doing good. Go to the next one,” at that she rolled her eyes, lips parting with a scoff. “What?” he repeated.

“Will you quit being a stubborn ass?” Ellie groaned, lowering the guitar and leaning back into the seat. Joel’s eyebrows arched high, disbelief painted across his face.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” she scoffed again, tapping across the wood.

“Yeah, yeah,” she practically brushed him off. “But will you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel mimicked her, leaning back against the backrest and crossing his arms, his head twisting ever so slightly towards where he was looking before, towards her. A groan escaped her.

“Oh, please, you know perfectly well,” Joel frowned now, watching as Ellie pointed her finger in the woman’s direction–she was too far to see them, or hear them, but still Joel tapped against her extended hand. “You like her,” the girl said, bringing her hand back towards her chest. It was Joel’s turn to scoff.

“Yeah, I like her–we’ve been friends since we were kids,” he shrugged, then folded his arms across his chest once more. Ellie rolled her eyes again.

“No, I mean you like like her. Like you’re in love with her,” Joel snorted, shaking his head.

“What would you know about that?” despite the levity in Ellie’s tone, her face darkened for a moment–it had been a while since he’d seen that look in her eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through him right away. He shifted in his seat.

“I have eyes,” Ellie muttered, placing the guitar down to curl up in the chair, legs up to her chest and arms crossed. “Pretty sure the whole of Jackson knows. It’s obvious.”

“Ellie, we’ve known each other ages,” Joel sighed, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “If I had a problem I’d go to her, and if she had a problem she’d come to me. We’ve been there for each other during–” he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze, “most of the worst times of our lives.”

“And you’ve never–” she trailed off.

“No,” he shook his head with a light smile.

“Not even once?” again he shook his head. “Seriously?”

“Tommy had a crush on her,” he shrugged, and she straightened her back.

“So you thought about it, then,” she exclaimed. Joel dropped his head slightly with a sigh.

“I was a teenager once, you know,” she arched her brows. “She was nice, and she was my friend, and she was real pretty–but there are things that are more important than a crush.”

Ellie was quiet for a moment, leaning back down, her fingers tapping up and down her shins as she lowered her gaze, eyebrows pinched together.

“Did–did Sarah like her?” it had started to be easier, talking about her. While Joel still felt the hurt of her absence, the anger and disbelief of his grief had turned into quiet acceptance. Ellie would rarely ask questions about her, but he found it helped.

“She loved her,” he nodded, easing back into the chair. “There weren’t a lot of women in Sarah’s life, but she was there, especially when she needed it the most. And she did love Sarah back–so much,” a fond smile caught on his mouth.

“Yeah, I figured,” Ellie mumbled, tilting her head a little. “It’s her, isn’t it? In the picture with the cracked frame at her place.”

Joel had tried to not linger too much on that picture–Sarah was young in it, 3 or 4 maybe, a full head of curls sticking out on every side. He remembered fighting each day to try and fix it, and her laughing at his feeble attempts. She taught him first–simple hairstyles he could do in the mornings before dropping her off to school and that would survive the day ahead–and then Sarah herself for when she did not want to leave it as it was.

She’d been there for him and Sarah all the time, and he wasn't sure he’d thanked her nearly enough for it. When her mom left, when she started teething, walking, talking, on her first day of school, and every year after that, leaving campus to be at each game, each recital. Clothes, music, movies, all of it–she was always there.

“Yes,” he nodded, slowly. Ellie hummed.

“You should fix that for her,” she said then, standing almost abruptly. “Might be nice. It might also give you an excuse,” she added with a shrug.

“I don’t need an excuse, Ellie,” he sighed, picking the guitar from her. The girl shrugged again, then headed inside. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Cat’s!” she called from inside. Joel strummed a few slow notes, waiting for her to come back out–she did so rushing, jacket half-thrown on. “I still think I’m right. Bye!”

