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joelscurls · 1 year ago

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feel it in your bones

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone.

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone.

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.

“Professor!”

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes.

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder.

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble.

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.

After a beat, he looks up at you.

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask.

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it?

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.

You tap on the screen, waking it up.

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away.

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.

“You buyin’?,” he jokes.

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.

Joel raises an eyebrow at her.

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.”

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.

But Joel isn’t just any man.

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself.

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.

You’ve never been so excited for the future.

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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swtsupernatural · 3 months ago

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S.W || ANGEL BY MY SIDE

Sam Winchester x Fem!Angel!Reader

Content Warning blood, mentions of death, sam fighting for bodily autonomy, religious themes & talk of heaven, reader being shorter than Sam

Summary Angst, hurt-/comfort for Sam, slow burn i think - Sam was supposed to die tonight. At least, that's what his guardian angel told him after she saved him from death.

W.C. 2.4k words

Playlist: ♫ Kiss of Life - Sade, Telephone - daste., Salvatore - Lana Del Rey

A.N. first sam fic ! this came to me sunday night, been thinking alot about spn angels lately. enjoy! - claire

It had been a long fucking day for Sam Winchester. Not only was the demon he found in Manhattan trying to summon more, but they were working with a large pack of them and an even larger pack of vampires that lurked in Vermont’s lush forests. The two creatures had teamed up, and as a result Sam was surrounded in a poorly lit dirt road in the forest, moonlight shining on his knife. He couldn’t see or hear Dean, and he knew Castiel was busy with extremely pressing ‘angel matters’ as he put it. He had vamps and demons circling him, and Dean had the stupid demon knife. Or, he did when Sam had seen him a few minutes ago. Now, he had no clue who had their hands on it. His brain was twisting as he desperately tried to wring out ideas of escape from his head like a sponge. He was trapped. Fuck. A demon sprung, holding a large, saw-edged knife slicing his forearm making him tense. A measly cut never stopped him, and he twisted the demon’s neck, shoving the body to the side as another few came behind him. Twisting and trying desperately to gank two at once, Sam missed the others on his right, one stabbing Sam deep in his lower abdomen.

Significantly outnumbered, Sam tried to keep his thoughts collected. But it was difficult with five vamps and six demons on his ass, and the blood slowly staining his shirt, the agonizing pain making him want to double over. The demons suddenly pounced on him simultaneously. He managed to injure one of them, but the rest kept their grip on his arms, legs, neck, and torso tight. One of the taller vamps sauntered over to him, her lips curling into a smile.

“You’re gonna taste so sweet, boy. I can already tell…” She pulled his hair back roughly, her painted fingers tight on his long hair. She exposed his neck, and Sam had never thrashed more than he had in that moment. It seemed like all he had done in his adult life was fight for his bodily autonomy. He felt numb — of course this would be how he died. The second he felt her lips on his skin, he felt and heard something he never had.

A loud whoosh, the hands and arms restricting him gone, and a swift change in the chipping air all in less than a second. He was in the motel. His motel he and Dean were staying at in some small town in Vermont.

But…there was still a single hand on his shoulder. However, it was gentle. Too gentle. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours; a woman. You couldn’t have been much older than him. But you weren't really a woman. He drew his gun from his belt, effectively pushing from you, making space between you two.

“Who the hell are you?” He was assuming you were an angel. He didn’t know of many other creatures or beings that could move him so effectively and so fast. He was also thinking how everything in this world came with a price. You weren't saving his life to do him a favor or to be nice. That wasn’t how this ever worked. Except; there you stood, your hands tentatively coming up in a gesture of surrender.

“Sam. I’m very glad you are okay.” You stated your name, a small smile on your lips. Still, he held his gun up directly at your face.

“So much for a thanks, I guess. I’m your guardian angel, Sam. There’s no need for hostility.” Sam faulted, just a bit, but you took a single step towards him and he was back in his rock-solid stance.

“I’m sure. What do you want?”

“Well, I’d like to heal that cut in your stomach. It’s quite deep.”

He scoffed, “Why? So I can owe you? So I can be in your debt?”

You were silent for a moment, your eyes widening a bit. “Castiel never told you? Sam, certain angels…we are assigned to humans to watch over them. We are permitted to help you, prevent you from death if it is not your time, and only if we are not spotted. We cannot be seen, or…well, in simple terms, we’ll be kicked out of Heaven.”

“You…you’re my guardian angel? Seriously?” He mulled over you, his eyes squinting in suspicion. “How come we’re talking, then, if I’m never supposed to see you?”

Rolling your eyes suddenly that same whoosh came, only a lot quieter. You had his gun in your hand, pulling the mag out, throwing the piece in one direction and the gun elsewhere in the motel where neither of you could reach it.

“You were going to die. You were supposed to die. That was your time, Sam. I defected to save you. I’d like a ‘thank you’ at the very least.”

Sam breathed quickly through his nose deciding what to do. Your eyes were so genuine. He’d only ever seen that look from one other angel, Cas.

“I…thank you.” You nodded, and he saw realization in your eyes. It was raw and undoubtedly heavy on your being. You nodded.

“I’m going to put my fingers on your temple and you will feel much better, understand?” You looked at him; from his shaggy hair to his dirty boots, and back up again. “It will be easier if you sit down. You’re much taller than I thought.”

Sam let out a small huff of laughter, sitting on the bed.

“Well, you don’t seem very tall for a guardian angel.” You squint your eyes at him, a look of unshaken power in them that startled Sam to his core. He knew what angels were capable of. You could have killed him and everyone in the motel in seconds. Yet, from someone else’s perspective, you were a hell of a lot shorter than him, and just looked like a regular young woman.

“My true form is larger than the size of this building, Sam. I know that you know what I am capable of. Even if I may not look like it.”

Sam nodded in an apologetic way, your cold fingers on his temple immediately putting him at ease. Cas had healed him a couple times before but it had felt nowhere as heavily as this. He could feel his wounds closing before he could register what was happening — even the widespread blood stain on his shirt dissipating. He let out a long sigh he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulder slumping forward. He truly felt better than he had in years.

“Thank you. And I’m very aware of what angels can do…though I’ve never met a guardian one.”

You nodded, your face quite close to his. He smiled gently. Cas was never great with personal space either. Yet, Sam always found it funny when the angel would appear a mere foot from his older brother. Now, the last thing on his mind was humor. He would never admit that your presence was intoxicatingly calming.

“We possess stronger healing powers and sturdier wings than typical angels. Not that it matters much now.” The sorrow in your eyes made guilt settle uncomfortably in Sam’s stomach.

“Why did you save me? I’m not exactly the poster boy for virtue or dignity.”

“I’m aware. But you must understand I’ve been watching you your whole life, Sam. I perfectly believe you deserve another chance on Earth.” Sam gazed into your eyes, trying to find what he could not understand. His father, Dean, Bobby…they had all known and loved him for so long. But they’d never expressed it like you were right now — and he'd never even met you. He had met defected angels before, fallen ones too. They would lose their wings. They would lose their grace. They were as old as the beginning of time, and would sacrifice it all for a single human.

“But why? You flew me here, but I’m guessing your wings aren't doing too good right now, Angel.”

You stared deeply at his features. You’d seen Sam, watch him grow up before your eyes from the day he was born. But your visions of him were never as clear as they were now. His eyes were a solemn swirl of blues and greens, the inner ring a twirling hazel. The lines on his face told you of his laughter, his light forehead lines telling you of his worries, the short hairs littering his jaw telling you he’d been up for nights focusing on the hunt that was supposed to have ended his life.

“Because I thought…” you looked at a stained part of the unappealing carpet on the floor, your eyes glazing over a bit, “I thought that some of the angels were abusing their power over humans, over hunters. I had been on earth a few times and stupidly got your disease of emotions.” Sam chuckled softly despite the situation, hoping you would feel a tad better. But he knew you didn’t. How could you?

“I felt sympathy for humans. There were unjust things happening everyday, people's lives ending at their wrong time. I thought you were worth saving because–well, maybe it's time angel’s be kind instead of unforgiving.” Sam listened to every word spilling from your lips. You had been very short and to the point with him earlier. You really had begun feeling human emotion, if even a little.

“And I thought that maybe you’d help me. Help me adjust, at least. I have seen the ways you and your brother act. I know it is selfish of me, but you are close with my closest friend and brother, Castiel.” You took a pause, eyes averting from Sam’s sincere face.

“I have seen you do it for humans and creatures and being alike, Sam. I thought maybe if I was kind to you, you could be kind to me, too.”

Sam stared at you in awe, his jaw slightly open. He honestly wasn’t sure what to say. Of course he would like to help you, but how? You were an angel for God’s sake. Maybe Cas was capable of giving you what you really needed to adjust, to be an angel without your wings, but he’d try. He’d fight like hell to try for you. You saved his life. It dawned on him that he was meant to be dead. He’d likely be in hell at this very moment if you hadn’t intervened. You truly were an angel sent from Heaven for him.

“Of course I’ll help you, Y/N. You saved my life. I’m not done fighting yet and I’ll try everything I can, as a human at least, to support you.” You smiled. Your eyes were watering and you confusingly blinked at a wet drop falling from your right eye. “What is…” Sam reached a large hand to your cheek, rubbing the tear away.

“Tears. You’re tearing up. Nearly crying, it happens when you…experience intense emotions, sometimes. Usually they are sad ones, but I’m guessing yours aren't.”

“No. I think I am happy. Maybe…anticipatory?” Your stomach was in knots, but you didn’t think you were sick. Castiel had explained it as…excitement. Sam smiled at your words.

“Why is everything I say to you funny, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, still smiling as he brought a hand to your shoulder, “Not everything, you’re just…amusing.” You nodded after a moment as if agreeing with him. You knew you weren't accustomed to human culture or customs, you felt out of place every time you were on Earth. Nevertheless; now it was your home.

“I find you very amusing. And you can be funny, but only when you are not being stubborn.”

“You really have seen me my whole life.”

“But I like that about you. You have such complex emotions.”

“Yea, I do…” Sam trailed off, the twisting in his stomach intensifying as he looked at your lips briefly. “Can I…” he leaned in closer, but not too close. He didn’t want to crowd your space, but you just looked so heavenly sitting next to him on his bed, your lovely hair framing your soft, glowing face. You tilted your head the way Cas did when he was confused about something human-like.

“Can you what, Sam?”

Fuck, your voice was so pretty. “Nevermind,” he leaned back slightly, getting up to call Dean to find out what happened to him before you grabbed his arm pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You realize you shouldn't be thanking me, right?”

“I know. But I also know humans can be very cruel and you’ve shown me a lot of kindness. I wasn't sure it was still possible in your world. Oh, and Dean is alright. I asked Castiel to help him as I did you.” Sam kissed your forehead, and it felt like it lit on fire. Your cheeks were warm, and you weren't sure if you were ill, or what was happening to your very human vessel.

“Sam, are you sick?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why d’you ask?”

“You just made my skin hot, and my stomach feels weird.” Sam froze, his lips coming into a smirk, “Did I?” He tested the waters, lacing his fingers over your arm, and you stared up at him, your cheeks pink and your mouth slightly open.

You pulled him down on the bed, holding his face with your hands. “Yes.” You stated matter-of-factly.

He smiled, sliding his hands over your cheek. “You gonna do anything about that?” Sam spoke in your ear lowly and you turned your head, his hair tickling your face and leaving goosebumps on your arms.

“I don’t know what to do.” He curled further into your face, leaning closer to your ear, his mouth on the edge.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, Angel.”

You nodded, but opted for leaning up and placing a kiss on his forehead too.

“I think I need to teach you about other human stuff before we uh…do that.” You nodded, still leaning on Sam, when a thought came to your head.

“Hey, Sam?” He gazed over your face, listening attentively to your sweet voice.

“I still have my grace and powers. But, since I’m not a real angel anymore…do you think I can try things like ice cream and taste the real flavor?” He threw his head back, laughing boyishly.

“Yea, yea, I can buy you ice cream, Angel.”

#supernatural #supernatural masterlist #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #charlie bradbury #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #supernatural smut #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x angel reader #sam winchester x angel!reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x reader angst

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greenandsorrow · 3 months ago

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ΦΙΛΗΔΟΝΙΑ. (i)

HENRY WINTER X SHAPELY!FEM!READER ⏳

☞ Here I am, writing spontaneous filth, a wet fever dream if you will... instead of getting the real work done (my tsh au with an oc). This one is quite suggestive, but I tried to incorporate nice prose in it as well! What if you take what you're about to read as an apology for not making any progress with 'What once was' yet ?? 🥺

☞ I know there are times I say that some smut fics of mine belong in the 'no plot just porn' category, even when it takes many paragraphs to get to the spice. But listen, I write and pace my smut like a female orgasm. (Iykyk☕) I was ovulating when I wrote this and it shows -says the luteal me.

