#but Clara doesn’t get back up again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pasukiyo · 1 year

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Omg i just read "wrapped around your finger" and JDJLDKSKS it was so good 🤤🤤 could you maybe do a part 2 where tom asks mr and mrs Lestrange to marry her and they're completely baffled and tom is just wildly in love (smut is appreciated)

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!muggle-born reader 7,072 words warnings: smut, prejudice against muggle-borns. notes: reader is hufflepuff, this can be read as its own imagine, but it is part two to this fic. i would suggest you read part one for more context. summary: it’s been a few months since the lestranges’ famed christmas party. a month before graduation, tom riddle comes to a realization that you are what he wants. he doesn’t care about anything else, all he cares about is having you and how powerful you make him feel.

“Tom… we have… to get… to class,” she managed to say between kisses, his hand in her hair, the other resting on her hip. He kissed her deeper, taking the moment and stretching it out as far as he could until she tapped his shoulder, signaling that it was really time to go. He pulled away, his chest heaving as he panted, and he gazed down at the Hufflepuff girl he had pressed against the door of the broom closet.

His hand dropped to the nape of her neck and he could feel the heat as it crept up her skin as she straightened her robes, pressing her fingers to her lips where the phantom of his kiss still lingered. He didn’t move, only let his gaze linger on her before finally, she broke the silence that had since ensued.

“Tom… I have to get to Transfiguration…”

“Can I see you tonight?”

She blinked and stared up at his handsome dark eyes, still visible even in the dim broom closet. She shifted beneath her weight, “I don’t know, Tom. I have to study for my Potions…”

“Please.”

She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist when he used such a tone, and she mentally groaned, damning him for having such an effect on her. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded, swiping the hair on either side of her face behind her ear. He kissed her temple when she did, and he dropped his head so that his lips could ghost over the shell of her ear, shivers slithering like snakes down her spine.

“Meet me in the Astronomy Wing tonight.”

He began to back away and out of the closet, her hand in his all the way up until it naturally slipped out, and she smiled. “Alright,” she agreed, and he hummed in approval. “Excellent,” he said before turning to stride off down the long corridor, and she stepped out of the broom closet to watch until he disappeared around the corner, heat searing her cheeks.

She hugged her Transfiguration book to her chest as she touched her lips with her free hand, barely managing to contain her smile before she spun around on her heel and headed for the Transfiguration Courtyard. Clara Wingrave, a fellow Hufflepuff with brown skin and shoulder length, curly black hair joined her side as they approached the doors leading out to the courtyard, and she smiled at the girl.

Clara tilted her head as they stepped outside, the corner of her lips curving into an amused smirk. “You seem quite happy,” Clara said, and she flushed, brushing hair back behind her ear. “Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Clara looked around the courtyard as they strode through, making their way for the Transfiguration classroom. When she was sure nobody else was around to eavesdrop, she leaned into her friend’s shoulder, her lips close to her ear. “Who’s the boy?”

She blinked and stopped walking altogether, taken aback by what Clara had been asking. Clara giggled behind her hand as she turned to look back at her astonished friend. “Oh, come on. Why are you acting so surprised?” Clara asked, and her friend shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean by boy,” she replied, hugging her books tighter as she began to walk again, but Clara still stuck to her side, teasingly prodding her finger against her shoulder.

“Don’t act coy. I know love when I see it,” Clara chuckled as they entered the Transfiguration classroom where most of the class already was, and they took their seats beside each other. Clara leaned in closer as they set the things down, and she furrowed her brows as she gazed at her friend. Clara grinned, “you’re in love.”

Scarlet embarrassment burned her skin and she crossed her arms on the desk in front of her, hiding her face between them. Clara laughed again as she turned to face her, eyebrows pinched. “Have I been that obvious?” She asked and Clara rolled her eyes, leaning in and putting a hand over the top of hers. “It concerns me that you don’t think you’ve been obvious,” Clara whispered and she groaned, resting on her elbows to hide her face in her hands.

Clara leaned back in her seat and laughed again, “so, who’s the lucky boy?” She asked again, and she peeled back her fingers to peek at her friend between them. Neither she or Tom had told anyone about their relationship, neither daring to risk outing themselves to her brother, mostly in fear that she’d be tormented to no end.

But she could trust Clara. She knew she wouldn’t dare spill her secret to anyone else, so she leaned in, cupping her hand around Clara’s ear, shielding her lips away from everyone else as she told her friend her secret. “Tom Riddle,” she murmured her lover’s name, and when she leaned back into her seat, Clara’s lips were ajar so wide her jaw may as well have been on the ground.

“You’re snogging the Head Boy?” Clara asked, perhaps a little too loudly for her comfort, so she swatted her friend’s shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t make me Obliviate you,” she warned, and Clara shook her head, her laugh coming out as more of a breath. “No, no I just…” she leaned back in her seat, tapping her fingers on the top of the desk. “Wow. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

She tilted her head, curious. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She inquired, and Clara shook her head again, moving her hair out of her face. “Nothing, it’s just…” she rolled her bottom lip around between her teeth, contemplating her words. “…he just doesn’t seem the type to… date, you know? I’m just surprised, is all.”

She hummed, nodding as she relaxed back into her seat. She could definitely agree with Clara there, she never imagined Tom going out with anyone before, much less to be the one he was seeing. She could only imagine how other people saw him, especially students who weren’t of Slytherin House, considering the people Tom was usually seen hanging around with didn’t have the brightest of reputations— her brother especially.

But she knew he wasn’t like her brother and his gang. Tom Riddle could never be like that.

“I thought so too but…” she trailed off as the Professor began her Transfiguration lesson, and she leaned into Clara’s side to whisper, “he surprised me too.”

And Tom always did.

Later that night, she tread carefully through the corridor leading to the Astronomy Wing, the sky bruised with a dark purple, slowly morphing into black above. She searched the hallway for Hogwarts’ Head Boy, painfully aware of how close to curfew it was. Unfortunately she was not a prefect, and she didn’t dare risk detention so close to the end of her last year.

She paced back and forth, searching for her lover and his dark head of hair, mentally cursing as she leaned back against the wall. She couldn’t see him anywhere, and although she knew it was unlike him to forget, but still, she couldn’t help her impatience.

It wasn’t until she felt a pair of hands grab her waist and tugged her back that she yelped, turning in the arms of her sudden captor to gaze into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle.

“Tom!” She squealed, pushing her fist against his chest, stumbling back when he removed his arms. “You scared the living daylight out of me!” Tom held her hand gently, his touch so light it felt barely there, and if it weren’t for his warmth, he may as well have been a ghost. He leaned down to press his lips to the top of her knuckles, all the while gazing up at her through hooded lids.

“Apologies,” he murmured against her skin, giving her hand a firm squeeze when he stood back up. “And I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting. Ran into Professor Slughorn, you see.”

She pressed her lips together and hummed, stepping closer to where Tom stood with his back against the wall, slithering her arms around his middle. “I can only imagine what he’d want to talk to you about, Head Boy,” she tittered as she rested the side of her head against his chest, feeling the tension in her muscles unravel when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his lips on the crown of her head. “Hilarious,” he muttered, his kisses working down her face and to her lips, and he hummed against them before pulling away, taking her hand in his.

“I want to show you something,” he said, beginning to lead her down the hall and up one of the large, spiral staircases. She furrowed her brows when they reached the top and he led her down the corridor only to stop at the end, turning back around to face her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, curious when his eyes shone, even in the darkness of the castle. “Just trust me,” was all he said before he paced back and forth down the corridor, exactly three times. She watched him in bewilderment even as he turned to gaze over at her and gestured for her to come forth.

It was then that her eyes set upon the wall in front of him. She was certain there hadn’t been a door there before.

She blinked a few times, convincing herself that it must be her eyes that were tricking her. Tom released a breath that could pass as a laugh as he approached, grabbing her hand once more. “I don’t think anyone else in the castle knows about this room,” he murmured as he led her towards the door, and she watched as his opposite hand cradled the knob and twisted.

“This…” Tom said as she gazed around the room full of just… things. Things everywhere. Every type of thing imaginable. “…is the Room of Requirement.”

She raised an eyebrow over to him, glancing back into the room of things. “The Room of Requirement?” She murmured, admittedly skeptical. “And you think we’re the only ones in the castle who knows about it?”

“I’m certain,” he reassured, palm against the small of her back, his opposite closing the door behind them. “Way I see it, the other imbeciles at this school are much too ignorant to find this place.” She turned to glance at the door, eyebrows knit together. “But why wasn’t the door there before? What…” she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Tom approached and grabbed either of her shoulders, letting his palms soothe down the length of her arms all the way down to her wrists, and back up. She relaxed in his touch’s wake, but still remained curious, skeptical, even. “This place only shows up when you’re in need of it,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were against the shell of her ear, his breath icy hot, frosting over her bones and making her body shudder. “Can you guess why I invited you here tonight?”

He leaned away to catch her eyes, and she felt all tension in her bones melt away when their gazes met. She pressed her lips together and drew near again, their faces so close their breaths were becoming one in the same. “I think I may have an idea…” she whispered, her glance fleeting between his irises and his lips.

And Tom couldn’t resist any longer.

His lips surged into hers, like two violent waves in the sea in the midst of a storm. His hands were everywhere from her waist, to her hips, to her thighs, back up her chest all the way to the sides of her neck, creeping up until they cradled her face. She whimpered against his lips when he pressed himself closer to her, feeling her center throb and ache for more of his touch.

“Tom,” she whispered when he pulled away for air, his fingers tangled in her hair as he backed her into the wall, his forehead falling against hers. Tom’s lips were back on hers in an instant, and she moaned when he pulled away, his thumbs swiping over her closed eyelids to coax her into opening them. And when she did, his dark eyes were staring right back, and she was quick to get lost, falling deeper and deeper into his void.

“You’ve no idea how much I think about you like this,” he whispered, “I can never stop thinking about you.”

And he kissed her again, this time with much more fervor, for Tom could never fully relate to her in words how he felt. But he could kiss her, and he could kiss her good. And when he kissed her like this, she was like water in his hands, free to be warped and manipulated in whichever way he pleased.

Tom loved this about her.

He loved how in control he felt when he had her like this, how he knew that she was totally and completely his. She could lose herself in him, and he knew it.

It drove him absolutely insane.

Her chest heaved when she panted as his kisses ventured down her jaw and to her throat, sucking dark marks into her skin. Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his robes when she gripped either of his shoulders, her knees wobbling and threatening to give out beneath her when his fingers curled around the hem of her skirt beneath her robes.

“I don’t…” she began, breathless as Tom’s kisses trailed back up to her face, finding her lips again. “…I don’t suppose the Room of Requirement believes we require a bed?” She managed to ask between toe-curling kisses, and Tom’s smile grew like a crescent against her lips. He gazed down at her, his eyelids hooded over his irises.

“I think we’ve managed quite well without beds, don’t you?”

She hadn’t much time to laugh before his lips were back on hers, his fingers working open her robes, letting them slide down her arms until they pooled in a black heap on the floor. Her shirt was the next to go, his kisses trailing down to the tops of her breasts as he worked the clasp of her bra, letting it, too, slip from her shoulders. Her hands were in his hair as he sucked marks onto either of her mounds of flesh, his fingers curled around the hem of her skirt, tugging it down her thighs until it dropped to her ankles, and she was quick to kick it away altogether.

One of his palms soothed down her waist, around the curve of her hip until it could snake its way between her thighs and she gasped when his fingers traced a line up and down her slit, her slick making his skin glisten. Her eyelids peeled open just in time to catch Tom’s dark, hooded stare, his pink lips pressed together as the tip of his forefinger prod against her pearl, her body quaking in his wake.

“What do you want?” He asked lowly, the tip of his nose touching the top of hers as he looked down at her. “Enlighten me.” She whimpered when he circled around her clit, her back arching off the wall, her chest heaving into his. “Tom,” she whined. “Stop being such a tease.”

He kissed his way back to her ear, his smirk evident against her skin. “Haven’t I told you I expect an answer when I ask you something?” He whispered coolly, ice frosting her skin at his words. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? I thought you were better than that.”