She glanced up from her handiwork when a step echoed a little louder over the gravel, her face immediately splitting in a wide smile and Joel’s half-still stance in the low streetlight.

“Knitting on the porch? That’s new,” he grinned, resuming walking towards her.

“If my mother could see me now, right?” she retorted with a chuckle he matched with a smile of his own, leaving the half-finished sweater aside to stand up. “Hi,” she said then, moving forward to the steps he was climbing.

“Hi,” he returned, stopping one step down so they were at the same level. He brought his hands forward from behind his back, the previously cracked frame and picture within, his gaze lingering on Sarah’s smile a moment longer. “Fixed it for ya.”

“Oh,” she looked over her shoulder, towards the slightly ajar door as if to look at the spot it had been resting. “You didn’t–thank you,” she said, carefully picking it from him.

“Sure,” he shrugged lightly, burying his now empty hands in his pockets. “Thought I’d just stop by,” he added, shuffling slightly. Her smile widened.

“You know you don’t need an excuse to just stop by, right?” she turned around, gesturing at him to follow as she headed inside, lingering at the entrance to place the picture right back where it belonged.

“I know,” he mumbled, lingering at the threshold. One of his guitars was in the living room, resting against the armchair Ellie had curled up in and ended up falling asleep on during the first time they’d gone over. The last time, he’d forgotten the instrument, after Tommy had insisted vehemently he should’ve brought it with him.

“I meant to bring that over,” she said, catching him looking at it. “I saw you teaching Ellie,” she added, pinching one string as she passed by it before heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, tryin’ to,” Joel followed, fingertips tingling stuffed in his pockets. “She’s good.”

“Better than I was?” she returned with two glasses filled with amber liquid and a grin on her face. “Sweet tea–I got some of the first lemons.”

“Baking, making sweet tea, knitting,” he picked the cool glass from her with a grateful look–the simple act of holding it gave him back another piece of home he thought was gone forever. It had happened quite a few times since they’d found each other again. “You’re turning into your mother, Sugar.”

The woman snorted, rolling her eyes as she stepped away, and Joel was quick to hide his smirk behind the rim of the glass.

“I’ll pretend that was a compliment, Miller,” she squinted in his direction, mock-menacingly.

“C’mon, you know I loved your mother,” he argued before taking a sip–he hummed softly, eyes shutting on instinct. If he focused, he could hear the fire crackling and water bubbling over the stove as her mother made it, could taste the sugar and lemon or peaches she’d slip them in the meantime. He sighed. “I’ll tell you what–your talents clearly reside in this, not that,” he added, pointing towards the guitar. She laughed again.

“Well, I’d rather listen to the music than play it,” she declared, her chin tilted upwards, a grin mimicking his own. Then her eyes widened, a shimmer in them as she jolted on the spot, quickly resting the glass down on the table. “I’ve gotta show you something!”

A small frown knitted his brow as he licked the sweetness from his mouth and followed her with his gaze, hurried steps towards the bedroom that echoed in the quiet of the home. She was gone a few minutes, returning after a moment of rattling, a wide smile spread across her face. Joel’s eyes fell to the object in her hands–a portable CD player, not so different from the one she’d gifted Sarah in the 90s but they always ended up stealing once she was asleep.

“Audio is not the best, to be fair, but after so many years without music–” she stopped in front of him, offering one of the earphones to him while she put the other one in.

Still frowning lightly, Joel shuffled closer, the short cord forcing him forward. The drum arrived first, the sound slightly scratched, and with her smile widening she looked up at him. Like the beat beat beat of the tom-tom, he chuckled as she freed his hands, rocking from one side to the other following the rhythm.

“Where’d you get this?” he stumbled forward when she took one of his hands, tugging him closer–the other fell to her side to second her swinging–he couldn’t help returning her infectious smile as she shrugged lightly, her free hand reaching on his shoulder.

“Luck–I found it before getting here along with a couple of CDs,” she looked up at him, head slightly tilted. “This one reminded me of you,” she added, voice softer–for a moment, her smile faltered.