☞ OOC!Henry??, adult themes, kinda slow burn, descriptive, teasing, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public setting, the more you read the hornier it gets, cliché tension-heightening tropes, my first time writing for Henry specifically and for tsh generally

You're a good friend of Richard.

Neither of you was born swimming in money and as a result of your humble upbringings, you both share a sense of wonder at making it into a place like Hamden. However, the main thing that connected you and the brunette Californian when you first met, was your shared desire to become part of the Greek class. Richard wholeheartedly believes that you deserved to be accepted by Julian far more than he did, but the eccentric professor has his own unique -or rather, peculiar- way of thinking and evaluating who is worthy of becoming his pupil and who… simply isn’t.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't manage to enroll in Greek. You didn't quite fit the mold, so to speak. Oh well... French, sketching and sculpting are fine. And Richard makes sure to keep you up to date with his new experiences as part of what essentially is a clique of wealthy twenty-year-olds.

To the untrained eye of a bystander, the brooding umbrella bearer, the ginger fashionista, the blonde twins, and the Edmund guy all appear equally obnoxious and hoity-toity. Still, Richard has given you a retrospective of the Greek class -or at least he tried- because you can't help but poke fun at pretentiousness when you see it.

The first few weeks were relatively calm. You only ever saw the group when they walked out of the Lyceum and you were waiting for Rich. During those moments, you took the chance to observe them more closely, but you were still unsure whether you liked what you saw. Camilla, the only girl in their little clique, would always shoot poisonous glares your way, while Bunny would give you a nod, accompanied by an acknowledging half-smirk.

You first met Francis, by mere luck. You were over at Richard's dorm room when the ginger paid him an unexpected visit -and even though you weren't entirely sure if he was kind out of politeness or sincerity, you liked him. Francis is a nervous man with a great sense of humor and style.

As time bled into the heart of autumn, you started going out with your classmates. There was a cozy little bar hidden in an alley on Vermont where you'd enjoy a couple of drinks, when you didn't have early lessons. While there, you spotted Francis and Charles sharing drinks together. There were some 'scandalous' dating rumors... and you had a feeling they were indeed hooking up. You caught them once on your way back to Hamden. Francis must have noticed you, but the twin was likely quite drunk. You didn't tell a soul and Francis was silently grateful for it.

Weeks turned into months...

And boom! You, Francis and Richard started hanging out around campus. It didn't become a daily occurrence overnight, but when it did, Charles would also join you from time to time. You even started talking to Bunny through your light interactions with his girlfriend, Marion. He definitely stood out from their polished social image, but in a way, he was the necessary ingredient that balanced out their measured and cut off demeanor.

You're not part of the group. If anything, you're even more of an outsider than Richard. The thing with you, though, is that unlike him, you aren't trying to fit in. Bunny is talkative to a fault, so you have no trouble entertaining him. We've already covered Francis. Charles is surprisingly chill and friendly. But despite that, his sister might mirror his appearance, but she certainly doesn't mirror his personality. She seems to tolerate you more than anything.

When Charles casually invited you to their apartment for dinner, her expression had turned so sour that you almost wanted to strangle her.

However, the cherry on top is that mountain of stoicism, Henry Winter. He always seems to be in his own world, his piercing gaze often fixed on something far beyond the crowd. You can't help but notice how he will occasionally glance in your direction, but these moments are fleeting, gone as quickly as they come. There is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race, yet he remains an enigma, shrouded in layers of indifference.

While Francis and Charles are engaging and willing to include you in their conversations, Henry's aloofness is what stimulates your curiosity. You sense he is aware of your presence, yet he never acknowledges you, as if you are just a mere afterthought in the grand narrative of his life.

The dinner was a catalyst experience.

As you arrived at the twins' apartment with Richard, Henry's presence loomed large but distant. You felt eyes on you, but it was only Bunny, Charles and Francis who greeted you with cheerful banter, while Henry remained in his corner, a book in hand. His gaze did flicker to your shapely figure, lingering just a moment longer than he intended before he quickly averted his eyes, dismissing you as nothing more than an unimportant distraction.

"Well, well, don't you look like a million bucks tonight!" Bunny called out with a grin, his eyes openly trailing down your curves. "That dress is working overtime, sweetheart. We should get you to wear that to the next charity event!"

Charles chuckled -though there was a slight awkwardness to it- and Francis rolled his eyes. You forced a smile, used to Bunny's crude remarks. Your attention was elsewhere anyway...

Why did Henry refuse to engage, even when you found yourselves under the same roof? He frustrated you as much as he intrigued you.

The atmosphere in the twins' apartment buzzed with lively chatter and the clinking of glasses. As you settled into your seat at the table, you were acutely aware of Henry's presence at the far end. You wore a fitted dress that accentuated your curves, the fabric clinging to your defined figure. You could feel the warmth of the others' gazes, but when it came to him, it was as if a cold, impenetrable wall stood next to you.

As the meal progressed, conversation flowed easily. Bunny dominated most of it, animatedly recounting stories from campus -with Richard often his chosen victim. Occasionally though, Bunny's attention would drift back to you, making some offhand comment about how you should consider a career in modeling. "No reason to hide those killer curves, darling" he'd say with a wink, making Francis groan in exasperation.

Through it all, Henry remained silent, his attention fixed on his plate or the flickering candlelight at the center of the table. Though he said nothing, there was a tightness in his jaw that suggested he was aware of everything -and perhaps disapproved.

You caught glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye -the subtle shift of his gaze when he thought no one was watching, the way his fingers twitched when Bunny's voice grew loud and lewd.

It was maddening. He was magnetic and repelling all at once.

"Henry, what do you think?" Charles asked at some point, finally drawing him into the conversation. For a moment, hope flickered within you that he might engage. But Henry merely shrugged, dismissing the warmth of the moment...

As the evening wore on, you tried to focus on the camaraderie of the others, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was watching you from behind that wall of polite ignorance.

His silence only amplified the tension that crackled between you.

Tension, tension, tension... Or is it your wishful thinking?

Since that dinner, things have warmed between you and the Greek students. You often find yourself in their company -whether it's studying together in the library, thrifting with Richard, going to the opera with Francis and even Camilla, or awkwardly using the coffee machine in the cafeteria with Henry.

Henry has shifted from not acknowledging your existence to silently accepting it. It's a delicate situation and you know better than to push for more. He's far from an average Joe. Initiating small talk with him would feel almost like a personal insult.

Let's focus on today though, shall we?

It's early morning and you're both making coffee in the still empty cafeteria. The small space in front of the coffee maker forces you to stand close, too close. As you reach for a cup, your fingers accidentally graze his much larger ones, sending an electric jolt through you. Henry's hand lingers for one delicious moment before he pulls away, his expression neutral, though you catch the subtle clenching of his jaw.

Is he annoyed... Or did he feel the same tingling sensation you just felt? You apologize quietly and he nods, not saying a word, but the air feels heavier now.

A pause.

You turn to say something -anything!- but he's already walking away, his umbrella and Gucci coat perfectly in place.

It was a mundane thing to happen, really. Boring and normal, unimpressive and simple. Ordinary and meaningless... Something that could happen between absolutely anyone. And yet, you spend the rest of the day replaying it over and over in your pretty head, unable to focus on your classes.

In the blink of an eye and after several cups of mediocre at best coffee, you find yourself waiting for Richard at your usual spot. He emerges with Bunny. Dammit... They appear to be engrossed in conversation. Looks like you're heading back to the dorms on your own...

You sigh.

There's no hurry so you don't leave right away.

The cold evening air bites at your skin as you stand outside the Lyceum, watching as the others come out of it. Francis waves at you and Camilla gives you a brief smile, but neither lingers. And then there's Henry, the last to leave. He steps out into the dim streetlight, his dark coat wrapped tightly around him as he makes his way down the steps.

You hesitate for a moment, debating on saying something or staying silent as always, but frustration gnaws at you and your tongue wins control over your brain.

"Why doesn't he want me there?" you ask, not moving from your spot.

Henry pauses. His eyes -sharp and piercing- meet yours and for a moment you wonder if he's going to ignore you, as he has countless times before. But then he walks over, his steps measured and his expression unreadable.

"You mean Julian" he states in a low voice, but there's an edge to it like he's already thought about this.

You nod, your breath visible in the cold air. "Yes. Everyone else... but not me. Why?"

He regards you for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face... and for the first time you're acutely aware of his smell -expensive cologne and aftershave mixed with tobacco. His presence is imposing, even though his demeanor remains distant.

"Julian is..." he begins, then stops as if searching for the right words. He then looks away, towards the dark street, the silence between you thick. "Particular. He doesn’t take everyone."

The words sting, even though they were spoken with a calm detachment. You cross your arms, not entirely sure if it's to block out the cold or the weight of his indifference.

"That much is obvious. But why not me?"

Henry's jaw clenches, a flicker of something unspoken passing in his dark blue eyes, but his voice remains steady. "You don't need Julian's approval in order to spend time with us."

And then a bit more earnestly "You already know that."

You scoff lightly, taken aback by his response. "You didn't answer my question."

"I did."

His gaze snaps back to yours, something new surfacing behind those cold orbs of his.

You feel like you're standing on the edge of some cliffhanger, but before you can push him any further with your questions, Henry takes another step dangerously close. He looks down at you, taking in the curve of your upper lip, your jawline, the shape of your nose.

"You're not like the others" he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's no judgment in his tone, just the acknowledgment of a fact. You blink, taken completely off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Is that why Julian won't let me in? Because I'm not like all of you?"

Henry doesn't answer immediately. The tension between you feels fragile, like it could shatter at any given moment. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard from him, he replies "Maybe it's better this way."

His words hang in the air, loaded with a meaning you can't quite grasp. You search his eyes for something more, some explanation, but before you find anything, Henry steps back, his face closing off once again.

"Goodnight" he says, the tension breaking as he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there confused and more intrigued than ever.

A bottle of cheap wine and late night thinking is your next step.

"When Henry told me that Julian's judgment isn't everything, he revealed a small crack in his otherwise impenetrable loyalty to the professor. He respects Julian and his selective nature, but he doesn't entirely agree with my exclusion.

So Henry has protective instincts... whether he's aware of them or not. He senses that keeping me out may shield me from whatever lies ahead in Julian's world, which he must know isn't as glamorous as it appears...

I am such a philosopher..."

That evening, Henry remained by his car for a good while, watching you as you stood alone in the cold. He couldn't quite explain why your question had unsettled him, why your presence had been bothering him in ways he hadn't anticipated. You unsettled him -not because of what you said, but because of how acutely aware of you he had become.

You frustrated him.

Henry's need for control manifests in how he maintains a physical and emotional distance, even as the tension between you grows. He's hyperaware of how your interactions could escalate if he lets them. That's why he chooses to leave at the end of every single conversation you have. By walking away, Henry reasserts control over the situation, both over himself and you. He's not ready to let his guard down, so he retreats in order to keep the tension simmering rather than boiling over.

It was foolish, he told himself. He had no time for such petty distractions. Still, there was something about you that cracked the surface of his carefully constructed world.

You weren't part of Julian's circle, so you shouldn’t matter. But you did. He hated that you did.

Sexuality and romance... these are things Henry has never cared for. He can analyze them, dissect them from a distance, but the reality is different. He has observed enough to know how they work in theory, yet practice remains foreign to him.

Intimacy is something he has never sought, perhaps because it seems beneath him, too messy and unpredictable. But when standing before you, Henry realized something he hadn't expected... He was curious. Not in the detached, intellectual way he usually is.

A few days pass, but the memory of him looking at you outside the Lyceum is still annoyingly persistent. It's hard not to think about the odd tension between you. You tell yourself it's nothing, but it's not working, not really.

So you decide to head to the library. Not because you expect to see him there, but because your classes are starting to pile up and you need to focus. At least that's what you tell yourself as you step into the quiet, echoing halls. But as you move through the aisles, you spot him.

H. M. Winter

He's seated at a table near the back, away from the other scattered students, his serious expression fixed on a thick book in front of him. The mere sight of him -sharp jawline and tailored coat draped over the back of his chair- sends a jolt of something through you. You hesitate for a moment. You should leave, avoid him. But instead you find yourself walking over, heartbeat quickening, the air between you already charged before you've even said a word.

He doesn't look up immediately when you approach, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of a page as if he's deliberately keeping his focus there. But then, as you step closer he finally glances up, his gaze moving over your face and then lowering to take in the rest of your body, outfit and all.

Without a word, you pull out the chair across from him, the scrape of wood against the floor cutting through the heavy silence. You take your time, moving slowly. Your body brushes against the edge of the table as you sit, the fabric of your skirt clinging to your curves in a way you know he notices -even if he doesn't allow himself to look.