She mewled when he applied just a little more pressure on her nub, her fingernails etched so deep in the fabric of his robes, she was sure to have torn through. “M’… m’sorry I… I just want you,” she managed to breathe out, his breath like fire as it fanned over the side of her neck. “I… I want you to… please,” she whimpered when he teased her entrance. “Just want you to fuck me.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, flattening his middle and forefinger down against her slit, rubbing up and down once again. Her chest heaved as she panted, tears falling down her cheeks like a river stream. Tom gazed at her now and could no longer help how his heart burned when he saw her like this, how it stuttered in his chest with the overwhelming feeling of desire.

It was then that Tom Riddle decided that he was going to marry this girl.

“That’s what you want?” He asked in a low murmur, removing his fingers from her sex, and she flushed when she caught a glimpse of how they glistened, even in the dimness of the room of things. She nodded, watching as he unfastened his robes, slipping the noir fabric down his shoulders, letting it join the sea of clothes on the floor. She watched his fingers as they unbuttoned every single button on his shirt, the way his veins showed through his flesh, and watched as he tugged the material off his torso.

There he was again. Tom Riddle was a beauty unlike any other, beautiful in his own, entrancing way. Tom was like wine, and the more she drank him in, the harder she found it harder to resist. She couldn’t, she realized, it was impossible to resist him when she knew he was utterly and completely hers. As she watched him tug his trousers down his legs, she felt her heart flutter in her chest.

She still couldn’t believe she could call him hers.

Tom’s hands were on her again and oh, she could feel his cock as it pressed against the inside of her thigh, and one of his hands slithered down to wrap around the back of it, lifting it up so he could have access. His other rested on her hip, his dark gaze surging back into hers, drawing her in, keeping her and holding her there. His lips were but a mere inch away from hers, and she fought the urge to kiss him again. Instead, she inhaled a shaky breath, waiting for him, letting him make his move.

She hissed when she felt the tip of his cock prod against her entrance and she felt herself throb, yearning for more of him. The hand that had been resting on her hip ascended to cradle the side of her face, the pad of his thumb soothing just underneath her eye. Her bottom lip trembled, the moment so tender she thought she’d melt to the floor and join the heap of clothes beneath their feet.

“I love you,” Tom said at last, and she blinked, feeling crystals of tears weighing heavy on her lashes. She was so lost in his irises now, venturing further into his ravines of darkness, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she saw was him, all she felt was him, her heart burned with him.

And he burned for her too.

Tom Riddle loved her.

One of her hands weaved through the dark hair on the back of his head, feeling his tendrils between her fingers, her breath shaky as she inhaled again. Her other hand rested on the side of his neck, his skin so warm, melting like wax into hers.

“Oh, Tom,” she sighed, her voice wet like her tears. She tugged him forward until his forehead was on hers, each breath she took one of his own. “I love you too.”

And she gasped when he pushed himself inside of her wet, throbbing heat, hissing between the crevices of his teeth at how good she felt. He’d taken her so many times since Christmas Eve in the Lestrange Manor, so many times that he’d honestly lost count. But still, he could never get enough of her or this feeling. He was drunk on it, intoxicated by her. He could no longer bring himself to fear it any longer, for this burning for her only made him feel stronger.

She threw her head back against the wall as Tom picked up his pace, his thrusts steady and even but hard and heavy all the same. She gripped his hair tight, so tight she felt a small worry in the back of her mind that she was hurting him. But Tom didn’t care. In fact, he thrived off of the bittersweet pain of her fingers tugging at his scalp and her nails etching crescent moons into the flesh of his shoulders. It only made him burn more, made him want her even more.

He was so deep now, his tip was hitting the spongy part so far inside of her with every single stroke of his hips, and she cried, her sobs permeating the Room of Requirement. Tom even resisted the urge to moan himself, considering no one would be walking in on them and she just felt so good. He gripped her thigh tighter as he lifted it up just a little higher to get a better angle, and her back arched off of the wall yet again, her erect nipples grazing his chest.

“Tom!” She shrieked at a particularly hard thrust, her fingers so deep in his skin now she was certain he’d bleed. She felt her walls clench around him and through pursed lips, Tom groaned, his eyelids fluttering closed as he relished this feeling of feeling so infinite. “I think I’m… oh, Tom… I think I’m close…”

Tom’s eyelids peeled open and with his hand not supporting her thigh, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze back into his. “Is that right, darling?” He whispered, and she nodded, her teeth sunk into the pillowy flesh of her bottom lip. “Does it feel good?” He asked and she nodded, groaning at another especially hard thrust. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, cradling the back of his head closer to hers, their foreheads pressed up against one another again.

Tom felt his hips stutter and his member pulse when she clenched around him again, her heat so tight and warm he knew he was bound to break any moment now. His eyes remained fixated on hers, and every time she closed her lids or looked away, he was there to fix her gaze back onto his.

“I want you to look me in the eyes…” he began, thrusting harder and harder and harder, “…while you tell me how good I make you feel. Tell me how good you feel while you come.”

While her vision blurred with tears, she could still make out his dark eyes through watercolors, still feel the intensity of his stare without really even seeing it. Tom was so deep now, his cock coaxing her orgasm out of her, encouraging her to let go. She could feel the bundle of tension knot at the pit of her stomach, pulsing and begging to be unraveled.

She was like a glass wall shattering when she came.

She cried and gripped Tom tighter as she released, telling him how good he felt through incoherent blubbers, not sure if she was even really making any sense. “T… Tom!” She shrieked as her body shuddered and quaked against his, his hands the only things keeping her grounded. “You feel… so… it feels… can’t… I want… Tom!” She sobbed, his chest glistening with her tears as they dropped like rain on his skin.

Tom was rocking harder into her now, chasing his own high as he fucked her through hers, his eyes never once leaving her bleary ones. His head rolled against hers and his nose brushed against her own, but never once did he dare tear his gaze away from hers. There was something so intimate about staring so deep into his lover’s eyes in their most vulnerable moments, so mesmerizing about losing one’s self in another’s irises. He felt so powerful when he looked at her, so in control and in his element.

Even when he came, Tom still felt the strongest he’d ever been.

Tom still remained inside of her even as they both came down from the force of their highs, their hearts beating to the same drum against one another. Tom held her close to his chest, craving the warmth her body produced, yearning for the touch of her skin. She hummed at the feeling of his fingertips absentmindedly tracing shapes into the small of her back, her lips curved into a smile as she lifted her head from his shoulder to peer up at him.

For a moment, neither said anything, only looked at one another. But their gazes held every unspoken word, their gazes held understanding, their gazes held love.

Tom never anticipated falling in love. He never felt it was a priority or a necessity, never thought it was in the cards for him anyways. He didn’t think it was necessary on his road to power, in fact, he used to think love was but a mere obstacle, something to blind him, to throw him in for a loop.

But love like this was none of those things.

As a child, Tom could never imagine that love could be so powerful. But when he found her that Christmas Eve and held her and had her, he felt infinite. He felt like the most powerful being in the universe, like she was the missing piece of his puzzle. And he had found her.

Tom couldn’t give a damn what Tiernan Lestrange or Clarence Avery or Liam Mulciber or the others would think of her. He couldn’t even care about her muggle-born status, he couldn’t care about any of those things. There wasn’t much that Tom cared about other than himself in this world, but he cared about her.

And that was all he needed. Himself and the girl in his arms.

It was not even a month later that they graduated Hogwarts, and Tom wasn’t sure how to feel. For seven years, Tom had known he belonged somewhere, and for seven years, he had a home. Hogwarts was in fact the only home he’d ever had.

But now that he was older, Hogwarts would no longer be his home. He resented that.

He knew he would stop at nothing to get the job he so desperately desired, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he knew Professor Dippet would be a fool to turn down the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student Hogwarts had ever seen in all his years. But where would he go if the Headmaster was foolish enough to turn him down? He couldn’t stay at the orphanage, and he hadn’t any money to buy himself a home.

Although Tiernan and the others all celebrated and laughed all around him, Tom couldn’t bring himself to do either of those things. Instead, he searched through the sea of bow graduated Hogwarts students, past the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors until his eyes set upon the particular Hufflepuff he always found solace in.

And found that she was already staring back.

She smiled when their eyes met, and although Clara Wingrave’s arm was wrapped around hers, tugging her back to celebrate with the other Hufflepuffs, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from the former Head Boy across the room.

Because she, too, could only find solace in him now.

She had no home, the Lestrange Manor was never a home to her, and now that she had graduated from Hogwarts, she hadn’t anywhere else to go. Hogwarts was her only home, the only place she knew she truly belonged. Where would she go now?

But when she found Tom Riddle all the way across the Great Hall, when she met his dark and intense stare, she knew she still had a home somewhere. Her home was Tom Riddle.

And just like the first day she saw him, sitting on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted into his House, she knew that wherever Tom Riddle was, was where she wanted to be.

“My father’s already got a job lined up for me at the Ministry,” Clarence Avery was saying to Tom and the rest of their friend group as they packed their things in the Slytherin dorm. Tom had very few belongings, far less than the others, but he still took his time packing them. It was still bittersweet, leaving Hogwarts. “Mine too,” Dolohov was saying as he heaved his briefcase off his bed, sighing down at the mattress that had been his all year. “You know, I have to say, I’ll miss getting a good night’s sleep on a Hogwarts bed.”

The others talked and talked but Tom Riddle was listening to none of it. His mind was still on the future, and on his lover. He had meant it, all the way back in the Room of Requirement when he thought he wanted to marry her. He wanted to marry her. He would marry her.

Perhaps they could build a home of their own together once he became the Dark Arts professor and she, whatever job she desired. Perhaps she’d support his dream to become the most powerful wizard of all, maybe they could even have their own little family, perhaps a son and a daughter to continue Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline.

The future remained unknown, but only one thing was for certain. Tom Riddle was going to whisk that girl away, away from the Lestranges and give her the life she deserved. Perhaps there would be a happy ending for them after all.

“What about you, my Lord?” Tiernan Lestrange asked as he gripped the handle of his briefcase. Tom turned to look at the group of boys now turned men behind him, realizing he was the only one unfinished with their packing. Calmly, he gathered the rest of his things and placed them nearly in his briefcase, letting the locks snap shut before gripping the handle and heaving it off the bed.

Tom turned to face them, his face expressionless, void of any emotion, the face they had all grown accustomed to. “I’m going to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job,” he replied, sauntering past them and exiting the dorm room for the last time, the rest scurrying to follow close behind. “Of course,” Liam Mulciber hummed. “Dippet would be foolish to turn you down, my Lord.”

“Yeah. You are the best student Hogwarts has had in years, perhaps ever,” Rosier agreed, and Tom said nothing more as they made their way out of the Slytherin common room, out of the Dungeons, up the Grand Staircase and out of the castle.

Tom searched through the crowd for his lover as they made their way to Hogsmeade Station, coming to no avail. Tom tried to not show his disappointment as he waited along with the rest of Hogwarts’ students for the train to arrive, Lestrange and the others laughing and pushing each other around.

“So, what’s the mudblood going to do now that she can’t pretend to be one of us at Hogwarts?” Tom could hear Nott ask, and he turned his head immediately as Lestrange snickered, shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno. Personally, I hope mother and father throw her out on the street,” Lestrange sniggered. “Now, that’d be very full circle. Wasn’t wanted then by filthy muggles, isn’t wanted now.”

Tom never tried to show his anger unless it be in private, and Lestrange and the others had grown used to seeing their Lord rage in private, although they still trembled at the idea of it. But it was unlike him to show it around others, in fact, in all his time at Hogwarts, Tom never once showed emotion to this extent around anyone else.

So when he towered over Lestrange and grabbed the collar of his shirt, the boys jumped back, the hair on the back of their necks sticking straight up. Tiernan Lestrange’s eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as heads turned their way, students gasping at this strange display of anger from Hogwarts’ former Head Boy.

“I do not want to hear you speak of her that way ever again,” Tom warned lowly. “Or it’ll be your head. Is that understood?”

Tiernan Lestrange was trembling in Tom’s grasp, and all he wanted to do was shrivel up into a ball and wither away beneath his Lord’s dark, intense stare. His lips fell open with the intent of speaking but nothing could come out, so instead he nodded excessively, his bottom lip trembling. Tom held his collar for a few moments longer before shoving the boy away, turning back to face the tracks as the train approached, picking his briefcase up from the ground.

“Good,” he muttered as the train doors opened, and he stepped inside, the others following close behind, Tiernan Lestrange hanging back, trying to catch his breath.