She’d never thought she’d see him again, keeping the record out of pure nostalgia for someone she hadn’t seen in years. Someone she always feared was gone. They’d listened to Ella Fitzgerald constantly during their teenage years, Joel sneaking some of his parents’ records to her house, or locking themselves into listening booths for hours until they were kicked out. Dancing as they were in that moment.

“Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,” she hummed, their movements slowing with the song. “Whether near to me or fat, it’s no matter darling where you are–”

“I think of you night and day, day and night, why is it so?” he joined in, voice low, head bending slightly towards her–her smile returned, a shimmer in her eyes.

“Your voice’s changed,” she murmured, taking half a step closer. “S’warmer. I like it.”

“Thought you always liked my voice,” he smiled, tucking his chin to look down at her. She nodded with a low chuckle, locking their already joined hands together by intertwining their fingers.

“’Course I did,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes mockingly. She gave a squeeze to his hand then, lowering her head slightly. “I missed it–this,” she inhaled sharply then, a shallow sound that temporarily overwhelmed the music. “You,” she added, almost in a whisper that would’ve been lost to him had he not been looking at her mouth.

Joel’s heart stuttered, a soft sigh at her admission as his eyes fluttered shut, just a moment. Tongue-tied, he shifted closer, as close as he could get, the hand on her waist moving to the small of her back, wrapping his arm around her. He didn’t know how to tell her, how to let his mouth form the words that clouded his head–that had been since he’d seen her again. He couldn’t say it, not for lack of trying.

“Sugar,” he whispered, and she nodded, leaning forward and cutting him off.

The song went on, and she rested her head on his chest–the hand on his shoulder was soft, arm almost draped across it as she toyed absentmindedly with the collar of his shirt, brushing the nape of his neck every now and then. Their joined ones fell to his chest, arms bent, the warmth of her exhales brushing across their knuckles. He bent his head slightly, cheek barely brushing the top of her head, and he tightened his arm around her waist to keep her close–each song closer, until the music stopped.

They stayed like that a moment longer, even in silence, his heart beating the only sound she could hear, silence on his end with his good ear plugged by the earphone. She rubbed her thumb against the side of his hand, small movements that made his eyelids droop. He caught a glimpse of the top of her head like that, the curve of her nose, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks and the small pout on her relaxed mouth, all half-hidden against him. She looked–

“Ah, fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, and she blinked rapidly before looking up, wide-eyed. She tilted her head, gently pulling his earphone off.

“What is it?” she cleared her throat, taking a small step back. The hold on his hand began loosening, so he forced himself to ease his arm around her waist, too, shaking his head.

“Nothin’, just–something Ellie said, it’s not important,” he let go of her when her brows knit, a hint of perplexity in her gaze. “I should go, actually. Check she’s actually gone to sleep.”

“Of course,” she returned quickly, stepping even further back, hands falling to her sides and rubbing down slowly, palms dragging along the seams of her jeans. “Thank you. For the frame–and passing by.”

His right hand twitched slightly at his side, and he took a small step back, nodding at her words. He stopped then, moving forward once more–he pushed past the knot in his throat and the tingling in his limbs and his heart dropping, and reached for her face. She leaned into his touch, his hands cupping over her cheeks as he shifted closer once more, brushing a delicate kiss to her forehead, her lips curled into the beginning of a smile. He held her gently, the touch of his lips lingering a moment longer over her skin before he moved away.

“See ya, Sugar.”

Summer was relentless. With days spent seeking shadows and some reprieve from the heat, the nights were unbearable in their stillness. Joel couldn’t sleep–after 20 years in Boston, he wasn’t used to the Southern heat anymore.

And he would be lying to himself if he thought that was the only reason why.

He kept replaying the conversation with Tommy in his head, over and over. He was haunted by it, sitting on the porch in the quiet of Jackson’s night.

“Ellie’s right, it is getting painful to watch.”

“The hell are you talking with Ellie about?”