The scent of old books and cologne in the air adds to the heat building between you. You cross your legs, shifting slightly in your seat while you unpack your bag.

Time goes by.

The quiet hum of the library envelops you both as you sit across from each other, textbooks and notes now scattered on the table. You focus on actually studying for the most part, though you can still feel his bespectacled eyes shift on you from time to time. When you move in your seat, the hem of your skirt rides up slightly, revealing just a hint more thigh. His eyebrow twitches in response before he sharply returns his focus on his book, but not before you catch the encouraging micro expression...

You pretend not to notice, but the warmth crawling up your neck betrays you.

As the minutes tick by, the space starts to feel smaller than it should, the quiet charged with something unsaid.

Without the presence of the others, the air between you feels different -more electric and less restrained. With no one else to see, neither of you has to pretend anymore. Henry's usual detachment falters, his eyes lingering longer than they should, tracing the curve of your leg that has been exposed. This time, instead of shying away, you let the moment stretch.

Alone with him the rules feel different, unspoken boundaries becoming temptations to cross.

You lean forward ever so slightly -the movement causing your blouse to dip just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of cleavage. You pretend to adjust the papers in front of you, but you know exactly what you're doing... The corner of your mouth quirks up in the faintest hint of a smirk when you catch the way his stormy, blue eyes flick down momentarily.

Henry adjusts his glasses, the subtle motion giving him a moment to compose himself. His eyes narrow. His voice is steady, level, as he finally addresses you -but there's clearly an edge to it.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

His gaze locks onto yours now, no longer avoiding the obvious. It's a challenge spoken softly but laced with a mix of curiosity and frustration. He's intelligent enough to know what's happening, but inexperienced enough that your boldness throws him off balance.

His hand tightens on the spine of the book.

It's a good thing you put on this little lacy bralette in the morning, because it does your assets more than justice. You sit up straighter.

Henry's gaze falls on your generous cleavage again, before it darts back to the forsaken book he's been pretending to read for the past hour. His ears turn a slight red, an indicator of his flustered state. And oh, the way he clears his throat... It tells you everything you need to know.

"I was just wondering if I could see your notes. You know… so I can get a glimpse of what Julian teaches you lot. Or is that Latin? Richard mentioned you're working on a translation or something..."

"Yes… It's Latin."

"Can I see?"

Was that a provocative thing to ask? Maybe.

Indeed, Henry stiffens at your question, the directness of it catching him off guard and you even catch a brief flash of uncertainty behind his gaze.

"I… suppose you can" he mutters after a small pause. He fumbles slightly with the pages in front of him, which seems like an unusual action for him -to fumble. His square-nailed fingers brush over the worn paper of the translation he's been working on, but you can tell his focus isn't on the text. As he slides the notebook toward you, you notice the almost imperceptible tremble of his upper limbs.

"Thanks" you say, offering him a small smile. Then, you lean even closer, supposedly to examine the translation -to expose more cleavage.

...he bites the bait. Henry swallows hard and you don't need to look up to know that his eyes are fixated on your supple bosom. His breath hitches audibly as he sees more of your assets than is appropriate.

After another charged moment, with you still 'reading' from his notebook, Henry straightens up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the hardness that has formed in his pants becomes impossible to ignore.

He's never felt anything like this before. The sudden arousal surges through him, unwelcome and overwhelming, making his skin prickle under his usually immovable composure. Crossing his legs, he tries in vain to hide the evidence of his arousal. It's a humiliating thing to be so out of control, to feel his body reacting when his mind is frantically trying to impose some order. He disappoints himself by being so... so affected by something as simple as a glimpse of your breasts.

Henry adjusts his glasses once more. His body is betraying him right now, a true traitor, a meek renegade, pulsing with a need he doesn't know how to handle.

You're delighted to see him bite his lower lip, making his internal struggle more tangible to you...

Before...

Before he blurts out... "You're not wearing a bra, are you?"

The question echoes in your ears, blunt and so so uncharacteristic of him, but his eyes are wide and his pupils dilated. You understand that the words must've slipped out before he could catch them. Still, you don't give him an answer.

His normally pale complexion flushes a deep shade of red, the realization of what he just said hitting him like a freight train. His hand tightens even more around the notebook -knuckles white- and he looks like he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

For a second it seems like he might apologize, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, he shifts again, the discomfort of his confined erection making him painfully aware of what he assumes are your bare breasts under the fabric of your blouse...

Henry's mind is working without his permission as it tries to decide how your skin must feel against his hands. You've clearly gotten under his skin and he's struggling to maintain the control he's so used to wielding.

He can't help but steal another peek at the dip of your blouse, admiring, longing. He also can't help but imagine running his palms over your unconstrained breasts. The breath he takes does little to calm his racing heart, or the stirring in his expensive dress pants, the ache becoming harder to ignore with every passing second.

His hand moves to close his notebook, as if to signal that this study session is over, but the awkward energy still crackles between you. On top of that, you're not ready to give up, not now that you finally have him wrapped around your finger.

"Are you leaving already?" you ask, something playful in your voice.

Henry hesitates, fingers lingering over the notebook, his usual confidence visibly shaken. He clears his throat, glancing at you and then quickly away, as though torn between staying and the uncomfortable predicament in his slacks.

"I… hadn't planned on it" he murmurs, speaking more to himself than to you. He uncrosses his legs, the icy gaze returning to meet yours, betraying a mixture of reluctance and undeniable attraction. "But maybe I… should."

With a touch of sultry innocence, you turn your attention back to your own book, supposedly accepting his sudden departure -while also positioning your arms so they press your breasts together, accentuating your already tantalizing cleavage. Of course he tenses as he sees what the new position does to your body...

You turn your focus away from Henry to glance around, noting the empty chairs and half-abandoned tables. It looks like most students have left -or are leaving- for dinner. It's just the two of you now, tucked into a secluded corner, as if the quiet solitude of the library is conspiring in your favor.

Time has slipped by unnoticed, a realization for him as much as for you.

The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows across the rows of books. The library has quieted. The world outside is fading into dusk. The room feels still, almost intimate. The building's ventilation is the only sound left, along with your breathing.

Henry isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more uncomfortable now that it's just you. The absence of others only sharpens the tension, leaving him acutely aware of his body's betrayal. He aches with need, his arousal throbbing painfully against his zipper, each pulse a reminder of how far out of control this has spiraled.

As if on instinct, his hand moves to his lap, fingers brushing against the strained fabric of his pants. His gaze is fixed on your cleavage, drawn to the subtle rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

Your luscious skin has Henry's breath growing shallow, each muscle in his body tensing as if bracing against a storm. His thoughts also betray him -he wants his face there, buried between your soft mounds, suffocated by them, losing himself in you as if he were a Roman indulging in the decadence of an orgy.

His breathing grows even more labored as his eyes fixate on your hands, now massaging your plump assets. This is unfair. Unbearable. Infuriating. Under any other circumstances, he'd be appalled by such lewd behavior. Yet, in all honesty, his frustration is less directed to you and more to himself -for being weak enough to succumb to such a primal, lowly instinct.

Lust.

Lust...

But… is it really so lowly?

Lust for a woman. Lust for a man.

Lust for food. For alcohol.

For a sports car, a tailored suit, an ancestral estate.

Lust for knowledge. For the thrill of experience.

Lust for life.

It has always been about hedonism. The pursuit of satisfaction, the fulfillment of one's desires. Yet Henry had never felt it like this before, not in its pure, unrefined carnality. Even the excitement for Julian's praise pales in comparison to the one he experiences now -with his face contorted in pleasure, as he stares at your coy expression. His chest tightens as his gaze shifts from your cleavage to your face, struck by how utterly radiant you look. He's never truly taken the time to notice it before, let alone appreciate it... The fullness of your cheeks, their youthful glow, their intoxicating freshness, healthy and ripe like apples.

It's a stark contrast to his own face, or even Camilla's, or Richard's. Their cheeks are hollowed from sleepless nights, their skin pale, only flushed when warmed by too much wine. But you... oh, you. The blood flows effortlessly, naturally, deliciously to your face as you meet his gaze with that knowing expression.

He feels more sweat forming on his brow and his hand -oh, damn him- is already moving, rubbing slow, small circles over his aching crotch.

It dawns on him, then.

A revelation as visceral as it is absurd. He's never quite grasped why literature so often wields cannibalism as a metaphor for love, for lust. But now, with his pulse racing, his breath faltering and his thoughts consumed entirely by you, he understands. He wants to devour you. Consume you wholly, utterly, and without remorse.

"You look so... so..." he gasps, his voice strained and trembling with unspent desire. "Play with your... play with your- Oh God!"

You can't help but grin at his unraveling. You've done it. The mighty Henry Winter reduced to a needy mess, his carefully cultivated composure shattered like glass. He's acting like some desperate, hormonal teenager and the power you feel is almost dizzying.

Teasingly, you raise your top just enough to give him a good glimpse of what's going on underneath. His eyes widen, hunger and disbelief etched across his face as he's treated to the sight of your lingerie-clad breasts, the delicate lace doing little to hide your hardened nipples.

A hoarse groan escapes him, while his hand strokes his length -the slacks barely covering anything. Whatever hesitation or awareness of his surroundings he had before has vanished. At this moment, he doesn't care who might see the two of you.

The mix of pleasure and frustration is overwhelming him. His underwear has become far too tight for his engorged member and with a muttered profanity, he unbuckles his belt. In one swift motion, he shoves both his pants and underwear down -just enough to free himself.

His thick, hard cock springs forward then, standing tall and heavy. The sight of it catches even you off guard.

"Henry, what-"

"Shut up!" he growls in a voice that's low and rough, dripping with need. His hand wraps around his hard length, giving himself a few slow, deliberate strokes. "Just sit there and look beautiful while I take care of this."

His eyes aren't their usual icy blue anymore. They're darker -almost molten- and they fixate on your cleavage with an intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

You glance around, a flicker of apprehension sparking within you. The thought of getting caught lingers at the back of your mind, but the darkness outside and the deserted library reassure you. Thank God your table is tucked away in a secluded corner.

With a teasing smile, you lift your top again.

Henry's reaction is immediate. His eyes glaze over, his head tipping back slightly as his mouth falls open in a silent moan. The sight of your perfectly-rounded breasts seems to unravel him entirely. His hand moves faster over his pulsating shaft, the tension in his body building with every passing second.

"Please… please" he rasps, his voice almost breaking.

The desperate plea sends a jolt of heat through you. You press your thighs together -the throbbing between them is growing more and more. You lean forward just a bit, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Please what?" comes your whisper.

His lips part again as he struggles to form words. "Please... touch yourself... Your n- nip-" He can't even finish his sentence, his composure completely shattered as his cock throbs violently in his hand.

"Now, please!" he gasps.

You feel a flicker of shyness at first but decide to indulge him, pinching your nipples gently between your fingers. Henry's gaze is unwavering, his breath hitching as your fingers close around your hard, (color) nipples. The groan that escapes him is loud and unrestrained, his hand now moving furiously over the length of his leaking cock.

When your hands push your breasts together, his expression shifts entirely. He looks hypnotized... Utterly transfixed by the sight. You can tell he's imagining his face there, buried between your mounds and lost in the warmth of you.

His body begins to tense, every muscle coiled tight as his release inches closer.

The moment is abruptly interrupted by the sound of footsteps and you immediately hurry to cover yourself, just as a boy approaches to retrieve a forgotten notebook. Henry's hand also retreats and he straightens in his seat, doing his best to appear somehow worldly. The boy barely glances at either of you before leaving, blissfully unaware of what he nearly walked in on.

Once the intruder is gone, you turn your attention back to Henry. His chest heaves. He's still catching his breath, face still red and damp with sweat. Ebony hair disheveled, round glasses slipping down his nose. With a shaky hand, he pushes them back into place, looking almost... human for once.

In this moment, he's not the calculating and untouchable Henry M. Winter. He's just a man -a flushed, trembling and utterly undone by you man.

"Show them again."

With the intruder now gone, silence blankets the library once again, thick with boiling tension. Still, you don't give him what he wants right away, liking the control you have over him.

"You were saying?" you murmur with a sultry undertone.

Henry's eyes snap back to yours. His hand hasn't stopped and it's picking up speed again, moving with urgency.

"I… I can't-" he breathes, his voice tight.

"Don't hold back." Your words are laced with mischief. "Let me see you, as you see me..."

That's all the encouragement he needs, really.

"You're-" he gasps out "going to-" another gasp escapes his lips "make me... ah- c- come..."

Henry's words are broken and almost incoherent, as he dangerously teeters on the edge. His breathing is ragged, every muscle in him taut with anticipation.