She could see her adopted brother from across the station, her eyes wide as Tom stepped on the train, leaving Tiernan to catch his breath alone. She’d never seen Tom do such a thing before, and although she certainly was not mad that her “brother” had been put in his place, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had provoked her lover.

Her mind was thrown off its course as she heard her name being called, and she turned to face Clara Wingrave as she elbowed her. “Come on!” Clara tugged at the sleeve of her friend’s dress. “Don’t want to miss the train now, do we?”

She smiled weakly at Clara. She would, in fact, not mind if the train forgot her.

She complied though, grabbing her suitcase and heaving it up the steps into the train, handing it to the conductor before following Clara down the walkway and into one of the compartments.

She sighed as she settled herself down into her seat, gazing out the window at Hogsmeade Station. She hoped this would not be the last she’d see of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade.

Her future was uncertain, she had no idea what the Lestranges would do with her when she got back. Perhaps they’d make her a maid, or perhaps they’d kick her out of the manor altogether.

She wasn’t sure which she preferred more.

Her mind drifted to Tom, what his plans were for after Hogwarts. She knew he desired the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d get it. But what about her? What could she, a muggle-born with no money, do? She had nowhere to go, no home to go back to…

…all she knew was that she couldn’t go back to living like a pile of rubbish with the Lestranges.

She found herself longing to know what Tom was thinking, if the future he had planned for himself had her in it. She hoped it did, because she wanted him. She wanted him to be her future.

“Hey, did you hear what I said?”

She blinked up at Clara, her expression softening in apology as she shook her head. Clara pressed her lips together, brushing her curly hair back behind her ears before folding her arms over her chest, leaning back in her seat. “Perhaps you should get some sleep,” she said. “It seems you need it.”

She knew her friend was right, but still, she frowned in apology as she leaned her head against the wall of the train, her eyelids feeling heavy over her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said and Clara shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. “No need. I’ll wake you up when we arrive at King’s Cross.”

When they arrived at King’s Cross station, Tom was one of the first to leave the train. He turned back towards the train as he watched the students leaving all of the exits, uncaring when his group joined him at his side as he searched for the girl. He couldn’t even bring himself to care when Mr and Mrs Lestrange approached, greeting Tiernan and the others before greeting Tom.

“Tom, my boy!” Mr Lestrange bellowed as he clasped a hand around Tom’s shoulder, giving him a firm shake. “How nice it is to see you!” Tom turned to give the Lestranges a small friendly smile and nod, turning back towards the train. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, sir,” he said, distracted.

“You know, you’re welcome to stay with us over the summer,” Mrs Lestrange said, wrapping an arm around Tom’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “I’m sure my husband can arrange a job for you at the Ministry, if you’d like.”

Tom still searched the exits, longing for even a glimpse of his lover. His heart was pounding, all he wanted right now was her.

“Certainly!” Mr Lestrange exclaimed. “Way I see it, the Ministry would be lucky to have someone like you on board.”

Tom was suffocating. Where was she?

“Tom?” Mrs Lestrange asked, circling around to stand before him, cupping either of his cheeks. Mr Lestrange joined her at her side, eyeing him up and down in concern. “Are you alright, son?” He asked. “You seem a bit ill.”

What Tom wanted to say was on the tip of this tongue, and he could no longer hold it all back, letting the words slip out of him like vomit.

“Can I marry your daughter?”

To say the Lestranges were surprised would be the understatement of the century. Mrs Lestrange gasped and removed her hands from his face, grasping the scarf around her neck instead. He could see Tiernan and the others out of the corner of his eye as they gaped at their Lord, but were unable to protest or speak against him.

Not after what he did to Lestrange back at Hogsmeade Station.

“What? I…” Mrs Lestrange was struggling to find words, to even form a coherent thought. “I’m sure that there are… other more suitable girls other than my… my…”

It was then that Tom saw her, his lover, step out of the train in a simple teal dress, cinched at the waist by a brown ribbon. Tom’s expression softened at the sight of her, and her eyes found his, her heart pounding when she noticed her adopted mother and father standing beside him, incredulous looks upon their faces. Tiernan and the rest of his friends were there too, sharing uncertain gazes with one another.

Despite all this, Tom reached out for her, and she gazed at him, hesitant. They had kept their relationship a secret thus far, and were they really about to expose themselves in front of the Lestranges?

But Tom gazed deeper into her eyes, and for the first time, she felt like he was pleading with her, pleading with her to take his hand. So she did.

Her shaking hand slipped into his and he clasped his fingers around hers, tight and warm. He helped her down the rest of the steps of the train, guiding her into his side as he stared up at the Lestranges, the Mother and the Father’s faces lips agape.

She didn’t dare look at them any longer.

“I want to marry her,” Tom said again, and she tensed at his side, feeling her heart stop for a moment. This was why the Lestranges look as though they’d been to Azkaban and back? She glimpsed up at Tom and when he looked down at her, she knew he seemed the most sincere he’d ever been.

He wanted to marry her. He wanted her to be a part of his future.

She felt like she’d burst into tears any moment now. Her bottom lip quivered the longer she looked at him and through her watery gaze, her lips curved into a smile. Tom let his gaze linger on hers for a moment longer before turning back to Mr and Mrs Lestrange.

“Son…” Mr Lestrange began, staring uncertainly between Tom and his adopted daughter. “…I’m afraid she hasn’t been entirely honest with you. She’s… you see… she’s a mu—“

“I understand perfectly well who she is,” Tom interrupted, his voice cold, his stare blank but intense. Mr Lestrange blinked, for once at a loss for words. “And I do not care what you think of her.”

Mrs Lestrange scoffed, a hand over her chest. “Tom, do you not see? She’s a mudblood, she’s filthy!” She exclaimed, gesturing towards the girl. “I’m afraid I cannot let you ruin your bloodline for this… for this…”

“Don’t you dare speak about her that way,” Tom warned in a low voice, and behind him, Tiernan Lestrange trembled, very well remembering the way his Lord spoke to him back at Hogsmeade Station. “I think I can determine who is filthy and who is not very well.”

Mr Lestrange’s glare hardened as he took a step forward in front of his wife, staring at Tom. “Do not dare speak to my wife like that,” he warned, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “This is the mudblood’s doing, isn’t it?” He asked, his finger now pointing at her. She gripped Tom’s arm tighter, and Tom stood up straighter, clear that he wasn’t backing down. “This… this behavior of yours… it’s because of her, isn’t it? Because that’s all mudbloods are good for, ruining perfectly good—“

“I would watch your tongue if I were you, Mr Lestrange,” Tom warned, his voice low and menacing. She swore that even the Father shuddered where he stood at Tom’s tone. “You don’t know what kind of people may be listening. You don’t know what some people are capable of.”

Mr Lestrange blinked as Tom gazed down at the girl on his arm, feeling his heart burn brighter than it ever had before. “I’m going to marry her,” Tom announced again, no longer a question, no longer asking. She could feel tears stream down her cheeks.

She was leaving. She would never have to even step foot inside the Lestrange Manor again. Tom Riddle was her ticket to a better life, and she knew it.

Tom turned to gaze at Mr and Mrs Lestrange again, a small knowing smile creeping onto his lips that made them tremble.

“And you’d do well to remember this day when you are bowing down at my feet, begging me for my mercy.”

a/n; IM SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE THIS i was having a bit of writers block but i got coffee this morning and it made me want to write lol hope you all enjoy this one! i don’t like it as much as part one but hey, i finished it at least lol

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza @upsidedownspidey @michelle-26 @lyis 🥹🫶

#tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fic #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter

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ghostaholics · 1 year

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no because I’m back on my bullshit about accidental sugar daddy!Price where he first runs into you at the café, one of the jobs where you’re working to make ends meet (exorbitant rent and a crippling school tuition mean a paycheck-to-paycheck life) and he’s kind of this intimidating, hulking figure (had a bad day too, probably, so he’s got a sour look on his face) who’s just come in for tea and of course; of course – you’re the one who’s tasked with making his order but now have to be the one to tell him that contrary to what the cashier rang him up for, there actually isn’t anymore earl grey

so he just says to give him whatever you think is best, which is even worse of an ordeal than the fact that you’d run out of his original order, because you’re not sure how to fulfill that request without pissing him off; and then you’re nervously waiting for his reaction as he looks like the type of bloke that would have something to say about it, so lo-and-behold, he stalks over and your palms are clammy because you might get chewed out in front of all your coworkers and the other customers but he just directly hands you a ridiculously unproportional tip to the cheap cup of tea he’d gotten with a ‘thank you’ and an utterly endearing smile that makes his face seem a hundred times warmer than when he’d first come in

and then he shows up again the next day, asking for the same drink that you’d made for him – does this like clockwork, same time every day to the point where you make the drink the moment he arrives so he doesn’t have to wait in the queue; and the tips are still ridiculous, forking over a £20 note because he’s good for it and money is money so who are you to argue with him

but then you lose your other job and have to pick up more shifts at the café, to which he finds out when he comes on a day he doesn’t know you’re working and you’re honest with him about the fact that you’ve got a 6-figure debt for medical school so after your shift, he has a talk with you, pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and offers you like £500 in notes (if it’s going to a good cause, why not – he lives alone, more money than he knows what to do with aside from sinking it into bottles of Macallan and spending it on Villa Claras) thinking that it’ll help but it’s preposterous

and he’s just like, we’ll consider it an advancement in tips for the foreseeable future and you refuse to take it but Price just says fine you can pay him back but there’s no deadline for it; and at that point your pride goes out the window because you’ve got a late rent notice waiting on your kitchen counter and you can’t afford to not take it

so eventually this thing comes to fruition where he’s funding your tuition and living expenses/bills (probably makes a joke somewhere in there about you being his doctor one day), and he’s not expecting anything in return but you feel obligated to do something because he’s the sole reason you’re not a med student bumming it out on the streets and then after months of friendship development it finally gets spicy~

𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

#but who’s gonna come talk to me about this #do not tell me that man doesn't look like a sugar daddy #that man is a provider first #human second #another headcanon is that this man would never see the appeal in a daddy kink until he becomes a sugar daddy or already has a breeding kink #ty for coming to my ted talk #john price x you #john price x reader #john price smut #john price headcanons #backtracking bc I think he would like lapsang souchong instead

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Dirty Work 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Itcha gurl, back at it again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The doctor checks the chart then glances at the machine with your father’s vitals. Today, you’re father’s awake. He has been for a few days but today he’s alert. You know because he told you the jello was disgusting. Those are the first and only words he’s said to you in more than two weeks.

“You’re very lucky to have a daughter who knows what she’s doing,” Dr. Shearer remarks.

Your father grumbles, scowling as he doesn’t offer much else to the doctor.

“You must be happy to have her around,” Shearer continues, “it is time to start considering your discharge. You’re stable, breathing on your own again, your heartbeat is within a normal range.” You watch your father as he stares past the doctor. It’s as if he refuses to acknowledge that this is real. “You’ll have a few new meds to add to your day but with normal check-ups I think we can be optimistic.”

A grunt. You fold your hands and stand up, “thank you, doctor. Erm, could someone explain the new medicines to me?”

“Yes, of course. That’ll be in the discharge paperwork but I’ll have a Nurse Practitioner come to discuss with both of you,” he assures, “and some resources on quitting. The cigarettes can’t continue.”

“I’ll smoke if I goddamn want,” your dad snarls, breaking his shield of indifference.

The doctor gives him a sharp look but doesn’t argue, “I’m only here to diagnose and give me treatment suggestions. But you keep smoking, sir, and next time, you won’t make it to the hospital.”

“Good,” your dad sneers defiantly.

The doctor nods and his mouth seals grimly. He turns back to you, “let us know if you need anything else. We have some support groups and resources, I’ll make sure that info is also sent off with you.”

“Thanks so much, Doctor,” you squeeze your hands tighter. You want to apologise for your father but you know he’ll only get worse if you do.

“It’s alright,” Shearer says as if reading your mind, “these things are stressful. For everyone. Couple more days and he’ll be free to go.”

You try to smile but your cheeks can only tremble. The doctor leaves you with your father and you peek over at him. He grimaces at the ceiling.

“That’s good news, dad,” you say as you near the foot of his bed.

“Is it? You shoulda left me to die,” he barks.

You flinch, not once, twice. A chirp in your pocket further jars you as it shrilly erupts in the buzzing silence. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and clutch your flip phone as it bings even louder. The little digital display shows the agency’s number.