“You and Sugar. It’s worse than when we were young, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“Means this time I can’t pretend to ask her out so that you finally get your head out of your ass and admit you like her. You gotta wake up, Joel.”

He was awake. Truth was, Joel had felt like he had been living in a nightmare for the past 20 years–and now he was awake and didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how to be himself anymore. Or how to be a person.

Perhaps that was why he was knocking on her door while everyone else was asleep. Perhaps he was just too much in his head about it. Perhaps–

“Joel?” his eyes fell down across her, flimsy night clothes clinging to her for a split second before he forced his gaze up, breath stuttering slightly. “It’s the middle of the night, what happened?”

“Sorry–shit,” he looked away, past his shoulder, back at her–was his heart beating faster? Were his hands shaking? He felt like it. “You’re right. Sorry, I’ll just–it can wait,” he stepped back, shaking his head.

“It clearly can’t, since you knocked at my door like a maniac,” she said it with a little grin, and some tension left his shoulders at the sight of it, of her stepping back and opening the door further for him. “C’mon, get inside.”

Joel walked past her and his steps faltered, tilting his head in her direction with a sharp inhale before moving along, fists opening and closing down his sides. He’d gotten better at that–not letting it all overwhelm him. Understand when the world might begin tipping under his feet and stabilize himself. He was trying–for Ellie, for his brother, for her, he was really trying.

“What happened?” she asked softly. They stood in the living room as they had before, as they had when they’d danced, except they were each on one end of the couch, a gaping emptiness between the two of them. “Should I start to get worried? You look like–”

“I like you,” he blurted out, recoiling at the shift in his own voice–so much louder than her careful tone. She blinked rapidly, head slightly tilted.

“I should hope so,” she scoffed, the reassuring smile she had before turning into a downright amused one. But Joel was shaking his head already, hands still restless. “Joel–”

“No, I mean–I like like you,” she blinked again, lips parting slightly and making her smile begin to dwindle. “Like I think I might be in love with you,” he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply–of course Ellie’s voice would echo in his head right then. Making an absolute fool out of him. “And I think I’ve always been and just didn’t know, or maybe I did know and I just didn’t want to fuck up this too, because I always fucked up everything, every relationship I ever had but ours, and the thought of losing you was terrifying–is terrifying,” he gasped a little between words, each one falling out of his mouth and out of his control. “Or maybe I wasn’t, you know? Maybe–maybe I just–”

“Joey,” she called him softly–so soft he almost didn’t hear her, and reacted first to her hand resting over his chest. His eyes flew open, gaze unfocused for a moment running across her face before they locked with hers, familiar and gentle. She pressed her palm against his chest, and he knew for sure his heart was stuttering underneath her touch. “Take a breath.”

He gasped again, shoulders dropping forward as if wrapping himself around her hand with a long exhale. Blindly, he reached for her, fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“Another,” she instructed, taking his other hand gingerly, and he did. Inhale, exhale, stumbling forward. “It’s just me, Joey.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever called me that, y’know?” he whispered, breathlessly. She gave him a little smile, tapping two fingers on his chest. Slowly, his heartbeat matched her rhythm, and he squeezed her wrist once, gently.

“Wanna try that again?” she murmured, tilting her head a little to the side.

“You can kick me out,” he retorted in a mumble, and she sighed. She shifted the hand she was holding, thumb pressing into his wrist, right above his pulse, right above the strap of his watch, while the rest of her fingers spread across the back of his hand.

“And why would I do that?” Joel met her gaze again–awaiting, reassuring, familiar gaze.

“You’ve known me all our lives, Sugar,” she nodded at his heavy sigh. “You’ve seen me fuck everything up, multiple times–Christ, you’ve seen me fuck things up with Sarah’s mother, too,” again she nodded, and he lowered his voice, breath stuttering. “Yet you were always there for me.”

“Of course I was,” with the last nod, she smiled–it was bittersweet, made his heart ache.