His grip on his erection tightens, his thumb brushing over the swollen tip, smearing pre-cum as his breathing grows more erratic. Oh Lord, he's so so close, his mind utterly consumed by thoughts and images of you -your breasts, the tantalizing curve of your perky nipples...

The weight of your gaze -intent and deliberate- feels like a physical touch and the unique cadence of your voice echoes in his head, soft yet teasing, pulling him closer to the brink.

His movements become frantic, his breath hitching as the coil inside him winds tighter. He's watching you, every detail of your parted lips and flushed skin, your teasing smile as you slowly trail your fingers over the tops of your breasts.

And then he falls apart.

Henry's hand freezes over his manhood as he looks into your eyes, his body trembling with need. "Can I...Can I come on them? Please?"

The raw need in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the flicker of power within you. You lean forward quite a lot, giving him an even better view of the soft curves he's begging for.

"Are you asking nicely?" Your is voice soft but also dripping with seduction.

Henry's jaw tightens as his restraint slips further away. This is embarrassing, it's debauchery, but he's in too deep to back away now.

"Please" he repeats, his voice breaking, the desperation evident.

His hand resumes its movement, jerking himself harder now, his focus entirely on you and the unspoken permission you haven't yet given.

You glance around quickly, the library as quiet as it's been the whole evening, the shadows growing darker as the last traces of daylight fade completely. A thrill courses through you at the sheer audacity of the situation. Meeting his gaze again, you slowly tug your top down to expose more of yourself -your cleavage a tempting canvas for his impending release.

"Alright, Henry" you purr. "Go ahead."

His head falls back at that, a strangled moan escaping his lips as the tension in his body reaches its peak. His hips jerk forward and his hand works in a frenzy, chasing the release he's been holding back for what feels like hours. His entire body tenses, veins standing out on his forearms and neck as his climax overtakes him.

The first thick, hot streak spills out, landing on your breasts, followed by another... and another. His release is messy -almost overwhelming- each pulse marking your skin in stark contrast to your flushed complexion. The sight alone seems to prolong his orgasm, his strokes slowing only as his body begins to shudder with overstimulation.

For a moment after that, the library is filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and the soft hum of the lights overhead.

Henry blinks, his gaze dropping to where he's left his mark, his lips parting in something like awe. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, his hair tousled and for once, he looks completely undone.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes still locked on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Finally, he manages to adjust his glasses, his voice coming out hoarse and unsteady.

"You're… incredible" he mutters, almost to himself.

You lean back slightly, satisfied and victorious, watching as he shakily adjusts his clothes. The post-climactic haze softens his usual sharp edges.

But then his gaze snaps back to yours, -vulnerable and searching- like he's trying to understand what just happened, or what it means.

You grab a tissue, breaking the tension with a teasing smirk as you clean yourself off. "You're not going to forget this, are you?"

Henry's lips twitch as if he's fighting a smile, but his eyes remain serious.

"No" he says simply, his voice steady despite the faint tremor of his hands. "I don't think I could if I tried."

His answer causes you to chuckle softy. You begin to gather your things, breaking eye contact to avoid lingering too long in the still charged atmosphere. As you stand, you glance back at him, offering a small smile.

"See you around, Henry."

He doesn't respond, only watches you stand and leave, his expression a mix of longing, frustration and something deeper he hasn't fully realized yet.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't help but feel a spark of exhilaration. You've rattled him -really rattled him- and something tells you this is far from over.

ΗΔΟΝΟΘΗΡΙΑ. (ii)

Soon.

Thank you for reading!!! I appreciate you so much! 🤎

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sunburstsoldier · 2 months ago

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Some modern codywan fics that I just love

I have an EXTREMELY LONG fanfic recs document and I've been meaning to make a bunch of posts for ages so here's the first one!! non-explicit Modern AU Codywans in no particular order:

HOT2GO by Saerus2665 for dontbelasagnax | 32k | Mature |

Nurse Ben & firefighter Cody. Ben is a disaster in this and i love it. also bonus Bant is there!

“Hey,” Ben calls from the back. He holds up the forms, “You missed one.” Cody latches another one of the cabinets closed then turns to him. He doesn’t seem surprised to see him. “My bad,” he says simply. He comes to the back of the wagon and takes a seat, legs hanging over the side. He glances up as Ben hands over the forms and pen. “You’d think running down signatures would be a little below your list of duties” he says, in that annoyingly pointed way of his. That’s fine. Ben’s decided he’s done walking on eggshells around him. “You’d think a Fire Captain would be better at remembering to fill out forms he’s done a hundred times,” he returns, just as pointed. Cody smiles at him, a sharp glint in his eye. Or: Nurse Ben and the bad bitch firefighter he pulls by being a complete disaster

Turn it on to a new kind of bright by rolo_rulu, Saerus2665 |41k |

Cody is a hot surfer & Ben is a biologist and also a banana stand dude. Absolutely hysterically funny.

Someone rolls him over onto his back. “Hnnngh…” Ben blinks his eyes open. There’s a man looking down at him, haloed in the bright light of the sun. He has dark eyes, and handsome features, including an interesting scar on the right side of his face. A stray dark curl hangs down in the middle of his forehead. He’s beautiful, with the sunlight behind him. Ethereal. “Are—are you an angel?” Ben finds himself saying. He doesn't know if it's the heat or his poor instinctive attempt at flirting that makes him say it. The man squints at him, brow furrowing, clearly caught off guard. “Uh—are you a banana?” The mention of it brings him back into the reality of the situation: he’s trapped in a banana suit, 10 feet from the banana stand, with the object of his recent fantasies—because yes, this is indeed Hot-Surfer-Cody— looking down at him.

Charmed On The Wayside by TapeMonkey21 | 39k Teen+ |

Lawyer Cody, farmer Obi-Wan, aka Hallmark AU! So good I read it twice in two days, it is EXACTLY like the hallmark movie I never knew I wanted.

Cody Fett's perfect big-city life falls apart when his boyfriend breaks up with him, leaving him heartbroken. A visit to the small Vermont town where his brother Rex lives has him crossing paths repeatedly with Ben, the strange, charming, handsome, flannel-wearing owner of the local cider mill and orchard. Can Cody find love again amidst the fall leaves? Or, the fall Codywan Hallmark Movie we all deserve. Written for the Codywan Comfort flash event.

*The truth that once was spoken by Jimmytiberius | 40k | Mature | Les Mis Theater AU.

Now with several sequel mini fics, a gorgeous love letter to theater and to our favorite boys. Really cool then-and-now structure.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a well-known actor in London's West End who's just signed a contract to make his long-awaited Broadway debut as Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. There's just one small wrinkle. Broadway star Cody Fett will be playing Inspector Javert. Obi-Wan hasn't seen Cody since the summer he was nineteen, when they were in summer stock together... also in a production of Les Miserables. Their relationship ended badly. What will happen when they see each other again for the first time in nineteen years? Will they ever find a way to tell each other the truth about what happened at the end of that summer?

sourdough: flour, water, and starting over by Shortcuts_make_long_delays |19k | Teen+ | BAKERY AU. This one is very sweet!!

Did Cody need to be up at 3:50am? No, not technically. But he had graciously offered to take Fox’s Sunday morning shifts at their Uncle’s bakery. Donning Fox's red apron as part of a decade long joke, he works at the bakery as he attempts to figure out what he wants from life. The first time Obi-wan shows up to dinner at Anakin's after moving back to Coruscant, he arrives twenty minutes late with the bag of rolls in hand, and unable to stop thinking about the baker in the red apron. Fox, he's pretty sure the name tag said.

bury me beneath the tree i climbed when i was a child by stormwarnings | 33k | Teen + |

Cody is an EMT; Obi-Wan's house keeps catching fire. Absolutely hysterical setting, I love the way they raise the twins communally in this fic so much.

Obi-Wan meets Cody for the first time when his niece and nephew almost light his house on fire. (Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett find their way into love slowly but steadily. There's broken bones, too much sooty turnout gear, late hours spent at EMT class, three kids, ten brothers and two adopted siblings, two weddings, and all number of laughs and inside jokes along the way. It's worth it, in the end. Family's always worth it.)

It's Raining, Dear by cafffine |10k | Modern AU

This one feels like you're just catching pieces of their lives together and i love it. Leia loves rocks. Obi-Wan has anxiety. I love it.

Cody and Obi-Wan fall in love. They live together, Rex calls when he can, Anakin is just out of reach until he isn't, Luke and Leia grow up too fast, Ahsoka lives far away, the back deck needs to be fixed, life happens and it happens and it happens.

More to come !! enjoy!!

#codywan #codywan fic recs #if you're in this list i love you and i am kissing you gently #ive read each of these many times #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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itsillchangethislater · 9 months ago

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These took me far longer than they should have, but finally!! Chapter 12 illustrations done! I went the charcoal and graphite route on these. I’m a bit burnt out on inks atm and switching it up helped me get back to it!

I love the scenery and setting of chapter 12-13. The misty lake forest always is so clear in my mind. I’ve always pictured it being in the mountains? Think the Rockies or Vermont. Which they then cross over to reach the desert. BUT, when I attempted to draw mountains…It….Didnt go so well! So we got a lake centric view instead!

The Sun picture was actually a last minute addition to the picture line up I have. I’ve got everything sketched out at this point but realized I had no scenes inside the airstream, which was a big letdown! I love the airstream home they have and really felt like I needed at least ONE shot inside of it, showing a cozier scene.

Also!! Here’s some fun trivia for the 2nd picture with Sun…so while my family and I were traveling, we passed an airstream dealership. I practically tipped the car with my lunge of desperation. Quite probably the only chance I would ever get for really good reference images of the inside of an airstream….! We ended up stopping on our way back and I took about a million pictures. Yeah sure I might have all the other images sketched already and this is the only one that was in the inside of the airstream BUT!!! They’re there if I need them and that’s the important part! Special thanks to my sister and her leg for posing for y/n’s pose for me!

Cryptid sightings of course belongs to the lovely @naffeclipse

#cryptid sightings #cryptid sightings fanart #fnaf sb au #Sun fnaf #wren art #wren binds a book #Cryptid sightings chapter 12

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 11 months ago

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Take Me Back to Shore ~Broken!Wifey!Larissa Weems xComforting!Wifey!Alcina Dimitrescu(AlrissaAU)

Summary— AU where Larissa and Alcina are wives, in a long distance relationship where Larissa works to run Nevermore in Vermont and Alcina runs Castle Dimitrescu in Eastern Europe. They see each other as much as possible, but the distance starts to really take a toll on Larissa… Luckily, Alcina is there to comfort her wife.

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: little angst, happy ending fluff, implied panic attack, anxiety, self-conscious, insecurity, crying, burn out, long distance relationships, comforting, loving wives, happy ending, etc.

Enjoy (;

Larissa sighed deeply as her bright screen strained her eyes to the point of incompetence. With a groan she shut her laptop, looking out her office window, she realized how late it was. The woman felt a pang of guilt as she pulled out her phone and hit the first contact on the screen. The phone dialed. The blonde hadn’t talked to her wife all week and it was Friday.

She had just been so busy, this time of year her workload tripled, the end of the school year coming near, or at least it felt like it. Running a school was not a feat for the weak. Plus, Larissa didn’t want to bug her partner too much, she knew that Alcina led a life of her own, and had her own responsibilities as well. The woman was pulled out of her thoughts by a familiar voice on speaker.

“My love?”

“Darling, Hello…!”

She heard Alcina expel a sigh across the phone.

“It is lovely to hear your voice, Draga Mea. I’ve had the longest day. How was your week?”

Larissa couldn’t help but wonder if she had interrupted the woman while doing something if she was so busy. Her mind nagged her, wondering if Alcina had even thought about her, missed her this past week. The two women only saw each other on the weekends or on breaks, due to the nature of their jobs.

The two of them had met each other while vacationing in Geneva. They had immediately hit it off, spending all of their time together by the end of the week. When the heavenly vacation eventually came to an end, Larissa and Alcina had to part ways, each going back home. But they vowed to keep in contact. Over the years, they chatted over the phone and would visit one another as much as they could. Five years later, they were married. But this long distance was starting to chip away at Larissa. Larissa groaned.

“Long. What about yours? I do hope I’m not interrupting anything…” The blonde breathed out.

“Oh Draga, I am sorry. And nonsense, you never interrupt. I am sure my day was nothing compared to yours. How close are you to being done? Will you be coming home tonight?” Alcina insisted.

That wasn’t true, Larissa interrupted all the time. She had called Alcina five times last week, that’s why she hadn’t called once before today this week. She felt like a burden. Alcina kept such a busy life, running her castle and village, Larissa never wanted to interfere with that. She felt that every call or text she made was a price to pay, a toll taken on her soul. Nevertheless, Alcina insisted that Larissa was a priority. It hadn’t always felt this way. Maybe it had just been a long week…

Spending extended time away from the love of her life never did Larissa any good. It was easy for the blonde to get inside her head and let her thoughts spiral her into a slippery slope of depression and anxiety. Larissa dragged her mind from the depths of the sea back to the shore, back to Alcina. She let out a pitiful sigh.