“Sorry,” you apologise and flip it open, turning away to scurry out and answer, “hello?”

You hold your breath. Why are they calling? You didn’t have a job today and you only really get emails regarding clients. It must be very serious.

“It’s Clara,” your boss begins in her terse way. “Have you seen my email?”

She sighs, “you should be checking daily. Got a job today. You want it?”

You blink. This is the first time you’ve been asked to come in for an extra shift. You could use the money desperately. When your dad is discharged, he’ll be sent off with another invoice.

“Yes,” you accept without hesitation, “I’ll take it.”

“Great. Check your email. Details are there,” she sniffs.

“Alright, tha-nks,” your voice cracks as she hangs up in the middle of your last word. She must be busy, surely more busy than you, the lowest rung on the ladder she has to keep from falling over.

You close the phone and put it back in your pocket. You shuffle back into the room and find your father with his eyes closed. The machine continues to beep in time with his pulse.

“I gotta work,” you say, “that was my boss–”

“Then leave me alone,” he snaps without opening his eyes, “can’t you see I’m tryna sleep?”

“Sorry, I–”

“Go and don’t come back,” he growls, “I don’t need you crowding this shit hole.”

“Um, dad, I–”

He coughs and hacks and waves you off, swallowing thickly, “I said go.”

You dip your head down. You can’t imagine being in his position. Stuck in a hospital bed on the other side of near-death. You might not be very nice yourself.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t care,” he turns his head and wiggles his shoulders as he tries to get comfortable.

You swallow down the hurt. You didn’t expect him to thank you for what you did. Not for anything. That’s just what you do for someone you love. Yet, you hoped he might have woken up a little bit nicer than before.

“Love you, Dad,” you murmur.

He grumbles. That’s all you get. You suck in a breath and hold it in, trying to keep from crumbling long enough to get out of that room.

🧹

At first, you’re not certain the information in the email is correct. You’re to return to Mr. Laufeyson’s house for the second time that week, but it’s a Friday night. In your days at the hospital, the calendar lines skewed between the alarms you kept in your phone for sanity. The return to reality is just as disjointing as the descent away from it.

You go home and change into your typical cleaning attire. All black. Plain. Clothes meant for getting dirty. Not that any of your wardrobe is particularly spectacular.

You grab your kit and your water bottle and rush out to catch the bus. You’re not used to being on transit near-dark. The prospect of getting home comes to mind as you cling to a pole amidst the crowded vehicle. It makes you nervous but you’re certain it will be okay. Mr. Laufeyson lives in a nice neighbourhood.

You get off the bus and bring your phone out. As you approach the house, it is lively with bodies milling in and out. You let yourself through the gate and peer over at the two cube vans near the front entrance. A white jacket, pristine uniforms, you can only assume they are some sort of catering company. The type you’ve seen on TV in those reality shows with women drinking wine.

You watch them for a moment. They are orderly and determined. What’s more, they work together in perfect harmony, words passing quietly and easily, trays moving smoothly between hands and set onto carts. It’s a shining contrast to your dim and lonely work.

You make yourself turn away and continue around the back of the house. You stop short of the rear corner and a gasp bubbles up. You watch a hummingbird buzzing over the bed of flowers. It’s so small and green and cute. You wince as it flits up towards the window, your cheeks bulbing to the smile as your gaze follows it.

In a moment, it wings away, shyly retreating from your admiration. Your eyes fall to the window as you sense a shift on the other side. Just between the edges of the half-drawn drapes you meet a pair of green eyes over a long and cynical nose. Your smile dissolves as you recognise Mr. Laufeyson and his stony observation. You touch your fingertips to your mouth in self-reproach and tuck your chin down, turning back onto the path.

You go to the back door but it’s already unlocked. You let the handle go and linger outside. You noticed the email is shorter than usual. This isn’t your typical rote with Mr. Laufeyson.

‘Cleaner to be at standby for guests and cook…’

You glance down the paragraph. You’re to stay until after the ‘event’ so that you may tidy up. Your curiosity sparks but quickly fizzles. It’s best not to be too concerned. Just focus on what you need to do.

You let yourself in but forego the shoe covers and gloves as specified in the email. You hang your hoodie in the closet along with your kit. As you hook the strap of your water bottle over your head, a glimmer passes down the end of the hall and the lighting shifts. You look up as Mr. Laufeyson approaches.

He always dresses finely but he looks particularly put together. His hair is tidy and neat and he wears a velvet jacket in a deep shade of violet over a black collared shirt and matching trousers. His tie is narrow and blends into the fabric of his shirt. He keeps his hands behind him as he holds his chin up.

“I trust you understand your assignment,” he prompts as he stops a foot away, cornering you in the back hallway.

You nod. He tilts his head but his veneer does not break.

“Not that,” he points to the water bottle, “you may ask one of the cook’s assistants for a glass should you require it, but be rid of that ugly thing.”

“Oh–” you gulp back your voice and bow your head again.

You untangle the trap from your torso and open the closet, tucking it away with your sweater and bag. You shut the door and find him closer than before, his hand on the door frame as he looms over you. His other wanders down the trim of his jacket.

“You are to keep yourself unseen. You tend to messes and that’s it. The rules remain. Are we understood?” He asks.

You look at him and nod. He sighs and stands straight, a deep breath rising in his chest.

“You may answer aloud so I know we are clear,” he says.

“I understand, Mr. Laufeyson,” you eke out.

“Mmm,” his gaze lingers on you in unreadable consideration. Dressed in plain cotton, you feel wholly insignificant before him. “Go on, you will keep your vigil in the kitchen. They would require most of your assistance.” He backs away and buttons the front of his jacket, “you will not disturb my guests. Not a look, not a word.”

You know your turn to talk is over. You merely nod and he seems pleased by your deference. Not openly, he shows a hint of a smile nor does he praise you. But he is not unhappy and you know that is a feat.

🧹

The cook’s name is Corissa. She has spiraled red hair and pretty gold-green eyes. As you enter, she introduces herself and asks your name.

“I’m just here to clean,” you explain. “So if you need me–”

“Oh, hon, no need ta be shy,” she says in her wolfish voice, “we’re all in this togetha.”

You smile and stand against the wall, waiting to be told what to do next. She gives you a lingering glance but doesn’t comment. You see a question woven in her brow. She begins her work, directing her assistants at saucepan and cutting board alike, all while falling into a raucous rapport.

“Theo say ‘ma, did ya have ta tell that story?’” She cackles midway through a tale you lost track of, her hands moving expertly at her work, “and I say, ‘the gal deserves ta know, ‘specially if ya mean to burden her’.”

You bite into your lower lip. It’s like there’s an invisible wall in front of you. It’s been there your whole life. That one that separates you from others. You’re always on the outside watching. Just like in the schoolyard when the girls wouldn’t let you play with them. Or when your dad has his buddies over and told you to ‘piss off to your room’.

The first course is served on sleek black trays. As you watch the servers carry them out, Corissa calls your name. She makes you lurch in surprise as you’d be convinced you blend right into the plaster.

“Come have a taste,” she insists, “this one’s a bit mussed up.”

“Um, er, it’s okay, I’m not hungry–”

“Bah, come on, have some. I hate ta toss it in the bin.”

You don’t want to argue. That would be rude. So you come forward and accept the crumbly pastry with an ugly tear in the top, the filling bulging out.

“Lobster croquette,” she explains, “you’re not allergic, are ya?”

You shake your head and thank her as you back up to the wall again. You cup your hand under the misshapen ball as you bite into it. You could hum at the taste. It’s delicious and rich and savoury. You’ve never had anything like it. You’ve never even tasted lobster before.

“You like it?” She asks as you swallow your mouthful. You nod. “Quiet one, you.” She points at you.

You don’t answer. What can you say? You are quiet. You finish the croquette and go to dust the crumbs off your hand over the bin. You slide your foot off the pedal and let the lid drop. You take the cloth from your waistband and near the counter, going to work at tidying up the remnants of her work.

“Eh, look at you, busy little bee,” she chuckles, “I was gettin’ ta tha.”

“My job,” you insist.

“Maid,” a snap of the fingers draws your head up as Corissa sprinkles seasoning into a new pan.

Mr. Laufeyson offers only a curled finger. Your eyes round and cross to him, tucking the cloth into your pants again. He’s already striding away as you get to the door. You trail him, uncertain at what he needs.

He leads you to the dining room, the garble of voices and clinking of glasses preceding your arrival. He enters ahead of you and claims the seat at the head of the table. The serves pass you with empty trays and you gape around in confusion.

“Oh my, look at me,” a woman giggles as she uses a cloth napkin to pat along her collarbone. Thin straps cling to her delicate shoulders as her skin glistens beneath the golden chain strung around her throat, “making a scene already.”

You see the wine glass on its side and hear the contents dripping onto the floor. You put your head down and hurry over. The dinner guests laugh and are quickly onto their next topic, about some coast they plan to vacation at once the summer comes. You try not to eavesdrop as you sop up the puddle of wine on the table and get down to wipe clean the floor.

As you do, you feel a tickle on the back of your neck. You don’t let it stop you. It must be an accident. You’re so cramped between the woman’s seat and the next that you must be in the way. The fingertips remain and brush more firmly as you hear a low, gritty exhale.

You ball up the damped cloth and stand, daring a glance at the man as he draws his hand back into his lap. His broad shoulders make the back of the tall chair seem small and his blonde hair is twisted into a low tight bun. He guffaws loudly at the table, seemingly unfazed by his own wandering touch. It must’ve been an accident.

You back up and peer towards the head of the table. Laufeyson’s eyes are slits as he stares in your direction. Surely, he’s not watching you. You’re supposed to be unseen. Get out of there.

You retreat quickly, the din thundering louder and louder at your back, rumbling behind you into the hall. You wring the cloth, now stained and stinking of wine. You hope you didn’t upset Mr. Laufeyson, you only did as you were told.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #maid au #au #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

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phoneuserhana333 · 9 months

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.°˖✧ neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: enemies to friends to lovers, cocky!yn/annoyed!abby, mutual pining, dumb lesbians, unresolved tension, more to be added.

PART2 — PART3 — NSFWHC — N(SFW)HC

• after finishing med school, abby got a job at her dad’s private clinic outside of new york, which she quit after working there for a year

• during college, she was a victim of horrible gossip; everybody thought that she had it easy because of her dad being one of the best doctors in new york (to be fair, she was more privileged than other students because of this, but she would never admit it)

• and because of the desire to prove herself, she quit her “safe” job to go to work at the ER in the city to prove that she isn’t just somebody’s spoiled daughter who happened to be in the medical field

• she moved out closer to manhattan because of her new job, renting out a small brick red townhouse in a row of other copy-pasted houses, filling the shelves with books and the kitchen with spices. it was truly her home, which was something she took pride in.

• abby’s first interaction with her neighborhood critters went stellar; she met margaret, an old lady who lived across the street with her tortoiseshell cats clara and mima. margaret and abby grew close and she would go over to her house to have tea every saturday.

• abby’s second interaction with her neighbors however… didn’t go that as well as she thought it would

• she had some sense of what her next door neighbor was like- or at least she thought she did

• music would be blasting every night, approximately from 9pm to 6am- when she left for work. abby concluded that her neighbor was either a musician, a nepotism baby (pot calling the kettle black) or just insane.

• some days, her neighbor would be playing piano, guitar or banging on drums. on tuesdays, abby could hear her sing (“she’s screeching like a banshee manny, it’s like- 2:35am! wha- no, she doesn’t sound good, you’re just hearing things!”, she would complain to her friends) and on fridays, her mysterious musician neighbor held parties

• abby tired to be patient, but her abundant patience lasted her maybe one and a half month, before she found herself banging on her neighbor’s front door, dressed in a muscle tee with her hair falling out of her fishtail braid

• abby looked at her watch- 1244 steps, 4:22am, friday. she groaned and rubbed her face, realizing that she was about to meet her (probably very drunk) noisy neighbor, but to abby’s surprise- the door didn’t open

• she could hear the music turn down and a few girlish giggles behind the door, confusing her further

• right as the blonde started knocking again, the lights turned off and she could hear a familiar voice yell- “nobody’s home! go away!”, followed by muffled laughter

• this pushed abby over the edge- countless nights of sleeplessness, an irregular meal schedule and long day shifts at the ER finally caught up to her, and her annoying neighbor was about to be on the receiving end of her wraith

• “you’re troublesome, you know that?! always being so loud during the night, while some of us have work in the morning! get out here right fucking now and turn that god-awful music down!”