“I loved you for that. More than I knew could be possible,” he bowed his head, the tip of his nose brushing hers tentatively. “And I love–I love–I love you still.”

Her exhale was long, fingers curling over his chest and twisting in the fabric of his shirt–he stumbled forward ever so slightly, the hand he had around her wrist falling against her side balancing himself as she brought her lips close to his. Close, without touching, his breath stuttering when her exhale hit his skin.

“You’ve been the best half of my life, Joel,” there was a scratch in her voice that wasn’t there before, words trembling ever so slightly. “You–I’ve always known I loved you. I knew I loved you, I just–I don’t think I ever realized how much until I lost you. Or found you again.”

“Sugar–” she shook her head, humming.

“Not done,” she chided, and he snapped his mouth shut, almost chuckling. “You were my best friend. I’d like to think you still are, even after these awful fucking years because I–I’ve always needed you, Joel,” the hand on his chest shifted upwards slightly, resting at his collarbones. “And I still do. I need you in my life–I need you.”

“You do have me, sweetheart,” he said, hurriedly, pulling back ever so slightly. Her eyes were shimmering, and he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her close–her hand slid to the side of his neck, lips quivering slightly. He was looking at her lips. “However you want me, you have me.”

“I do love you, even now,” her thumb traced figures eight over his neck with one hand, small circles on his wrist with the other. Soothing. Gentle. Calming. “Whoever it is you think you’ve become now–I love you. I need you to understand that.”

Joel’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed again, a thin line cutting through his face. She was looking at him as if she could see right through him, pick up the pieces of his hesitation during the months just gone by, and the years before that. Reading him as she’d always done, and speaking directly to his foolish heart, reassuring him–you’ll get through the year, you’ll get through the grief, you’ll be alright, Sarah’ll be alright, we’ll be alright, I love you, I love you, I love you.

“I know,” he hummed, tightening his hold around her. Her body softened into his with a long exhale, the hand rising to his jaw, scratching along his patchy beard. “I’m trying, sweetheart.”

“I know you are,” she cupped his cheek, and in spite of the heat he didn’t mind the warmth radiating from her palm. His eyes fluttered shut. “C’mere.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, his head falling forward against the curve of her neck. He leaned fully into the circle of her arms, reaching out with his other free hand too to keep her close, her back slightly arched towards him, locked together like pieces of a puzzle. Freshly cut grass welcoming him home, he dug his fingertips into her sides and brushed his mouth to her neck–a half kiss, hesitant and tentative. If he got a full taste, he knew he’d want nothing else for as long as he lived.

That was a lie. He already didn’t, couldn’t fathom it.

Slowly, she tipped her head to the side, granting him more space–he could feel her heartbeat quickening under his parted lips, a hiccup in her breath as she dragged her hands up the nape of his neck, fingertips slowly brushing through the locks at the back of his head, guiding him forward and up. He let her guide him, gave her full control as the tip of his nose traced a path up her jaw, cheek, his lips following.

“Are you teasin’, Sugar?” he whispered, rubbing their noses together, and felt her smile rather than saw it. She shook her head, pressing herself impossibly closer as she scratched his scalp gently. “Then I’m gonna need you to tell me what to do next.”

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him already, so close she was slightly cross-eyed, long lashes kissing the arch of her brows. His own heart beat a little quicker, a little louder, anticipation building in his limbs as he could feel himself burn from within.

“Kiss me,” just a whisper.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart would never be whole again, that much he knew–a part of it had stayed behind, pierced by a bullet, a 20 years old wound. But he could live again, day by day. He could find his way back to life, with his Ellie on one side and–

Joel caught her lips with his own, and it felt like homecoming. Sweet as sugar, he kissed her slow, without rush, as if trying to make up for each year spent apart, and for each year spent together in the wrong way. He held her as if she might shatter and like he would never let her go both, drank greedily each sigh, each whisper, never once parting until his lungs burned, and then kissing her gasps away, too.

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