“Not done, no. Not even close… There is simply too much to do. Might have to stay the weekend to get it all done…” The blonde mumbled, bringing her hands to cover her face in shame of the words coming out of her mouth

“Oh ‘Rissa Mea… Please come home. Work from here if you must. You’ve been all on your own for so long, I can hear it in your voice.” Her raven haired wife cooed lovingly.

Larissa squeezed her head. She felt so conflicted, so overwhelmed. Should she go home? She had heard her wife’s plea for her to return, and part of her believed it. But another part of her mind was screaming at her that she didn’t deserve it, that Alcina was saying these things out of pity. Alcina didn’t want her. She could only stand to spend as little time with her as possible. She was a mere impediment, a nuisance in her wife’s life.

Larissa suddenly smacked herself in the head. She had to get these thoughts out, she couldn’t think properly. It was too overwhelming. She cringed to herself, gnawing at her teeth as she curled into a ball in her chair at her desk in her office. Alone, as always. She had remained quiet for too long. She had given herself away and now it was Alcina’s problem to deal with.

“ ‘Rissa? Draga? My love, please talk to me.” Alcina pleaded, concern and care lacing her entire tone of voice.

Larissa couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. I’m not wanted. I’m worthless. I’m useless. No one wants me. Her mind broadcasted those phrases over and over again, on a merciless loop. She was hyperventilating, shaking in her chair. Tears began to stream down her face. Her nails clawed at her skin, just wanting to feel something, anything rather than the pain radiating throughout her entire being. She was going to drown, she was being dragged back to the depths of the sea. But Alcina was her anchor.

“Take deep breaths for me, Draga Mea. Deep breaths. Find some peppermint and some water. Let us talk through it.” Alcina calmly instructed her wife.

Larissa nodded shakily, slowly untangling herself and doing as she was told. Once she popped a peppermint in her mouth, had a few sips of water, and did some deep breathing with Alcina, she sat back down with some sniffles. Alcina then proceeded to talk Larissa through it, debunking all of the blonde’s anxious thoughts with loving ease, until the blonde was calm and reassured that she was indeed loved, wanted, and worthy.

“I… I’m sorry” the blonde stammered after a period of silence.

“Nonsense, my love. Now, please come home. This week has obviously affected you more than you know or care to admit, and you have no one to take care of you over there. Come home and be with me.”

Larissa nodded and stifled a little, as a little tear of love escaped her right eye.

“I will, Alci, I promise. Thank you, I love you so much” the blonde breathed out.