• abby let out a shaky, frustrated breath, suddenly being met with a tense silence, she took a step away from the door, thinking she finally got her neighbor to quiet down for once, before she hear that same agitating voice retort-

• “… whatever, grandma!”, followed by the music turning back on, laughter and chatter continuing into the night.

• by this point, abby’s chest and face were cherry red and she was stomping back to her house, trying to ignore the pang of embarrassment and frustration in her belly

• dr. anderson fell asleep with her earbuds in and woke up with a horrendous headache, only to have to get ready for her 7am shift at the hospital

• soon enough, abby was locking the door to her townhouse, double checking the contents of her lunch bag and briefcase (a gift from her dad, duh), when she noticed it, noticed her

• dressed in a kitsch black coat with fluffy white fur around the sleeves, donning gloves and a matching baby blue scarf in the middle of god forsaken october, was her favorite next door neighbor, blissfully unaware of the death stare she was receiving

• abby felt her eye twitch when she noticed her bare legs leaning against the railing that lead to her front door- the irony

• “hey! you!” abby made her way over to her neighbor’s staircase, nearly tripping over her bags and coat, before she stopped at the bottom, staring up at her with tired bloodshot eyes and a red, scrunched up face

• “um… hi? do i know you?”

• “don’t act all sweet now, you need to be put in your place. what the hell is wrong with you-“

• on the other hand, you lazily smiled, and continued staring at her. must be my lucky day, you thought, eyeing abby’s buff body and biting your lower lip, eyes sticking to her arms which were flailing around as she yelled at you for- oh, she’s the woman from last night!

• “y’know, you could’ve just joined us, right? i don’t bite”, you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

• abby, who despite being caught off guard by your borderline flirty statement, was about to keep going off on you, suddenly got interrupted by her apple watch alarm, warning her that she’ll be late for work

• she looked back at you with storms in her eyes, her glare making you straighten up and cross your arms defensively; your neighbor wasn’t only hot, but also intimidating

• “i do. this isn’t over, you better be home later. we need to talk.”, and with that abby walked away, leaving you with the sight of her towering form disappearing in the streets of new york, prompting you to dramatically fan yourself as your body heated up from the sight

• oh, you were definitely feeling inspired now.

#abby anderson #abby #abby anderson x reader #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #abby anderson x y/n #abby angst #ellie williams #joel miller #wlw #sapphic

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nanowrimo · 3 months

Text

When Is a Small Press a Good Fit?

When it comes to publishing, many writers will think about big publishers first. However, there are a lot of different publishing options out there to explore. NaNo participant and author, Clara Ward, talks about their experience publishing with a small press and gives you questions to consider while you think through your publishing options!

NaNoWriMo inspired me to write. Signing with a small press gave me the support I needed to publish a book I love.

I’d published books before—starting with NaNoWriMo sponsor deals in the early days of online publishing—but I never had the right skill set to promote those books. As a result, they never truly found their audience.

In November of 2020, I poured my heart into a genre-blurring near-future tale of sailing across the Pacific and building a neurodiverse, queer, and possibly magical chosen family. In 2021, I titled it Be the Sea and asked myself: What am I going to do with that?

1. Are you looking for fame or family?

Small presses are as varied as the people who form them. If you read widely, you may already have a treasured book on your shelf from your publisher-to-be. Try asking NaNoWriMo friends who share your interests if they’ve discovered any surprising or emerging sources for great reads. (At the very least, you may find books you’ll love in unexpected places!)

Admittedly, a small press doesn’t have a fortune to spend on paving your path to fame. But I have never felt as seen as when my soon-to-be publisher, E.D.E. Bell at Atthis Arts, wrote back, “I’m really in love with what you are doing and would like to talk about it.”

2. Do you have the bandwidth for working with others?

Even with the most supportive small press, you may have to push outside your comfort zone. I know authors who love the absolute control and freedom of self-publishing. For a time, I felt very comfortable just posting my NaNoWriMo fanfiction novels on Archive of Our Own. At most, I had one or two beta readers to offer feedback on those works. Whereas E.D.E. told me in one of our earliest conversations that in addition to our three rounds of editing we’d need “a good number of betas” to cover the range of topics we were working on together.

I was delighted! I knew what I’d written was ambitious, and I welcomed all the feedback I could get. But it turns out, each extra person in a process adds new challenges and delays. I had to stretch my empathy as well as my publishing timeline because, to quote E.D.E. again: “It’s a lot of emotion (as well as brain cycles) to go through...” Outside perspectives will only improve your writing if you are willing to work with them, to truly listen and learn.

3. Can you handle the two-way commitment?

No form of publishing is easy. The myth that authors write while others handle business and promotion is not true at the top, and certainly not with small presses. In my experience, working with Atthis Arts was like joining a team or chosen family. Beyond certain paid tasks, such as editing and sensitivity reading, I discovered a community of authors who freely offered coaching before my first public reading, social media boosting, tips for author webpages, and an extra pair of eyes on letters requesting bookshop readings or other events. While not all small presses work the same way, this supportive culture proved to be an excellent fit for me. Naturally, I wanted to give back whenever possible.

Small presses can only succeed with community. This month, as I promote the launch of Be the Sea at bookshops in Mountain View, Davis, and Sacramento, I will be introducing many Californians to my Michigan-based small publisher, Atthis Arts. When I stand up as a panelist at Norwescon in Washington state or at various science, library, or Pride events later in the year, I’ll be promoting more than Be the Sea by Clara Ward. I’ll give back by sharing my appreciation for small presses, the supportive and inclusive practices they can normalize, and the opportunities they open up for future writers and readers.

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. Their latest novel, Be the Sea, features a near-future ocean voyage, chosen family, and sea creature perspectives, while delving into our oceans, our selves, and how all futures intertwine. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, Small Wonders, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. More of their words along with crafted creations can be found at: https://clarawardauthor.wordpress.com

Photo by Hümâ H. Yardım on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #now what #writing #publishing #small press publishing #by nano guest #clara ward

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drabblesandimagines · 6 months

Text

Dove (part three)

Leon Kennedy x female reader Part one. Part two. Warnings: Things get a bit gory in a flashback, description of panic attack.

“Anything will be great. We’ll take it slow. You ready?”

You’re not, but you doubt you ever will be.

“Ready.”

Leon taps twice on the laptop’s trackpad and it emits a beep, signaling the recording has begun, before he leans back, places his hands on his thighs and smiles. He has a nice smile, it’s reaching his eyes and you try and focus on that and not the sick feeling that’s growing in your stomach. “So, let’s go from the top. Yesterday morning…” You feel yourself inhale sharply. “..alarm goes off, or are you a natural riser?”

You weren’t expecting that to be the first question.

“I… I have an alarm.”

“What time did it go off?”

“I set it for 0630. And I got out of bed right away, otherwise I linger and then I’m late.” If only you knew what was to come you would’ve stayed in bed all day - covers pulled up and over your head.

“Then what did you do?”

“I had a shower, then I got dressed – in what you saw me in.” You hesitate - does he need that much detail, or was that too obvious and waste his time? You wait another beat, in case he wants to say anything, dismiss it from the record, but Leon just sits there there, hands resting on his thighs, looking at you, encouragingly, to continue. You press your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to concentrate. “Then I made a coffee to take with me on the walk to the office. I… I like to get there for 0745.”

“No breakfast?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Sorry. I made a slice of toast, ate it while I was waiting for the coffee to brew.” You remember leaning up against your kitchen counter to eat it – you hadn’t even got a plate out the cupboard, just buttered it on the chopping board, left the knife in the sink to wash up later… Is there going to be a later? You dig your nails into palm again, hard enough to leave indents. “Sometimes I’ll get a bagel from this cart near work, if that matters.” It probably doesn’t, but you want to stop thinking about home.

“And do you walk to the office every day?”

“No – weather dependent. I mean, there’s a bus I can take. There’s just a lot of traffic and so many stops that I found it takes the same amount of time to ride that as walk, so I get that if it’s too cold or wet. Listen to music, usually.”

“Okay, good.” He’s laying on the praise a little thick, but you accept it gratefully all the same, along with his smile. “Doing really good. So, you walked to work. Anything unusual you remember from on the way there?”

“No. Just the same walk, really. I’m pretty good at the whole awareness of my surroundings cos of the job, so…”

“Of course,” he nods. “And you got in the office at 0745?”

“Erm… Probably not precisely 0745.” You scan in through a turnstile, don’t wanna say you got in at a specific time in case it comes back to haunt you. “And I don’t need to be clocked on until 0800, but I had time to made another coffee in the breakroom before I logged on to my terminal, so probably between 0745 and 0800.”

“And are there turnstiles or a security check when you enter?” Had he read your mind? No, he probably has it noted down to cross-check your story.

“Yeah – bag searched, walk through the metal detector, then there’s a turnstile I have to scan in at.” Like any of those protocols had stopped whatever or whoever it was who had got inside.

“Okay, good. Headed to the breakroom, then from there to your terminal, and no other stops, no colleague interruptions?”

“Er… Yeah, one.” You swallow, her face flashing across your mind. “Am I allowed to use their name?”

Leon nods.

“Clara was in the breakroom when I got there, making a coffee. She had a date the night before – I asked her how it went.”

“Okay. Do you know what the date’s name was?”

“No. She’d just mentioned it the day before, though. We were leaving at the same time and she was excited about it, so I thought I’d ask. He’d been really dull at dinner apparently. She didn’t think she’d bother seeing him again.”

And no-one will be seeing her ever again either, your brain so helpfully reminds you.

“Okay. So, you’ve made it to the office, made your coffee, spoke to Clara, sat down at the terminal… What’s that, exactly?”

“It’s a computer, basically. All linked in to the main server, sit in like half cubicles. The screens have these hoods on, so no-one can see what you’re looking at unless they’re in the seat. They’re called terminals on all the internal documents.”

“Right, got you. What’s a usual work day for you? Did yesterday’s seem any different?”

“Do you know much about the surveillance department?”

Leon shakes his head. “I know you’re an intel source.”

“Yeah, that’s about it. Individuals get marked for surveillance from email scans or phone calls, travel plans, receipts, CCTV – it can be just be a word that flags them up or someone makes a tip-off, then we conduct investigations to see whether they’re involved in bioterrorism. So, I log on and open my assigned cases. We rotate every day and there’s always a few you can dismiss immediately because it’s flagged up erroneously. Some, there’s already previous analysis done, so you go through the notes and then check if there’s been any activity or correspondence logged overnight. If there hasn’t been on those cases, I open up a new case – rinse and repeat. It’ll give me a notification on the system if there’s activity on any of my pre-allocated cases, so I switch between as activity starts and stops.”

“Huh,” he muses. “How do you pick up a new case – just see what takes your fancy?”

“No,” you shake your head. “They’re random. You click a button and the system assigns you one. They change the code every week of how it does it.”

“Why’s it random?”

“Er, in case anyone is… trying to protect someone, I guess? Or being blackmailed into, like, closing a case.”

“I see. And nothing out of the ordinary all morning?”

“No. I… I had one case that had had a lot of email activity overnight, so I went through that. Then I submitted a couple of reports advising three… or maybe four cases be closed - I can’t remember exactly - but it’s not unusual to advise closing cases as people get flagged up all the time.”

“Yeah, all make sense. Did you get a break?”

“Yeah, I had a break at 1300 to 1330. I brought in a boxed lunch…” You didn’t mention that earlier, did you? “I made it the night before – not in the morning. I grabbed it out of the fridge before I left my apartment.”

“It’s all right, Dove.” Leon soothes. “I’m not expecting you to remember every finite detail – you’re doing really well.”

You nod, a little shakily. “I ate it in the breakroom. A couple of my colleagues popped in and out, but no-one sat with me that day. I made a coffee and went back to my terminal.”

“Okay.” He nods, leaning forward then and squinting a little at something on the laptop screen. “So, 1442 is when the power was cut to the building. Where were you when that happened?”

“I had an active call that I was listening in on, it hadn’t been going on very long. And then…” You fix your stare on the coffee table then – you don’t want to look at Leon’s face anymore, those sympathetic blue eyes. “..everything went dark. There was about 15 seconds before the emergency lighting came on, or it should’ve been. We have drills every so often, and it’s meant to be quick, but only enough to light the path to the fire exits, you know? But it looked like the back-up generator was coming on too, because I’m sure I saw the terminal screen reboot a second.”

“And you didn’t hear anyone say anything?”

“I think it was quiet, I don’t know if anyone said anything, but there wasn’t an alarm to evacuate. I had my headphones on still as I thought when the terminal reboots, I’ll just get straight back into the call if it was still going after I logged in because they’ll be annoyed if we all left unnecessarily, you know?” Your eyes are still fixed on the coffee table, so you don’t know if he nods or not. “But then…” You wonder if your nails will pierce through the skin of your palm this time with how hard you're pressing. “Then I heard this scream and… And…”

You let out a shuddering breath, hearing the scream echoing around in your mind.

“It’s all right, Dove,” Leon reaches out a hand but stops himself, leaving it hovering awkwardly over your knee. “Here,” he leans forward instead, picks up the glass. “Have some water, okay?”

You take the glass, not even able to say thank you, and put it up to your lips, but it clinks against your teeth, feels too cold sliding down your throat and into your stomach.

He takes the glass back from you as you lower it from your lips, placing it down on the table gently, and waits. He doesn’t press, he doesn’t smile, just waits.

You exhale, close your eyes – you’re not sure if it makes it worse.

“I… I took my headphones off and I… I couldn’t work out what it was. It didn’t sound human – something guttural. I think I heard someone swear, and more screams, but those were human. I-I got up from my chair, stepped out and looked down the hall and… there was this thing, like…” You search for the words, but not for too long. “Sorry, I don’t how to describe it.”

“That’s all right. We’ve got them on the CCTV.”

“But it had... someone in its mouth. And I should know who it was, because I’ve worked with these people for so long, but it h-had their head in its mouth. How could I not know?” Your voice breaks.

“Dove,” Leon starts, gently, “I think we should take a break.”

You shake your head, determined to get it over with. “It shook its head, like a dog shakes a toy, but it bit down and… I don’t know if I blacked it out because I don’t remember how I got there, but I was on the ground, like something had knocked me down and… someone was on top of me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“There were more and more screams and sounds I can’t describe - from all around – and everywhere I looked there just seemed another one of those things, clambering over cubicles with these awful, long tongues, snapping around limbs and, like, ricocheting people back. I got up and ran but there was blood in my eyes and I don’t know if it was mine or someone else’s, but I didn’t get far because this horrible wet thing wrapped around my arm and I got thrown into the wall or something else hard. My arm went limp – I think that’s when it dislocated my shoulder and maybe that confused it because it let go? I don’t know why it would let go when it didn’t for anyone else and… I… The stairs…”

And that’s it, your resolve has cracked and sobs erupt from deep within your chest, your whole body shaking, your vision obscured with hot tears and you can’t breathe with the grief.

There’s a beep – Leon’s frantically stopped the laptop recording, and then he’s sat right next to you, taking your good hand in his and squeezing it.

“I need you to breathe, okay? It’s going to seem hard, but I know you can do it, Dove. We’re going to breathe in through the nose for four, hold that breath in our lungs for another four, and then we’re going to exhale through our mouths for four. Okay? I’m gonna keep count with a squeeze of your hand, close your eyes if you want, I just really need you to breathe.”

You nod, sobs instead of breaths, and it feels impossible as Leon begins squeezing your hand in rounds of four. It’s poor at best, not inhaling enough, breaths still cut short as you cry, but he persists, round after round until, finally, you feel the air is finally reaching the bottom of your lungs, crying reduced to sniffles – feeling exhausted.

“I should’ve stopped you – realized you needed a break.” He stops squeezing your hand but he doesn’t let go.

“No,” your voice still feels tight. “I wanted it over with. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all.” Leon replies quickly, firmly, before his tone softens. “I know this a dumb question before I even ask, but is there anything I can do for you right now, or get you?”

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, quietly - a fleeting thought of that surely would be against protocol, but you need something grounding.

“Of course.” His arms wrap around you – strong, solid, warm arms, mindful of your shoulder, pressing you into his chest and the scent of the strawberry bodywash. You can hear his heartbeat as you press your face into him.

Leon doesn’t speak, doesn’t move either, just keeps holding you close. Hell, he needed a hug after Raccoon City, he’d just never got the guts to ask Claire for one. Not in front of Sherry anyway, and no-one was gonna hug him when he got sent off to military training.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve sat like that, but he is aware as you grow limp against his chest, falling into an emotionally exhausted sleep. He knows it’s not proper for him to be doing this with you, the DSO asset he’s meant to be protecting, but from past experience, he knows you won’t be asleep long and what the DSO doesn’t know can’t hurt them.

Speaking of, he thinks, leaning against the back of the sofa and tilting you gently down with him, he slips a hand into his pocket for his phone and types a quick message.

Interview concluded. Will have timeline of incident and report sent by 2000. Summary - experiencing survivor's guilt, not a suspect.

Part four.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day! PS: I'm sorry if this was extremely boring but hopefully some nice fluff in there for you at the end x

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader

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epicbuddieficrecs · 2 months

Text

Fic rec for my BFF, pt. 1

My best friend is currently watching 9-1-1. I've been trying to get her onboard the Buddie ship and she is graciously tolerating me. She's asked for some fic recs and so this is what I came up with! I did have to work with a few parameters to fit her taste, the most important one being nothing post season 3 cause that's where she's up to and she didn't want spoilers.

Hope you enjoy these bestie!

Canon to Canon Divergent

Things We're All Too Young to Know��by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars

Canon S1-S6, S7 Spec | 123/? | 379K | Mature

This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

THE canon fics to end all canon fics. I know it's still a WIP and it spans up to post-S6, but if you want a canon fic, that's the one to go for.

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting, Stripper Buck | 84K | Explicit

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

One of my most re-read fics. The smut is impeccable. The angst is so good. Absolutely love this fic!

Your Scars and Your Lonely Heart by Taste_is_Sweet

Sentinels AU, Canon Divergent - Tsunami | 82K | Teen

Clara Williams just wanted to visit Pacific Park during her layover in Los Angeles. She never expected to find a young, exceptional Sentinel dying for lack of a bond. Actually, what she really never expected was a tsunami, or the same Sentinel to save her life. But Clara's a Guide, so now she's on a mission to keep Evan "Buck" Buckley alive until she can get him to Eddie Diaz, the Guide who should have bonded with him, but didn't. Because Clara can't bond with Buck, no matter how much she wants to. There's just one problem: Buck's convinced Eddie doesn't want him, and he might not survive long enough to find out the truth.

Another one of my most re-read fics! I had never read a Sentinels AU before and I fell in love with the concept!

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies

Didn't Know They Were Dating, Post-S3 | 27K | General

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.” Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him. “That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him. - or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Don't know if you knew this, Marie, but Buddie is the #1 most tagged ship in the "Didn't Know They Were Dating" tag cause they're such idiots <3 and this is one of my favorite ones!

the weekly bet (but the forever kind) by theleftboobgrabber/ @theleftboobgrabber

Late S3, Getting Together | 49K | Explicit

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, hiding his face deep in his pillow, even if Buck can’t see him in the dark. “What for?” Leave it to Buck to be confused about something so obvious. “Being you, idiot.” “And again with the name calling,” he answers, content and sleepy. Nights like this, Eddie feels like asking for a miracle. But to the team, it wasn’t a matter of if Abby would take him back, but when. A matter of days. When the squad bets on how long it will take for Buck and Abby to get back together when she comes back to LA, Eddie is forced to reconsider keeping his feelings for Buck a secret.

Top tier pining + oblivious Eddie = 👌

Always, All Ways by ashavahishta/ @tevankinkley

A/B/O AU | 85K | Explicit

“Buck is very dear, Mr Diaz. Not only to me but to the pack. You’ll find that if you treat him with anything less than utmost respect you’ll have a lot of people to answer to.” Eddie swallowed. It was clear that in the absence of a mate, this omega had found himself a very protective pack. “Understood, sir.” Or: Buck’s the only omega in the 118. He’s got secrets, and walls a mile high. Eddie’s the alpha determined to knock them down.

There's not a ton of A/B/O fics in this fandom, and I should really try to read more of them, but this is probably my favorite one so far!

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings/@extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

S3, Friends With Benefits, BDSM | 68K | Explicit

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea. Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right? There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

THE friends with benefits fic! (ok lbr there's a ton of great ones, but this one is S2 focused iirc)

AUs

My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Mythological AU, BDSM | 80K | Explicit

When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies.

You can expect amazing smut by this author as always, but also really interesting worldbuilding and characters!

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit

Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

SO GOOD. The canon divergent reincarnation vampire AU you didn't know you needed!!!

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by rarakiplin (gmontys)/ @hoediaz

Actors AU, Friends With Benefits | 130K | Mature

One day, Buck will tell an interviewer that he would be happy to make movies with Eddie Diaz until the day he dies. But first, years before that, he sees Eddie for the first time on the set of Chimney’s fifth movie.

An epic tale of movie making and enemies to friends to FWB to strangers to lovers!

The Truth of Love (Amas Veritas) by allyasavedtheday/ @littlespoonevan

Practical Magic AU | 20K | Teen

Bobby opens his mouth like he wants to argue but decides against it. “Walk me through the logic here then. How will this make sure you never fall in love?” “Because I’m making someone who doesn’t exist,” Buck explains, glancing from the half-full bowl to Bobby. He can’t work out what the look on Bobby’s face means so he pointedly elects to ignore it. “They’ll have brown hair,” he starts, clipping another petal from the rose bush. “And brown eyes-“ “Lotta people out there with brown hair and brown eyes, kid,” Bobby says lightly and Buck rolls his eyes. “But not many that can ride a horse backwards,” Buck counters. “And whose favourite shape is a star and who’s got…two scars,” he decides, plucking a basil leaf and dropping it in the bowl. “One on each shoulder.”

Because Practical Magic AUs always make me think of you <3

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Canon Divergent, You've Got Mail Fusion | 29K | Teen

When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker.

I do love some good romcom vibes!

#buddie #buddie fic rec #epic buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #favorites

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foodsies4me · 7 days

Note

The trainees protecting Magnus is now immortalised as one of my fav head cannons to ever exist. Mostly cause Magnus deserves to be loved and protected and pampered. He has been doing this for others for centuries and secondly he deserves it cause he is just amazing and beautiful soul.

Secondly I actually got so emotional at all the trainees banding together to give him hugs and bring him snacks. Magnus really went from single bachelor with no soul mark trying his is unloveable to the being loved by a handsome Shadowhunter and his clan of protective lil beans. I can only imagine the scene after when Malec are alone and Magnus just breaks down cause ‘fuck, I really am adored for more than my magic’. Cue protective and soft soulmate Alec and just all the emotional reassurance cuteness ☺️

You’re honestly amazing. Like never miss a beat, always on point in ways I could never imagine ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

As a (waaaaay too late) follow up to the Magnus getting hurt prompt and getting some trainees cuddles. (I am running so far behind on my prompts which I know all meant as prompts but they spark too many bunnies and then I want to write them.😂

Anyway here is the short follow up to that first prompt.💜

Magnus watches as the trainees walk out the door in pairs of two and threes. They’re all stalling, Hideaki “accidentally” forgetting five different pencils while Max forgets his socks, shoes and needs to pee before he runs out of excuses he can use. Clara is clinging to him, pouting and arguing with Alec that Magnus needs another Sad Pancake Day despite his injuries having entirely healed.

Seeing the displeasure on their faces – the disappointed pouts that not even Aloysius and Ariadne manage to hide has something squeezing painfully in Magnus’ chest. Something warm and tender and painful, tearing and healing old wounds as Magnus struggles to keep his voice light and teasing.

Chairman Meow is pouting as well.

It’s not as visible as the crossed arms and downturned lips the trainees have adopted, but it’s visible in the way he’s swishing his tail and twining himself around the trainees’ legs, trying to stop them from leaving in a way Magnus doesn’t dare to.

“-okay Magnus?” Alexander’s voice pulls him out of his internal stewing. He’s looking at him, waiting for an answer. He has Clara and Steph hiked up on one arm while Leo and Barika are dangling from the other and he doesn’t even seem to notice it and the sight makes Magnus’ heart tighten again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that darling.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” he repeats, rolling his eyes when the reminder Alexander will be back tonight causes another wave of protests.