“I love you too, Draga Mea. See you soon.” her raven haired wife hummed

All Larissa had to do was reach out; Alcina would always be there for her.

~~~

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist

Larissa Weems Masterlist

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stirthewaters · 1 year ago

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Too Sharp to Touch pt.12

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Wednesday comforts you in your fear of the rain

Warnings: language, pills/drugs? Fluff

Pairings: Wednesday x Reader

Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

The darkening skies had you on edge as you walked along the sidewalk.

The presence of Wednesday at your side was starting to become surprisingly familiar as she strode beside you, her pale, well manicured fingers gripping the straps of her backpack rather tightly as her deadpan expression remained focused straight ahead. It was starting to become quite comforting.

The two of you were in town for different reasons; Wednesday specifically wanted to visit the hunting store to look over the recent customers to add to her evidence board, and while you of course were devoted to the case the two of you were engaged in, you were in town for an alternate purpose; supplements.

Not that you found anything wrong with your wolf, merely because you preferred not to spend full moons in the lupine cages. Your most recent prescription had unfortunately been completed right before the full moon; about two days away from now. All you had to do was show your prescription to the outcast doctor and be on your way.

“This way.” A slight nudge on your arm tugged you from your thoughts as you glanced over to see Wednesday turning the corner, barely slowing down as she pointed out without even sparing you a glance. “You’re nervous.”

You scurried back to her side, unable to resist a soft roll of your eyes as you mumbled, “it’s a perfectly normal phobia.”

“I’d hardly label the fear of rain as rational.” Wednesday remarked, shooting you a look as her boots clomped along the sidewalk, a rhythm you repeated with your fingers against your side. “Perhaps some therapy would do you good.”

“Oh and where did that get you?” You retort hotly as her glare darkens. “I’d rather not look for psychological help in a town that’s known for murders. I’m already breaking the rules enough being out here.”

“It’s merely a medical trip for you. Consider it that way if you prefer a clean conscience.” Wednesday almost shrugged, pausing abruptly and causing you to stumble, nearly bumping into her in the process. “I’ll meet you back here once I’m done.”

“It’s a pharmacy, not a drop-off center…” you grumbled under your breath as you stepped into the building, the warm heat welcoming you as opposed to the cold outside. You turned and watched as Wednesday walked off in the direction of the hunting store.

Approaching the counter you instantly recognized Dr. Kennedy, the same man who’d started to become familiar with your occasional visits.

“Ah, Y/N. Welcome back.” The man smiled over his glasses with a warm expression, placing his clipboard down as he approached the other side of the counter to meet you. “How’s life at Nevermore treating you? I didn’t think any students would make it to town with the storm on the way.”

You felt yourself pale slightly at the mention of the storm before responding, putting on a smile to match his. Although you were never very particular about doctors, Dr Kennedy did a decent job at making you feel welcomed in a town like Jericho. It only made sense, seeing as his business catered specially to outcasts. It was lucky that Nevermore had a medical supplier so close to the school anyways.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, honestly; it’s a little chilly but nothing I can’t handle.” You paused before pulling your crumpled prescription from your jacket pocket, slipping it onto the counter for him to see. “I was looking for a refill on my supplements.”

Dr Kennedy adjusted his glasses down the bridge of his nose slightly as he took the paper into his palm, rereading the words. Taking a pen in his palm he re-signed it, turning into the back room as he spoke.

“You're quite lucky you got here in time, Y/N. Our shipment of lupine suppressants came unusually late and with a lot less too; apparently the pharmacist up in Vermont had to deal with some sort of robbery at his place.”

He returned a few moments later with the usual brown paper bag, sliding it over the counter to you as he leant on his elbows, continuing.

“I hear pharmacies aren’t doing too well nowadays. Or at least around here, they’re not.”

You frowned slightly as you reached for the bag, double checking as usual that it was the correct bottle. Spotting the ever familiar green label you stuffed it into your pocket.

“There must be some sort of shortage wherever they’re growing or manufacturing these… probably nothing bad.” You shrugged, not taking notice of Dr Kennedy’s skeptical expression. “Thanks for the pills, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

The man nodded softly and smiled warmly; “good luck, Y/N. I assume you’ll see me in a month or two.” With that he disappeared back into the back room.

You stepped out of the building, looking up at the darkened skies; a low rumble of thunder met your glance, making your skin crawl. Yes, Wednesday had specifically instructed you to wait here until she returned, but there was no way in hell you’d be caught in the rain; besides, she wasn’t in charge of you, was she?

There was a brief moment of hesitation but when you felt a light sprinkle on your shoulder you flinched and immediately made a beeline for the hunting store.

The doorbells clanging over the door announced your arrival to everyone inside and you felt yourself grimace in disgust at the sight of all the different rifles and guns mounted upon the wall, distaste lingering in your mouth. Fortunately there weren’t that many customers; the occasional fisherman here and there but otherwise it was surprisingly peaceful for a hunting store.

As you walked through the stand of furred hats you spotted Wednesday at the counter, speaking with the cashier; a man wearing a Bulls baseball cap and a torn leather jacket. You watched as the raven spoke, recognizing the slight look of impatience in her eye you’d become familiar with lately. Clearly the man’s attitude wasn’t one she was happy with.

“-listen, Miss, I’d love to help you, I really would, but the data we track from our customers is private. We don’t just give it out to anyone, y’know.”

You watched as Wednesday’s grip tightened slightly on her backpack straps as she spoke through slightly gritted teeth.

“My motives are in the pursuit of the school's safety; you’re willing to risk that in order to protect a store policy?”

“Just because Jericho and Nevermore are on decent terms doesn’t mean we’re responsible for each other.” The man frowned slightly as if in slight distaste as he met Wednesday’s glare. “And all that shit that went down last year with the Hyde is over. I highly doubt the safety of the school is at risk.”

“Then explain where the deputies are right now.”

Wednesday folded her arms, her gaze darkening as the man sighed.

“I don’t know everything that goes on in this town, kid. It’s probably just another bear attack up north.”

“How ironic,” you caught Wednesday mutter under her breath as he continued.

“You’re just a high schooler. Even if Nevermore is in danger like you said, I’m not giving just any goth who walks into my store important information. So unless you’re planning on buying something you can leave.”

You weren’t surprised when Wednesday slid a knife across the counter without a moment’s hesitation; the blade was short and straight with a nicked top that looked quite sharp; the handle was a deep black, with silver hints down the sides, making for a tasteful choice of knife. Of course she had good taste in knives.

“I can make it worth your while.”

The raven held up a small stack of bills she had retrieved from her backpack, raising an eyebrow at the employee. He eyed the money for a moment, his eyes narrowing before folding his arms and scoffing.

“I don’t do bribes, kid. Just buy the knife and get out of here.”

Jaw clenched, Wednesday thumbed a bill from the stack and handed it over, placing the rest in her backpack as she took the knife and slid it into her jacket pocket, not bothering to say goodbye as she headed out.

“You’re dreadful at hiding.” Her voice startled you as she paused in front of you, an eyebrow raised. “You’d think a wolf would have a better sense at subtelty.”

“You’d be surprised.” You gave a soft grin of your own as you folded your arms, glancing at the man who was now watching the two of you with a distasteful expression, eyes narrowed as he examined you closely. “Let’s get out of here.”

The two of you were at the door when you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder and you froze, eyes narrowing as you slowly turned on your heel.

“I recognize you.”

“Don’t touch her.” Wednesday shouldered you aside somewhat roughly, but you didn’t mind, you were too busy glaring at the man as you retorted

“Leave us alone. You said you wanted us gone, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved dismissively, removing his hand at the sight of Wednesday’s death stare. “But you’re that Lyall kid, right? The one from Vermont?”

“What’s it to you?” You frowned, suddenly hyper aware of Wednesday’s cold hand on your wrist.

“I’d be willing to give that intel your girl was looking for in exchange for some information. I mean, you’re famous after all, aren't you?”

“She’s not my- my-“ you stuttered dumbly as you felt yourself blush slightly, Wednesday’s eyes on you as you fought for words. “I’m not famous, you’ve got the wrong person.”

The guy frowned slightly, examining you for a moment until eventually muttering something under his breath, “not worth it”. Turning on his heel he started to head back to the counter, but Wednesday stepped forward quickly, gripping his jacket tightly in one hand as the other bore the knife she’d just purchased, pointed at his neck.

“If you want to keep your head attached to your body I’d suggest staying away from us.”

Your eyes widened slightly as the man’s eyes widened in shock and slight fear as he gave what little of a nod he could until the raven stepped back, folding the knife in disgust and putting it away as she turned back to you.

“Let’s go.”

By the time you and Wednesday had returned to Nevermore a good rain was already falling, the rumbles of thunder now more pronounced through the school’s walls. If not for the umbrella Wednesday had brought just in case you would’ve been soaked.

“That was a waste of time,” you grumbled as you followed her into the dorm the Addams shared with Enid. “Other than my suppressants we got nothing.”

“Not necessarily.” Wednesday pulled her jacket aside, hanging it over the side of her bed as she faced the recently set up investigation board by the window. Thing scuttled out from her bag, perching himself atop the board; in his fingers he held a pair of keys.

A wild grin burst upon your face as you held out your hand and Thing tossed you the keys, speaking with excitement “how the hell did you get these without being seen?”

“Simple diversion. I would’ve thought you’d learned a bit more after all this time.” Wednesday gave a little roll of her eyes as she examined the board; there wasn’t much on it; a map of the woods, a diagram of a shotgun, and a couple receipts. “Tonight would be more than a sufficient time to break in.”

You started to respond with a grin until a crackle of thunder split through the dorm, sending a chill down your spine, fingers tightly gripping the edges of your jacket. Wednesday clearly noticed, as something akin to a frown flashed across her face.

“I still don’t understand how you can fear such a beautifully gloomy sound. Just because it is meant to instill fear does not mean you have to be afraid.” The Addams paced across the room, until she was facing you directly, her dark stare flitting over your shaking form. God you hated the fact that you were shaking. “What will it take for me to get your pitiful shaking to stop?”

You fought for words, at a loss for what to say. You’d never been asked that before. You didn’t notice the way Wednesday’s gaze softened just ever so softly; the way her furrowed eyebrows lifted slightly and her chocolate-toned eyes met you.

You had no clue what she was thinking.

For Wednesday she was left utterly confused at the muddled mess of disgusting feelings sitting in her stomach like a pile of rot. The Addams had no clue how to handle them, especially since she had such a lack of experience with… emotion. You must have cursed her… at this point she was positive that you were the one making her cup your chin, your skin ever so warm on her cool hand as she lifted your head so that you met her gaze. Her usually confident and sure footed mind was left scrambling to remember all do Enid’s advice on comfort.

“If it will get you to stop quaking like a frightened puppy I will allow you to reside on my bed.” Wednesday paused, before her eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t stain anything or I will kick you out.”

The way your eyes faintly brightened made her heart twist; oh god, you weakened her. She most certainly despised you. Another boom of thunder seemed to end any hesitation you might’ve had as the raven watched you scramble for her bed.

Glancing over at the investigation board she spotted Thing, cutting off his tapping as she gritted her teeth - “not. A. Word.”

A quick look back over at the bed confirmed your still shaking form. You were just sitting there, stiff and awkward on the edge of the mattress. Wednesday couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she strode towards her cello case, kneeling down as she muttered, “one could easily think you were a corpse.”

“I’m getting comfortable.” You defended hotly, clearly a little embarrassed. She decided not to mention it, merely pulling her beloved instrument from its casing; settling herself atop her chair she pulled the cello in front of her carefully, tuning it.

“You’re going to play for me?”

Wednesday halted, her fingers freezing momentarily over the knobs as she slowly looked over at you, her eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. Your phobia of the rain just happened to interfere with my playing time.” She turned back to the pegbox, giving one of the pegs the slightest of adjustments before picking up her bow. She didn’t need sheet music to play the song she desired.

Her bow pulled across the strings as her fingers maneuvered the fingerboard. The haunting melody of “Cello Sonata in D Minor, Op.40” began to fill the room, a deep sense of satisfaction stirring within her as the piece unfolded.

—

Halfway through the song she noticed you’d fallen asleep, draped in a slightly uncomfortable position over the foot of her bed. Sighing, she reluctantly put down the instrument, standing to step over to the bed.

You didn’t even rouse when she draped a blanket over you.

She was unconscious of the fact that she played her cello just ever so slightly softer when she returned.

Taglist:

@idkjustliving2 @alexkolax @tekanparadiae

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #jenna ortega #wednsday addams #tstt #too sharp to touch #wednesday x werewolf #wednesday x werewolf reader

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thehelltingvilleclub · 2 months ago

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Matt Montgomery - Closet Geek & Closet Freak

An Adult in Eltingville that actually acts like an adult???? WHAT???

Matthieu "Matt" / "Mattie" Thomas Montgomery [02/16/1978] Not Affiliated with TEC - Known Tournament winner amongst Jerry's MTG players. Cosplayer and College student in Manhattan. AOL / Online Users: [MTM_cosplay] | [GoblinHoarder] Theme Songs: Talk talk - Charli xcx | Move Along - All American Rejects | Somebody Told Me - The Killers

Favorite Shit: Trading Cards, Puzzles, Sports cards, Cosplays, X-Men, Monsters, Kaiju, Robots/Mecha, Dr. Who, Rubicks Cubes, Hard Cover books, YAPPERS, Movie Marathons, Beast, Wolverine, MTG, D&D, Cosplay Contests

I don't know how tf to describe this man other than tired and done with everybody's shit and he hasn't been awake more than an hour. He's three years into his bachelor's degree, essentially has 3 full time jobs between cosplay, tournaments, and all of his school work PLUS TUTORING, homie barely has enough time to breathe let alone deal with the TEC. However, that doesn't mean he won't find a way to weasel himself in-- even if its.... by unconventional or rather... *unexpected* means.

Guys I have like no art of him SORRY

Mattie generally only gets introduced very sparingly during 1999-2005, essentially in passing by Jerry or Josh, but he's still present and alive during this time, obviously. Him being friends with Jerry is what gets him to recognize Josh later.

Matt is studying for a Bachelors in English Comp, specializing in Journalism.

Speaking of, Josh and Matt work together at the editors office for the Comic Book News site in the epilogue. It's how they find each other again after Matt graduates and moves back home.

Matt is from northern Vermont, around the Canadian border, and has a bit of a Canadian accent because of it.

Everyone picks on him about it except for May and Jerry, (yes, even Josh, but it eventually becomes endearing to Matt.)

MATT. LIKES. YAPPERS. He doesn't talk much, he doesn't have much to talk about. Books and papers and trying to explain gymnastics routines isn't exactly the most interesting thing in the world, y'know.

He also doesn't have the time to really subject himself to the extreme absorption that Josh and Bill can get with their comics and shows, so.. Tell him about them!

He didn't get access to a lot of the more nerdy, pop culture side of things because of his parents. They had a significantly stronger iron grip on what he and his sister were exposed to, so he never really...

well, he didn't get to express his love for the more geek-y side of life until he moved to NY for college.

He became a professional cosplayer via his roommate forcing him to post, invited to events and photoshoots for his live floor routines he'll do in character, though he almost always wears a full-face mask or enough make up that you can barely tell who he is.

he can't have his sister finding out he dresses up as a blue demon freak in his spare time, yknow? (god she'd bully the shit out of him if she did--)

He's been in gymnastics since he was in middle school, and he's actually quite good; he's on a scholarship at his university, for pete's sake.

unfortunately a bad fall broke his clavicle and made it so he can't do vault anymore, but he enjoys his time doing floor routines and fucking around on the pommel horse from time to time.

Matt also.. is weirdly envious of TEC's... closeness? The fact they barely get along and yet they're all still together, they all still try and see each other or keep in touch..

He's never had that, and it makes him horrifically jealous, but he keeps it to himself-- smile and wave, swallow it down like normal, hm?

please subject him to a movie marathon. Infodump on him everything about whatever you're fixated on. He likes listening to people's voices, so please, just do it. It doesn't bother him at all.

This man has a TEMPER. His mother and his sister have this too, and it is BAD. Matt, however, learned ways to keep his temper at bay and calm down. to an extent. Bill, however, always manages to get his blood to boil by just the mention of him, so maybe... don't