“Now, now my darling beans – it’s only until Saturday. I’m sure you’ll all survive a few days without me there.”

“But we don’t want to,” Payton grouches this time around. “Can’t you just come live with us at the institute? And then Chairman Meow can come too and we don’t have to wait.”

“Alright, that’s enough out of all of you,” Alexander interrupts before anyone else manages to fit another word in. “We’re already late so say bye to Magnus so we can go home.”

The chorus of Fine’s that echo through his loft sound somehow even more unhappy and displeased than everything else the trainees have said before this point. They bid him goodbye with quick stolen hugs and promises to see him on Saturday before Magnus is alone again in his too-big and too-empty loft.

“Meow,” Chairman Meow complains when the door shuts behind Alexander, the sound high and whiny.

“I know, Chairman,” Magnus sighs, sitting down on his couch so Chairman Meow can climb onto his lap. His chest is still hurting, his heart overflowing with more emotions than he knows what to do with. “I know. I miss them too.”

If later that night he ends up with tears in his eyes when Alexander hands him the drawings and get-well cards the trainees made him, his heart too full of love and care, then that’s only between him, Alexander’s shirt and the privacy of his wards.

#Foodsies rambles #Foodsies writes #AWG Malec

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doverstar · 4 months

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A paltry 3 people have asked me to expand on my opinion that Clara (who I like) is bad for the Doctor, so here I go below.

Strap in, this will be long. I disliked Clara back when her tenure was happening live, but upon rewatching the show now, with my husband, I completely changed my mind and grew to really appreciate her and cried when she died. I like Clara. But I came to this conclusion you’re about to read during that rewatch. In a nutshell, Clara and the Doctor’s relationship is unhealthy. Stop wait let me explain-

*hands you the nutshell* First. The show itself acknowledges that this Doctor/companion relationship is something unprecedented and ugly and bad for both of them towards the end. Why? Is it Clara? YES AND NO children. Clara as a companion, personality-wise, is not any different or special than many Classic Who companions, and Jenna Coleman is ridiculously likeable as Clara. I know Clara is The Impossible Girl (because Moffat can’t write 100% ordinary people), and I know she has met all of the Doctors up to Twelve at least once, but take away her decision to throw herself into his timeline – take away the fact that the Master literally orchestrated events so that Clara and the Doctor would travel together because their personalities would create something dangerous and unhealthy in the end – and Clara herself really is just a twenty-something who wants to travel and acts like she’s the coolest person in the room. So Clara herself on the surface wasn’t the catalyst for the relationship becoming unhealthy. At least not the way she was written in the beginning. At first, it’s the Doctor making big Red Flag decisions. And I say that with so much love towards Matt Smith’s Doctor, who is dearly missed in these trying times. The Doctor meets the first version of Clara (from his perspective) as a barmaid/nanny in 20th century London. She’s exceptional (and unnecessarily flirty because Moffat can’t write women who don’t lust after the protagonist) and the Doctor invites her to travel with him. This is huge because the Doctor has just spent who-knows-how-long mourning the Ponds, who he was not ready to lose and who he had grown increasingly afraid of losing before he lost them. He sits on a cloud and has sworn off of travelling or helping anyone because he is that sick of losing people. He’s hurting and he doesn’t want to go through something like that again. The Ponds were just the latest in a very long line of lost people—remember, directly before Amy and Rory, the Doctor had to say goodbye to Donna, Martha, Wilf, Mickey, Jackie, Jack Harkness, Sarah Jane Smith oh my goodness, and Rose Tyler. And then he loses the Ponds. It’s agony. And it just keeps happening to him over and over again, and the Eleventh Doctor is especially vulnerable because he’s so tender-hearted and raw from Tennant’s losses, and this is the first time he’s lost companions with this face. The Eleventh Doctor is literally described by Moffat as the incarnation of the Doctor who chooses to forget. He’s consistently not addressing things like Gallifrey, the Time War, Rose, Donna, Martha, etc. When he’s reminded of them, the only thing he really reacts with is a strained admission of guilt (Let’s Kill Hitler and The Doctor’s Wife, anyone?). Eleven does not focus on what he has lost and worked really, really, selfishly-at-times hard to preserve the safety of the Ponds in particular. And then he loses them and throws a Doctor pity party on a cloud in a top hat.

Enter Nanny Clara, and she reminds him of what he’s missing and how things should be and helps him get his mojo back. Great, good. But she also reminds him of this one chick in the Dalek Asylum who begged the Doctor for help and was already dead. And the Doctor not only loves a mystery, but hates losing (losing people in particular). So he invites this Clara to come away with him and begin his never-ending adventure all over again, because she seems perfect for the job. And then she dies. Just like Oswin the crazy Dalek. Just like Amy and Rory, and the DoctorDonna, and Rose Tyler on the list of fatalities during the incident at Canary Wharf. Like Adric. But the Doctor doesn’t give up and pout in the 20th century this time. Instead, he gets determined to figure out what is connecting Nanny Clara and Dalek Clara, and determined to find a version of this mystery girl who can travel with him and not die this time. Third time’s the charm.

He finds Clara Oswald in the present, saves her life, freaks her out with his desperation to befriend her, and then she finally comes away with him. It’s played incredibly sweet specifically because it’s the Doctor trying to entice a companion and working for it, because he’s already seen she’s the one—twice—and is determined to keep her. This is an inversion of what usually happens, which is that the companion has to prove themselves worthy of the position to the Doctor during a meet-cute adventure. Classy. Fun. But we see from that point forward that the Doctor is kind of…weirdly obsessed with Clara. And not just because she’s appeared as three different-but-the-same people in his life lately, but because he’s the man who forgets and he lost people and never deals with that, and now he has this girl who he’s been unable to save twice before and he wants to make sure that doesn’t happen again. What’s worse, Clara becomes “the ultimate companion”, saving the Doctor throughout all his lifetimes by jumping into his timeline so she’s technically companion to all of him at one point. This is bad because not only is it not fair (as the gamers call it, it’s OP, yes I’m hip with the kids) it solidifies to the Doctor that she is the culmination of all his past failures in companion tenures.

She’s not the ultimate companion; she’s the ultimate do-over.

He’s obsessed with keeping Clara safe. He’s obsessed with keeping her with him. It’s not because Clara is this gorgeous, super-special, Not Like Other Girl(s). It’s not because he’s madly in love with her (though Moffat wants repeatedly to be able to imply that without properly saying it because he can’t write a female who is not in lust with the protagonist, hey let go of my soapbox I’m using that-). It’s not even because he lost two Claras previously and he feels really bad about that. It's because he’s projecting every single failure to keep a companion onto this one girl. The Doctor is trying so hard not to be controlled by the circumstances around him. He is trying so hard to keep this one, just this one, with him this time that he kind of turns into a withdrawal maniac when she’s in danger or choosing to do anything other than travel with him. The Master (Missy) orchestrated events so that Clara and the Doctor would be able to travel together because it was obvious the two of them would destroy each other in the end. The Doctor was such a person (Eleven) at such a time in his long life that could not stand the idea of losing one more friend and would do anything to keep history from repeating itself. He has to have Clara. He can’t quit Clara. She’s all of them. She’s everyone. And poor Clara—Clara is great, but being with the Doctor brings out only the worst in her. The woman is obsessed with herself. She was better off before he came around! Keeping pace with the Doctor, traveling the universe with him, feeling like she had something with him no one else could touch—all of that inflated her sense of importance; she has to be special. She has to be in control. She’s bossy and confident and as long as the Doctor is around, she’s the most incredible human being in her species and he is lucky to have her. That’s how he makes her feel—because it’s obvious he can’t let her go. (“Traveling with you made me feel really special.”) And worse, Clara can’t let him go—but not even specifically the Doctor. The Doctor, to Clara, is only as valuable as he makes her feel. It’s very sad because the two of them are kind of convinced they’re best friends and that’s why they’re together, but that’s not it. They’re not best friends. They’re toxic.

(Best friends do not trick other best friends, lie to them, threaten their way of life and only home to get their boyfriends back and then say “I’m sorry but I’d do it again”. Best friends do not notice that their best friend is there for them in spite of that line of action and then still disregard their best friend’s safety and needs in order to get what they themselves want above all else. Death in Heaven, I hate you.) And! Clara was so rattled by Eleven changing into Twelve. The sweet young man who flirted with her and made her feel so romantically important was gone, now there’s this grisly old fella who is rude to her and makes disparaging personal remarks about her physical appearance, and who doesn’t like hugs. But they’re not done. Because now the relationship has changed even further—we went from “he likes me and he should because I am Important” and “she’s staying with me and she should because I am gonna keep her safe and it won’t be like last time(s) and that’s why she’s special, that’s why she’s Impossible” to “I’m with him because he needs me and because I am Important like he is” and “she’s staying with me and she should because I am gonna keep her safe and she’s still special and she’s still Impossible and I can’t lose her no matter what”.

Clara is controlling and the Doctor is controlling. Missy would have you believe the Doctor won’t be controlled, but that’s just another form of control. The Doctor can’t stop travelling with Clara. Twelve will not let her rest, Twelve will not let her die. Clara will not stay home, Clara will not put anyone or anything else before herself, before traveling and saving the day and feeling special. In fact, it’s gotten to the point where the Doctor treats Clara with such reverence, she actually believes she’s 100% his equal and should be him. That was not a typo. I did not say she should be like him. I said she thinks she should be him. It gets worse and worse as time goes on. Clara thinks she can be the Doctor. She can travel anywhere, she can do whatever she wants, and she will always win. Because she’s important. Because she’s special. She doesn’t realize that she can’t, and that that’s not who the Doctor is anyway. And the Doctor watches Clara get eaten up by this addiction to travel, addiction to heroics. Clara loses Danny and that’s her last tether to normal life. It’s sad because Danny was twice the man anybody expected him to be and he was almost there, almost good enough for Clara to stay and be safe with. But the Doctor and time and space are a tough act to follow, and when Danny died, Clara felt she was owed better. She wasn’t angry because Danny was young and she loved him and she wanted better for him. She was angry because as a time traveling hero, she deserved to have her boyfriend alive and not hit by an ordinary car in the middle of an ordinary day on Earth. (But she wouldn’t have stayed with him anyway, and she wasted so much time with him treating him like he wasn’t special enough and then it was too late. If the Doctor had not been part of the equation, treating her like she hung the stars and making her believe it, they could have been happy. She could have been okay.)

More adventures, more close calls. At this point everything likeable about Clara in the past has faded away because she is just not the same person anymore. She’s ruined. And it’s her fault, and it’s the Doctor’s fault. Clara isn’t addicted to travel or heroics. Now she’s addicted to feeling important. She’s addicted to being special. And she needs to feel that so badly that she decides she is the Doctor and can do what he does and ignores the danger and ignores the rules and the risks and what it might do to the Doctor to lose her, and she faces the stupid raven. This girl legit dies a painful, scary death because she thought she could do whatever she wanted, control every situation, and it couldn’t possibly turn out badly because she’s Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl. Did the Doctor ever give her any idea that that wasn’t true? Didn’t he worship the ground she marched on? She dies for it. And the Doctor, bless his poisoned hearts, cannot handle it. No way, it is not happening again. Not Clara! He’s avoided her death every other time. It’s not even about Clara anymore—Clara is actually a pretty rotten friend to the Doctor at this point; he’s nothing to her, not really, just a means to an end (and you can tell because when push comes to shove, she will choose herself and time and space over him, and over any sense at all, but if anyone asks, that’s her best friend and do you know why? because it’s very special to be the Doctor’s best friend). It’s not about her, it’s about them. About Adric, and River, and Rose, and Donna, and Tegan and Susan and Ace and Vicki. It’s about Ian and Barbara and Wilfred Mott. Not this time, universe! Not this time, Clara! "I have a duty of care." "Which you take very seriously, I know." Twelve goes through the most contrived, horrendous, comically-lengthened torture Moffat can think of (Heaven Sent) and comes out on the other side only to bring Clara back from the dead. Think of that. The woman is actually very long dead at this point and the Doctor braves literal Gallifrey to pull her out of the moment before the end. He breaks every single rule he has ever, ever had. And he does it violently, are you telling me for real that Clara is the best companion for him? She drives him to do right, to be the greatest he can be? She helps, she brings him back to who he’s always tried to be? No she doesn’t. She drives him to total depraved madman status because they can’t quit each other, and no, not the cutesy quippy Madman With A Box type of madman.