Also, Matt and Pete absolutely bicker. A lot. Matt is constantly showing off that even though he's only an inch taller, he's able to do soOOSOooo much more! and Pete is convinced that Matt isn't actually gay and is trying to steal May away (guys Pete is such a fucking jealous goober I hate him)

Meanwhile literally the only person Matt wants is Josh. Pete should open his eyes maybe but like it's fine.

HOLY SHIT GYUSY

Okay UHM Hi Matt probably won't be talked about much but if you see me Vermont Honey posting it's because I need my comfort ship back okay THanks Also the NSFW cut is coming guys It's gonna have em all And I'll draw Jane and Matt's little sister soon, as they go to school together (Jane absolutely hates her guts OOPS unfortunately she's a bitchy cheerleader so you bet Jane has a voodoo doll of her somewhere in her room).

#the eltingville club #the helltingville club #eltingville fanart #welcome to eltingville #eltingville oc #eltingville club #matt montgomery #the eltingville club oc #my oc stuff #oc x canon #my headcanons #my art #GUH Thanks guys for being patient with me #sorry this one is less than the rest of them #he's not official so like... no funny titles for him #Though if he were to get one #y'all are amazing #hell I guess it's time to keep coloring dicks

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sunflowervoltwentyeight · 10 months ago

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Happy 28th! Here is my April 2024 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

When All Is Said And Done by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10 (76k)

“You must be thinking of another of your ex-husbands,” Louis snapped back, and Harry stilled, slowly turning to face him. There was something almost dangerous in Harry's look then but Louis stayed firm, not cowering away.

“Thankfully, I only have the misfortune of one ex-husband,” Harry said darkly, snatching up the plates and slamming them onto the table.

*****

Louis and Harry were married, but things fell apart, ending in divorce, broken hearts and separate lives. Years later, their paths cross once more, and time together forces old feelings to resurface. But is it too little, too late?

Greenhouses AU Series by TiredTiredTz / @tiredtiredtz (63k)

Glass Closets and Greenhouses (60k) Charlton Athletic defender Louis Tomlinson and worldwide sex symbol Harry Styles are rumoured to be hooking up after a viral video filmed at Harry’s Wembley show was posted online by Tommo’s twin sisters. Sources close to the pair tell us the couple have been dating for a while, with rumours of house hunting, marriage and even kids on the cards! Styles, 29, is as well known for his whirlwind love life as his chart topping music. Most recently linked to British fashion designer Alex Millet-Sloan, Harry has stayed tight-lipped on rumours of any romantic rendezvous between himself and footballer Tomlinson, 31, yet fans online are convinced that all evidence points to #Tomlinstyles being the real deal. Not Conditional (3k) Harry is bald and this is how I’m coping. Set a few years after the events of Glass Closets and Greenhouses.

It Feels Different When You’re With Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings (45k)

Harry fell in love with sign language as a kid. He never imagined the first love of his life would lead him straight to his second.

Every Lonely Place by HamPalpert (38k)

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

The Act of Making Noise by suspendrs / @suspendrs (32k)

“Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”

It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?”

“Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”

Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont.

It’s About Time by kingsofeverything / @kingsofeverything (3k)

Best friends and roommates, Louis and Harry have been through a lot together, including law school for Louis, marriage and divorce for Harry. Their imminent eviction forces them to admit their feelings.

#28th appreciation #April fic rec #monthly fic rec #Larry fic rec #fic rec #hlcreators #read

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dramioneasks · 2 months ago

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Christmas Fics (2024) (Part 8):

Fridays at Flourish and Blotts by GreenInk_RedLetters - T, 5 chapters - Hermione is overworked, over-tired and just trying to get through the Christmas season. But when a flyer comes in the mail advertising a children's story hour every Friday at Flourish and Blotts, well, there isn't much she wouldn't do for her shy daughter. That is until an unexpected blond boy decides to befriend her very curious Rose. And not just any boy, but the son of her former childhood bully, Draco Malfoy. It's all chaos, cocoa, and cuteness until more than just her daughter's happiness is on the line. And maybe, just maybe, a little discovery about herself along the way. A Dramione story with all the holiday coziness, nostalgia, and self-reflection you need during the Christmas season.

Oh Shit… Are We in Love? by head_over_heels_016 - M, one-shot - Hermione, disillusioned with life in Wizarding Britain, studies law in Paris and unexpectedly reconnects with Draco during a Christmas blind date set up by Pansy. As they share honest conversations about the war, healing, and their pasts, they discover a newfound understanding and undeniable love, bringing warmth and hope to their holiday season.

Christmas in Vermont by Ink_and_Cider - T, 5 chapters - “Will we see you at the Burrow on Christmas Eve?” Hermione stared out the window at the light flurry of snow that had just started to cover the tops of the buildings, wrapping the city in a clean white blanket. She knew that before she was even done with her lunch, the streets would turn to slushy mud, and the roofs would grey with ash from fireplaces. Nothing this peaceful was designed to last. “No,” she said quietly, mostly to herself, before turning back to Harry. “No, I think I'm going to take a proper vacation this year.” “Oh?” If Harry's eyebrows shot up any faster, they were liable to fly off his head entirely. It was all the confirmation she needed. “Neville and Ron are always inviting me out to Vermont. I thought I might finally take advantage of their hospitality.” Hermione Granger takes a holiday and is surprised to find Draco Malfoy living in a cabin in Vermont, in a town that is oddly obsessed with Christmas. She finds herself in dire need of help, with no one else around for thousands of miles, and is forced to face her old school bully. What she finds is far more than she could have ever anticipated.

O' Sinful Night by Asilynn - E, one-shot - Hermione Granger had always been selfless but this year was different. So, when she decided to forgo her normal Christmas traditions with her friends and accept an exclusive invitation to a holiday party at Pansy Parkinson’s anonymous sex club, she didn't know what to expect. It certainly wasn’t a sin-filled night with a dark and alluring stranger. But was the man who chose to attend dressed as Krampus really a stranger? Or was he someone she knew? Even if she couldn’t quite place him yet… Or Hermione attends a role-play Christmas party where she is hunted, chased, and punished by Krampus- who, to her surprise, turns out to be Draco Malfoy.

Snow Be It by Anonymous - M, one-shot - no summary

Be My Baby by SomnophiliaSweetheart - E, one-shot - After the war, former Death Eater Draco Malfoy adopts two brats who need to learn some discipline.

A Very Malfoy Christmas by Days2323 - not rated, one-shot - Christmas at Malfoy Manor is anything but peaceful as Hermione and Narcissa leave Draco and Lucius in charge of a mischievous Scorpius.

Christmas Eve with the Grangers (and the cats) by topazZz1105 - M, one-shot - Draco spends Christmas Eve with Hermione, her... interesting parents, and two cats who seem to have impeccable timing.

Are You on the Nice List, Hermione? by alwayshv - E, one-shot - Hermione Granger would rather do anything than attend the infamous Winter Warm-Up, a Hogwarts Christmas tradition that extended well past graduation. A relaxing night at home with Draco sounds a lot better than loud night packed in a club, no matter how many times her friends beg her to join them. But Draco has a few tricks up his sleeve, or rather Hermione's dress, to convince her to attend. Now, it's just a game of how long they'll actually stay before Hermione is thoroughly...warmed up.

A Christmas Charm by antebellum13 - not rated, one-shot - With only four days until Christmas, and three days left to comply with the House Elf Liberation Act, Draco Malfoy is determined to continue living as he always has. Hermione wants to believe he’ll change. Perhaps a visit from some old faces will help him see the error of his ways.

Mayhem Under the Mistletoe by thisisnotadance - E, one-shot - Hermione finds herself trapped between magicked mistletoe and Draco Malfoy.

#christmas #dramione

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ash5monster01 · 9 months ago

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Getaway Camp : Prologue

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!Fem

Warnings: language, flirting, fluff, annoyance towards others, harsh parents, meet cute.

Summary: Charlie leaves home early for volunteer work in the Catskills, finally feeling free from his father, and on the path to the life he always dreamed of having. Yet when he arrives he meets someone who can’t help but capture his attention and he realizes fairly quickly that he’s already screwed.

word count: 2.3k

Masterlist

→ One

June 4th 1961

Charlie wouldn’t consider himself much of a nature guy, but anything would do if it meant getting out of his parent’s house sooner. He had already been accepted to Columbia in the Fall but he didn’t have enough money to rent an apartment in the city quite yet. Which is how he discovered Adler’s West Lake Resort and Lodge. His counselor said the school looked fondly onto volunteers who worked there in the summer. So Charlie packed everything up and got himself the job. After all how bad could it be? A summer away in the Catskills, free food, free boarding, and a few rowing lessons here and there. He could handle it.

“Alright honey, do you need anything for your drive?” his mother asked from the porch, watching as he loaded his stuff in the back of the station wagon. She tried to pretend that she didn’t notice he had packed everything but a small part of her heart broke. This was truly it.

“I’m fine Mom, I promise” he told her, mind stuck on the five hour drive ahead of him.

“Okay honey, make sure you call and let us know when you get there” and both of them pretended not to notice the small chuckle that left his fathers mouth as he read the paper on the patio furniture.

“I will and you have the address and number to the resort already” Charlie reminded her, jogging up the porch where he quickly towered over his mother’s height. She hated how tall he had gotten, a grown man now, no longer her little boy.

“Be safe and good luck at school” she told him before pulling him into a hug. Charlie squeezed her right back, thankful to at least have a loving mother.

“I will Mom, thank you” he told her and she sighed, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. Her only child driven away by the harsh expectations of her husband. He had been hurt so much by the world already and the minute he graduates high school he is off and running away from her.

“I’m about to head off, sir” Charlie says as he pulls away from his mom, walking to stand in front of his father.

“Good, you wouldn’t want to hit the afternoon rush traffic outside of the city” his father mutters, hands flipping the page of his newspaper. He felt that he owed nothing to his son. The only things his son had ever done was get himself kicked out of the best school in Vermont and cost him a lot of money pulling strings to still get him in an ivy league school.

“Exactly so thank you sir” Charlie said, holding his hand out and waiting for his father to bid him goodbye. He never cared much about what his father thought of him but he also figured if his father didn’t say some sort of goodbye he would always have control over some aspect of his life.

“Goodbye son, don’t dick around too much. That’s my name you’re tainting when you do that” his father responded, hand sliding into his own and firmly shaking it.

“I’ll do my best sir, I promise” Charlie said before letting his father’s hand go one last time. He was going to use these next four years to his benefit and take the well deserved break he needed. He couldn’t believe he spent all those years at Welton wishing his parents wanted him around more. What a waste.

“I guess we’ll see” is the last thing he says to him before returning his attention to the paper in his hand. Sighing Charlie brushes his hands down the front of his button up shirt and turns back to his Mom with a soft smile.

“Goodbye Mama” he says, swiftly kissing her cheek and the tears finally break through and cascade down her cheeks as Charlie jogs to his car that holds every piece of his belongings. He knew he didn’t need all of it for camp but he also knew his car could act as a private storage locker so he wouldn’t have to come back here before classes started.

“Bye baby, we’ll miss you” she calls out as the car rumbled to life and Charlie waved a hand out as he shifted the car in gear and headed down the long driveway. He knew his father would more than likely not miss him but it was kind that his mother still tried, so he waved his hand out his open window for her until she could no longer see him driving down the road.

The drive was fairly easy. Only two missed turns and one incident with a wrinkled map and Charlie was finally pulling his car up to the main lodge, the sun casted over the large lake beside it. It was quiet since campers wouldn’t be here until next week and Charlie was surprised to feel peace from the quiet and warmth that resonated in the area around him. Killing the engine he stepped out the car and started for the doors, prepared for direction to his cabin for the next three months.

“Hello camper!” a chirpy blonde girl perked up as he pushed through the cabin doors. He briefly wondered if it was an act, to be so excited about not having a real shower and mosquotio bites for three months on end. Yet the bright white smile on her face suggested otherwise.

“Hey” Charlie muttered, not one for too much enthusiasm. Actually he was pretty sure he hadn't been excited about anything since his Junior year of high school.

“Did you just arrive?” she asked, hands reaching for a large book that Charlie figured held all the information on every worker for the entirety of the camp. It's possible the smile could be fake but someone with this much responsibility had to enjoy this life somewhat.

“Yeah, Charles Dalton. I’m a Columbia volunteer, new rowing instructor” he said finally reaching the desk, hands falling and crossing over the top. He just wanted to find a bed and lay in it, especially after that drive.

“Well welcome Charles, let me grab your orientation packet and parking pass” she grinned still as cheerful and Charlie nodded, almost scared by how happy she is.

“Just Charlie is fine” he told her and she nodded before bouncing off and finding all the things he needed to get settled in. After only a few minutes she had a small stack of papers set in front of him.

“Okay so everything you need to know you can find in here. Cabin number, work schedule, map of the resort, and anything else you can imagine. When you get to your lodge you’ll find your walkie and uniform waiting for you. Meals and everything are all inclusive for staff and we hope you have a great summer” she finished her well practiced spiel and Charlie smiled as he collected the thick packet from in front of him.

“Thanks..”

“Josie” she filled in and he nodded.

“Thanks Josie, see you around” he tells her before heading back towards the front doors and where he left his car. Using the map to find employee parking Charlie found himself unloading the two suitcases he packed specifically meant for camp and locking up the rest of his belongings in his car. It was a bit harder to find the cabins but finally he was in the upper woods, brown buildings matching the next all in various rows. A big fire burning with a few people chattering around it and Charlie quickly looked for cabin number sixteen.

Valerie had only been here an hour and already smelled like wood smoke. This wouldn't have been the case if she didn't somehow end up in a cabin with Chrissy Norwick. Valerie didn't necessarily mind the girl but she liked having a chill first day and Chrissy already had five girls compiled in the small shared cabin as she retold the stories of each date she had with Nate Fanning over the school year. She knew it would be the same thing, Nate would appear at camp and pretend Chrissy didn't exist, that was until the fall when he no longer had all of the camps options to focus on.

So Valerie sat by the fire with a few old friends she had been volunteering with since she was sixteen and listened to their much more relaxed conversation as she waited for her cabin to be much less crowded. It was then she saw a taller boy, chestnut hair falling in his eyes, as he walked the trail up into the cabins. It wasn't often new volunteers came around here so she was immediately perking up. He was handsome, in a soft way. A suitcase hung from each of his arms and she could tell from the hike and the strain off the weight, his chest was puffing out broadly. The small beads of sweat collecting at his hair line convinced her to approach him before no one else could.

"Hey, you need some help?" she curiously asked, straightening out her shirt as she appeared on the trail beside him. He jumped only lightly due to her quick appearance and she tried to hide her amusment.

"I’m fine" he muttered even though his hair was now starting to stick to his forehead from sweat.

“First rule as a staff camper, no job is too small to ask for help” and she was snatching one of the suit cases out of his hand that had been weighing him down the entire trek up the hill. Realizing she wasn’t going away anytime soon he finally took a moment to take her in. The white staff shirt laid across her shoulders and the eagle symbol stretched across the center of her chest. He admired her full hips and bright smile. Her long brunette hair tied high in a ponytail that hung in curly strands down her back. She was pretty and he was supposed to last all summer around girls like this. He prayed she wasn’t a lifeguard.

“For the record, I never asked” he told her before starting towards the cabins where she followed quickly behind.

“Well what cabin is yours then Mr. Independent?” she asked, ignoring his previous statement, and the boy sighed. He was realizing pretty quickly that most people around here were pretty cheerful and stubborn.

“Sixteen and the name is Charlie” he caved and finally she was beaming a smile back at him that made her eyes sparkle. He hated that her eyes sparkled.

“Well Charlie I’m Valerie and you’re in luck. I just so happen to be in cabin fifteen” and she was walking along and leaving him behind, going in a direction all too familiar to her. Charlie was a bit shocked by her ease but followed nonetheless as she led him to a destination he had been counting on the last five hours.

"So clearly you're new, so I'll share some wise wisdom as a camper of three years" Valerie told him, thrilled to have something to do other than stare at a campfire in the middle of the day. The June sun was already hot enough. "Never use the showers on the south end. Theyre used the least so not only do they include a variety of bugs you've never seen before but they’re also the showers that lose hot water first"

"This is not making this anymore exciting" Charlie says and the laugh that comes from Valerie surprises them both. Charlie hates the way the sound wraps around his heart and makes him content.

"If Big Al enters the bathrooms wait at least thirty minutes before going in. If you don't know who that is you'll find out fairly quickly. If it's an emergency we're surrounded by woods for a reason" and now Charlie is the one laughing which based on his attitude when they first met has Valerie fairly surprised.

"Lastly tuesday nights mystery dinner sounds fun but it's actually a mix of leftovers from the previous week so we have staff dinner here" Valerie says just as they approach cabin sixteen only to hear the girl laughs from the one beside it.

"Shouldn't you be in there giggling away?" Charlie asks as he takes his suitcase from her and sets them both on the small porch step.

"God no, no use giggling about cute boys inside when I can be out here talking to them" and much to Charlie's surprise she winks at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It’s so quick he's almost convinced he didn't see it.

"You seem to have it all figured out Valerie" Charlie says and she softly shrugs, glancing up at the tall trees above them. Birds chirp and in a few hours the cicadas would buzz and she'd finally be right back at home.

"I'm sure there is more I'm forgetting to share but when I remember I promise to tell you. In the mean time Charlie you can find me at cabin fifteen or the lake" she says, oddly comforted by the new guy herself. There was something nice about knowing she got to be the one to greet him here.

"Why the lake?" he curiously asks as Valerie moves to walk away and she flashes a quick grin at him, fingers gliding through her curly brown hair and Charlie nervously gulps.

"I'm a lifeguard" she informs him and for the first time for the entirety of this conversation Charlie accepts that he's screwed. Valerie was not the kind of girl you ignore despite how badly he wanted too. Now worst of all he had to spend every single day of the summer with her in tiny red bathingsuits.

"Of course you are” he says and she quickly flashes him a grin before starting back the way they came, ignoring the group of girls in her very own cabin. Charlie hates how he watches her walk away, admiring her long tan legs in her tight jean shorts. It had been ten minutes and he was already screwed.

“Shit”

Happy 35th Anniversary to DPS. This is my love letter to this film <3

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

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emsgwenstan · 1 year ago

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Holding on to our family

{Larissa Weems x fem niece reader.}

Words: 2k

Warnings: flashbacks, angst, hurt.

Note/summary: after Larissa’s death, y/n heads back to nevermore to tie some loose end or attempt to anyway.

2 miles to Jericho. That’s it. You know how far the township is from the airport like the back of your hand, but for the first time you wish you didn’t because then the sickening feeling wouldn’t be so prominent. You remember the first time you traveled to Vermont from London, you were 14 and she happily greeted you at the station in Burlington.

The sun was unwelcomly shining and casting rays through the branches, she loved the sun, the shadows whipping over the car from the ungodly speed you were doing. “Auntie lissa I’m scared.” You said. “Just go slow sweetheart, I’ll tell you when to change gears.” She smiled. “Ok, oh my- don’t you get scared passing other cars!” You shrieked. “You will be fine just concentrate on your side of the road. I promise you will be ok.” She said. And you believed her. If only she could see you now.

Passing by the Jericho sign you slowed down to take the turn off for nevermore’s drive way. ‘12 minutes’, you thought opting not to speed trying to drag it out for as long as you can. Once the iron gates came into view, your heart paced quicker. The nostalgia filled your senses as you recall how your nevermore days were the best of your life, you had friends, you did well in school, you had the privilege of having a single dorm with your own space and privacy and it was all thanks to her.

Larissa was the one who helped you on your darkest days, lightest and every other one in between, it started from the day you were born, your mother was absent and you father was always busy with his company and running off with his abundance of secretaries. She is- well was your fathers sister, your aunt consequently, but you forgot that most of the time, she was more like both the parents you needed in one, every holiday she would come back to the uk and visit, doing everything she possibly could, like teaching you to drive.

Putting the car in park in the lot that displays ‘reserved for principle L.W.’ You stepped out, the whole 6 feet of you, plus the extra inches from the heels you had on, straightened your blazer, did up the button then smoothed out your signature Weems, platinum blonde hair. The cobblestone clacking the whole trek, as expected once you rounded the corner many eyes set on your figure, students and teachers all going quiet and whispering to each other. Some you still remember.

Not stopping until you climbed the stairs to her office you made it on top of the mezzanine, your eyes flicked to her hanging portrait on one of the far walls. Pacing to the painting you admired it for a moment before you slid it aside to retrieve the spare key. For the first time in two years you stepped through the threshold of her office, it felt weird, wrong, the fire wasn’t alight, her laptop wasn’t resting on top of her desk, but everything else remained in exact place as the last time you saw it.

You walked around the desk to sit in her chair, just like you had many times before. “Here my sweet, sit here, it will be easier to do your homework.” She’d say. “Thanks lissa, you’re not leaving though?” You asked. “No, I am done for the day, but I’ll be right here on the lounge reading for a bit.” She said coming to stand behind your place in her chair, she pressed a kiss to the top of your head and walked over to lay down with her heels removed and legs slung over the edge of the couch. How you missed her.

As you sat tears started to well in your eyes, you discarded your sunglasses tossing them onto the table and rubbed at your eyes. Just then the door rang with a gentle knock. “Y/n?” A small voice asked as the door cracked open. Lifting your head from your hand a small smile graced your face. “Enid, hi.” You said standing, walking over to her with open arms. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come up here.” She said coming into your embrace. “Yeah well I had to some time.” You said. “I missed you.” She huffed into your chest. “I missed you to little lycan.” You said pulling back with wet eyes and a sniff. “Heeyyy, I love the hair.” You said groggily playing with the pink and blue tips. “Thanks.” She said sadly.

A moment went by when she spoke again. “I miss her too.” She said looking around the room. “Yeah.” You mumbled. A noise emanated through the door, you looked at Enid quizzically. “Um that’s Wednesday.” She said spinning on the spot and going to open the door, the girl really was like a storm cloud, literally black and white, just like how Larissa had explained. “Hello Wednesday.” You greeted. She peered at you unblinking until she looked you up and down. You extended a hand for her to shake and hesitantly she did so. “Y/n Weems, I’m Larissa’s niece.” You explained. “She told me a lot about you… don’t worry I don’t bite.” You said looking at Enid. “Well biting isn’t really a worry for you I suppose is it.” You said trying to ease the awkwardness. The look on Enid’s face was priceless, completely red. Wednesday on the other hand her scowl dropped immediately. “Hey that’s what happens when your added to this one’s close friends story on instagram.” You said giggling.

“You look like her.” Wednesday spoke, most likely her way of a shot at a compliment. “Thanks.” You said. “Ok wens we should go now.” Enid said dragging Wednesday behind her. “Horrified to meet you Wednesday.” You said, she peered over her shoulder and smirked, that gave you hope in possibly being on her good side. The door closes behind them and you paced to the middle of the room. ‘Guess I should consolidate with the staff.’ You thought with a sigh. “You will be fine, I know you don’t like talking to people but I’ll be right there the whole time, just waiting in the car.” She said. “I’m so nervous.” You expressed fixing your necklace in the mirror. “I know but you will feel so happy and relieved when you’re done.” She said standing behind you giving a squeeze to your shoulders. “What if they say they don’t want me as an employee?” You asked. “They would be silly not to consider you.” She said guiding you towards the door. In the end you got your first job at the mayor’s office as the receptionist, all thanks to the encouragement of her.

A while later finally finished meeting and greeting a few of the staff to let them know you will be staying for the week, all of them looked at you sympathetically as if they felt sorry for you, but you knew even when Larissa didn’t express it, that not one of them knew her or even cared enough try take some of the schools stress off her. You saw how it would take a toll, how tired she would be but never gave up and she never gave up on you. “Try again.” She nodded. You shifted for the second time and became the spitting image of your father. “Oh dear-.” She laughed, you cackled at the situation. “Out of everyone to pick.” She continued to laugh. “Ok your turn auntie lissa.” Your 15 year old self said shifting back to yourself and perching on her bed.

You hadn’t bothered to go backdown to the car and bring up your bags yet, when you return into the office you go straight to her quarters door. That damn door, how a piece of wood can be so imposing is beyond you, although once the door is unlocked and the hinges creak open you may never walk back out. You slid the key into the hole and twisted until it unlocked, you lent up against the architrave and observed the room, again everything in its place. Pacing inside you went and flopped on her bed, toeing off your heels and kicking them off the mattress, you snatched one of her pillows and hold it to yourself curling your legs up towards your stomach.

For the next hour you laid in the same position hugging onto the pillow like a life line, her sent still remaining. Pachouli, bergamot, vanilla and almost the faint smell of English breakfast tea. You scrolled through the photos in your phone’s gallery, seeing the ones from when you were born and an early twenties Larissa holding you, looking down at you as if her whole world just lit up. The timeline continued on all the way up to your early graduation from college, with Larissa holding onto your waist and you with an arm slung around her shoulders. You turn off your phone and break down sobbing into the pillow.

———

Two days have passed and all you had done is go through Larissa’s photos, clothes, trinkets and make up. You would take one piece of jewellery and wear it during the day just to feel a little bit closer to her, then when night came you would place it back in the exact spot you had taken it from. Nothing was boxed or packed, you couldn’t find it within you to place her things in a crammed space and send them home, this is what she has to show for her life and packing it away didn’t feel like an option.

Over the next two days you hung out with Wednesday and Enid, taking them into town, going to the weathervane, or just for a drive. You never really noticed how much you missed nevermore until now, unless perhaps it wasn’t the school that you truly missed, the memories are bittersweet, only now do they feel tarnished and painful, nevertheless it’s nice to know that you have a home a true home that comes with a chosen family, on the outings with the girls you were mistaken for being Enid’s older sister, to which you’d correct, though the mistake can be made since she’s 16 and you 23, only 7 years apart.

Returning back to school grounds you opted for a walk down to the lake, it felt like just yesterday you had won the Poe cup, having Larissa cheer you on from the side lines. You remember that even before you celebrated with your team you ran straight to her and embraced her with a joyful scream. It was nearing dawn and you decided to go back to your- her room, where you could use sleep as a procrastination.

“Larissa I’m an adult I can do anything I want!” You yelled. “Yes daring I know that but-.” She began. “No! Stop trying to keep me here, I want to go and experience things myself, I will not be rooted in one place like you, I actually need a life!” You exclaimed. Larissa straightened up and cleared her face of hurt emotions, turning into a stern look. “Fine.” She said. Your stomach churned. How disappointed she is. However you stuck it out and left, but before you could reach the door Larissa stopped you and wrapped her arms around your neck and breathed an I love you, one you didn’t return.

You sat up straight in bed gasping as the memory fades from your eyes, you look around to see the dimly lit room still and quiet through watery vision. “I’m sorry.” You whispered into the room. “I’m so so sorry… I love you too, I love you so much.” You said with your voice breaking and your throat sore. It displayed 3:02am on the clock resting on the bedside, you dragged yourself up and out of the tangled sheets to make a tea for yourself wrapping a blanket over your shoulders and back to keep warm.

With the beverage in hand you sat on the floor leaning against the end of the bed in front of the fire place, you were exhausted, the loop of the memory on repeat making every run through more painful. It was true the whole thing was real, you had been irrationally irritable that day, when you visited Larissa to tell her you were thinking of travelling alone across the world, the worst part was that Larissa was the one who actually encouraged you to travel and explore but to be careful and safe and yet you threw her support and generosity and care back in her face as if she were a monster.

It only took 2 weeks until you were back in contact with one another, Larissa was relieved to know you were ok and you were relieved she forgave you as well as listened to every ‘I’m sorry’ you had to offer. Turns out going back to London to pack and prepare without her wasn’t fun or adventurous at all, if you were to do something, anything, you wanted to share the experience with her, because Larissa wasn’t just your aunt, no, she was practically your mother, roll model and your best friend. That was the last time you visibly saw her, two whole years ago, you would do anything to go back and wrap yourself around her frame and never let her go.

With the tea finished and cup discarded, you went back to bed in hopes of a restful sleep, but of course you weren’t that lucky. The next morning you felt tired and drained in every way, you spent the day walking the grounds, visiting Ophelia hall to see Wednesday and Enid, and finally ending the day with sitting on the floor of Larissa’s walk in closet to flip through the box she kept her year book, newspaper clippings and sentimental things, but it wasn’t just hers it was your things to, the nevermore newspaper from 6 years ago when you had been early excepted into a prestigious university, the hair clips she would put in your hair every time she came to visit when you were little, Polaroids from over the years and dated notes from significant days in the past.

“Y/n, are you ok sweetheart?” She asked looking up at you from her arm chair in the corner of her room. “Yeah…” you said quietly, looking down. “I wanna tell you something.” You murmured. Larissa slotted the bookmark in between the pages of her book and gave you her undivided attention, you pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to her to unfold. “I can’t say it.” You said pacing about the room. You could hear her unfolding the paper and the silence that followed, but a giggle interrupted the raging thoughts in your mind. “Oh darling… that’s ok, that’s wonderful, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell me such a thing. Come here.” She said, you turned and walked to her with your head down, as you sat lightly on her lap snuggled into her chest and tightly wrapped arms, she spoke again. “I love you no matter who or what you love, if you’re interested in girls or boys, vampires or werewolves I don’t mind……. can I tell you a secret?” She asked. “Yeah.” Larissa inhaled and slowly exhaled before she whispered in your ear. “Really?!” You said sitting upright. “Mhmm.” She smiled. “Oh, I was wondering why you didn’t like that nice man we spoke to at the grocery store the other day.” You said, in response Larissa laughed.

11/5/2019- y/n came out to me!

You traced her cursive handwriting at the bottom of the note you handed to her that day with a smile and placed it back in the box as well as putting the lid back on. Standing back up and turning the light off, you had a strange feeling that something wasn’t right, but ignored it. You grabbed the blanket from the bed and threw it over yourself going towards the office to turn off the lamps and stoke the fire before a knock on the door was heard. Walking over to it you opened the door to be met with one of the staff holding a few papers.

“Evening y/n, these were dropped off this afternoon, I thought I should bring them to you… sorry it’s late and I interrupted.” She said holding out the stack. “No it’s ok Melanie, I appreciate that thank you.” You said taking papers. “You have a relaxing night.” She said turning on her heels to leave. “You too.” You said closing the door. Wonderful, just what you wanted, letters with principal applicants, schedules of new school developments, an obituary form and a mediocre memorial service for Larissa. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You said. Somehow you internally corrected yourself with the word ‘language’ as if you could hear the statement about to come from her.

Another knock, you rolled your eyes. “Come in.” Nothing but a stretch of silence. “Melanie, if you forgot to tell me something you can come in.” You said walking back to the door. Nothing could have prepared you for what lye behind it, you opened the door and the wind was knocked from you lungs. No. This isn’t real. “Wow, I’m going insane.” You said peering into those bright cerulean eyes, dropping the blanket from your shoulders. When her hand extended to cup your cheek, almost immediately tears ran down your cheeks. “You’re not real.” You breathe. She stepped closer to run her other hand over your hair. You could feel her. You could see her. You could smell her.

You stood still as if you could blink to hard and she’d be gone. “Hello my darling girl.” She said with a smile. As brief as it may be and as much as you didn’t want to you rubbed your eyes knowing she will be gone in a moment trying to flea from this torment…and yet her grip stayed prominent, her smell still lingers and her form remained. You were in pure shock, you brought your shaking hands to her face to trace at it just to be sure. She was there, she was here, she was home and she was finally back exactly where she’s supposed to be, with you.

“I have a lot to explain, but firstly…” she began. “I love you.”

@sabraaabra

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #principle weems #larissa weems x y/n #wednesday #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader

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