What makes Clara so different from all the other people the Doctor had to lose and who remained lost? Nothing at all. Nothing except that the Doctor decided this one isn’t going anywhere. Because she is every companion to him. This poor woman has a sack full of the Doctor’s past-companion baggage tied to her back but to her it feels light, because he treats it outwardly like a pedestal. So he “brings her back” and she figures out what he’s done and what he went through to do it, and they both learn that their relationship is actually so toxic that together, they would destroy the universe just to have what they want. Because that’s what they bring out in each other. The Doctor has to keep Clara safe, and Clara has to be special. They’re so unhealthy it affects everything around them, to the point where the Time Lords literally have a name for their destructive dynamic in their prophecies called the Hybrid (go lie down, Moffat). And the Master knew that because Time Lord…stuff…and deliberately ensured that Clara and the Doctor get together.

Luckily the Doctor is still, somewhere, miraculously, himself—so he recognizes at last that this is going too far and it’s bad, it’s all bad. The only solution, because he still can’t just return Clara to her fate, is to wipe her memory (hello Donna) of him so that they aren’t together but she also doesn’t have to die. So that he still doesn’t have to deal with losing people. And then the very worst part, writing-wise, happens. Clara complains and decides she must be allowed her memories, she’s entitled to them (too special to lose her memories!) but goodie for her, she doesn’t lose them. The Doctor, instead, loses his memories of her. Now, this is ultimately a good thing for him because of the horse I beat to death over there, don’t make eye contact, but—how sad is it that he still has to lose? That he still can’t keep someone, even after all that carnage? The healing process is beginning and he’ll be a better man than ever after this, but take a moment to mourn because that really sucks for him.

Okay here’s the worst part—Clara lives. And not only does Clara live, Clara lives forever. Clara is immortal. Clara gets her own Tardis. Clara gets her own immortal companion! (Ashildr.) Who learned something? Anyone? Not Clara! Who grew as a person around here? No one? Not Clara! Poor Clara Oswald, who started out nicely enough and likeable enough, at least on level with Classic Who companions, is ruined in the end. She gets exactly what she wants. She’s the Ultimate Companion! She’s met all the Doctors. He even fancied her at one point, well, how could he not? She didn’t die, she didn’t learn anything, she didn’t even really grow, she just got worse. Danny died and the Doctor lost, but Clara got to keep her memories, lose her mortality, and gain her own infinite time travelling machine. She became the Doctor. Yippee. Neither of them were made better by the other’s company. Rose Tyler said more than once, at least in three different ways, that the Doctor’s influence, that the opportunity to travel in time and space and help, brings out the extraordinary qualities ordinary people already have. He taps into their potential to be better, even better than him sometimes. The human factor, I call it. And they inspire him to be better, which is important for someone who is essentially immortal and can essentially go anywhere and do anything he likes. Wilfred said it, too, that Donna was better with the Doctor. But the codependency, the noxious way the Doctor and Clara interacted with each other—their whole relationship—it’s devoid of that improving quality. It wasn’t at first, at least not on Clara’s side, but that’s what it turned out to be. At least Moffat acknowledges that in Hell Bent, but he does it more in a way that is trying to communicate to you that that’s how deep and special the Doctor and Clara’s relationship is, isn’t it so important, isn’t it the best companion/Doctor relationship ever? Isn’t she hot, isn’t he whipped? Have you ever seen such devotion? Gag me. He doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. He’s just trying to win the 60-year-long companion race. And Clara and the Doctor both suffer for it.

I still like Clara. I blame the writing entirely for how things turned out, because I genuinely, really enjoyed her this last rewatch, and I wish that she’d met a better end. I wish she’d stayed with Danny and figured out what Danny was trying to tell her all along—that normal life is precious and worth it, and worth giving up the big sparkly universe for if you find someone else to live for besides yourself. I wish she’d sacrificed herself to save the Doctor in the present, not just throughout his past, because she proved that at one point she was capable of that. I wish she’d come to terms with the fact that she couldn’t control everything, couldn’t have what she wanted every time, and then chose to learn from that and use what she could control for the benefit of others (including the Doctor). I wish she’d gotten out the way Martha had gotten out. And I really, really wish the Doctor hadn’t had to prolong the pain he was always going to feel when someone else had to say goodbye. Anyway, that’s the essay a trifling three lovely people asked me for. Not really an essay, just word vomit. If you read it all, please let me know what you think! I could be wrong.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Second Chance 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Jonathan Pine

Summary: You move into your parents' house as you try to rebuild your life, catching the attention of someone you never expected.

Part of the Brother's Best Friend Universe

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It’s no glorious homecoming. You have little to be proud of. A broken relationship, a lost job, and wasted years. In hindsight, it’s easy to see how stupid you are. Even with the excuse of emotion, you can’t forgive yourself for your own poor choices.

Back to square one. Literally. What kind of forty-two year old lives with their parents? The one staring back at you.

You splash your face, rinsing away the collagen wash that doesn’t seem to help the wrinkles. If it had, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated. Maybe he wouldn’t be shacked up with a woman half your age. A girl, really.

You shake your head and sigh. Nothing you can do or undo.

You shut off the tap as you hear voices above. The basement is close enough to an apartment; you have your own bathroom and a reasonable amount of space. Privacy is another matter as your mother barges in to get to the laundry room or even just chatter about Clara’s casserole.

You dry your face and your hands and leave the bathroom. You cross the carpeted floor to the stairs and pause. Your brother must have got to town early and your parents are ecstatic to have him back. They can be proud of him; he’s an executive in a national company with a wife-to-be on his arm. Younger but always ahead of you.

You still haven’t found the courage to go up and say hello. Now’s as good a time as ever. You’re thirsty and they say hydration is the key to staying young. Yeah right, that’s not something you can change now.

You hope your future sister-in-law doesn’t mind your pajamas. The blue and white striped satin set are of the few nice things you salvaged from your former life. You open the door and shuffle up in your slippers.

The voices draw you to the kitchen. You peek around and find your parents standing on one side of the square island as your brother stands between two other figures. You didn’t think there was anyone else coming.

You think better of introducing yourself. You’ll go back downstairs and say you fell asleep. As you turn, your arm hits the vase on the side table. You cringe as it goes silent.

“Honey?” Your mother calls to you. You exhale and steel yourself.

“Uh, hi,” you sidle into the doorway, “I didn’t want to interrupt. I just wanted to get some water.”

“Nonsense, Jaydon’s here with his love fiancee, Tandi,” she trills as she beckons you forward, “and Jonathan popped in to catch up.”

You look around as you near the island. Jonathan. Pine? You didn’t think he was still around here. Everyone else seems to have moved on.

“Hey,” your brother, Jaydon grumbles.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Tandi offers her hand with a bright smile. She’s tall and slim and beautiful and probably ten years younger than your brother. Why do men always do that?

“You too,” you give a strained smile.

“Nice to see you again,” Jonathan intones and you look at him, struck by his clinging eyes.

He changed but he is not unrecognizable. He was always the tall, stringy kid but he’s filled out, he has some lines across his forehead and around his eyes, but they only refine his looks. He used to just be your brother’s sidekick, now he stays straight and confident.

“You too, Jonathan,” you murmur, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

“We made pretty good time,” Jaydon says proudly.

“Just so happens I’m in town for a family affair as well,” Jonathan adds, “good a time as ever to reconnect.”

You nod and wait for someone else to speak. You have nothing exciting to boast of. You’d rather fade into the background in the shine of their achievements. You’re certain they’ve already been briefed on your comedy of errors.

“Me and Tandi were just saying we’d like to go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. You could join us for a ladies’ day out. We’ll give the men some space,” your mother chimes. “Get you out of the house.”

Her last comments sting. You’ve been hiding. You don’t want to be recognised or need to explain yourself. Even if you did deflect curiosity, you don’t need another reminder of all your failures. And the farmer’s market? What are you going to do there? You don’t have the money for overpriced heirloom tomatoes.

Still, you have to play along. That was the talk your mother had with you. Like a teenager she had to tell you exactly how to behave when company was there. Company? He’s your brother.

“Sure, that sounds good,” you agree.

“I’m so excited,” Tandi beams, “it will be nice to explore and get to know Jay’s hometown.”

She touches his arm and he promptly drapes it around her shoulders. Jay? He always hated being called that but he seems to like her. For now. Their show of intimacy makes you shrivel up inside.

“There is very much to see,” Jonathan quips, putting your own thoughts to words. “Quaint, as the polite would put it.”

“Well, I recall you never had any issue finding something to do,” your mother rebukes playfully and Jonathan smirks.

“Yes, but I don’t suppose it’s the sort of activity your little ladies’ day out would entail,” he gives a coy tilt of his head.

“I hope you’ve grown out of that,” your mother kids.

“Mm, I like to think I have,” he shrugs.

You’re certain he has. All of them are the adults in the room and you’re the hermit in the basement. You have no illusions, you know your mother, you know all your mistakes have been laid out on the table; on every table in town. Oh woe to her, she always did try to raise you right.

“Mm, yes, well, it has been so long and you are all adults,” your mother says, as if to affirm your resent, “you’ve all come such a far way.”

You bite down on your cheeks, holding your tongue. It’s probably not a snipe at you, you’re just sensitive. You look at the counter and try to make yourself small. The glimpse of your pajamas once more sets you apart from them. How embarrassing.

“Oh, yes, speaking of,” Jaydon pipes up, “the engagement party. You said you had a venue in mind. We should see that while we’re here.”

“Ah,” your mother nearly squeals, “you’re going to do it here?”

“We talked about it,” Jaydon looks at Tandi, “but the wedding is still up in the air.”

“Oh my, how exciting,” your mother trills. “Perhaps tomorrow then, we might do that as well,” your mother continues her giddy raving, “mm, and flowers, catering, oh! A dress…”

You could slip away right then. She wouldn’t notice. None of them would.

You peek over at her. She was never that excited for you. Well, you never got the ring. You were never that special. You tear your eyes away and they meet another pair. You quickly wipe the sadness from your face and send Jonathan a plaintive smile. His eyes narrow and his gaze lingers.

You break your own stare and try to focus on the conversation. You should be happy for your brother, not bitter. Afterall, you made your own mistakes, not him.

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #drabble #jonathan pine x reader #the night manager #series #au #brother's best friend #second chance

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bradshawsbaby · 1 year

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Letters to My Love // Part VIII

We’ll Meet Again

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Oh my goodness, it’s been well over a month since I last updated this story and I sincerely apologize for that! I hope you all enjoy Bobby and Peach’s next set of letters!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter comes from the song of the same name by Vera Lynn, a song which also happens to factor into this part of the story!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, brief allusions to war, and references to rationing. This chapter is mostly fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

March 6, 1943

Sweet Peach,

Looks like I have my own elephant in the room to address this time. You asked for a photograph, and I’ve inundated you with five. Trust me, you think Dottie is bad, but I would dare to wager that she’s not nearly as insufferable as the lugheads I’m bunking with over here. When they caught wind of the fact that I was planning to send you a photo—which, for the record, was not at all forward of you to ask for and which actually gave my ego quite a nice boost—you should have seen the holy hullabaloo they raised. You really would have thought I was planning to feature myself on the front cover of Life Magazine with the way they carried on.

My original intent was to send you my graduation photo from Annapolis. My mother ended up packing a copy of it with my things when I left home—I think she was hoping I’d find a nice girl to give it to. She’ll be thrilled indeed to find that I have. Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve mentioned you in my letters to my family. I feel like you’ve become such a special part of my life, if you don’t mind me saying so, and I wanted them to get to know you a little bit, the way I have.

But anyway, like I was saying, I was glad that my mama tucked that photo away with my things so that I could have something to send you, though it’s by no means as spectacular as the photograph you sent me. When Tommy Boy and Benny found out that was the picture I was planning to send you, however, they started talking a whole bunch of nonsense about how I needed to send more pictures that showed off “the real me.” According to Benny, I look way too stiff and formal in my graduation photo. I told him that I thought the ladies were supposed to love a man in uniform, but he told me that’s apparently not the case when said uniform looks like it’s choking the life out of you. Tommy Boy said I should send you pictures that remind you of the fact that I actually do know how to have a good time—his words, not mine.

Even Paul agreed with them. That traitor.

To make a long story short, Peach, that’s why you’re (hopefully) holding those five photographs in your hand right now. In addition to my Annapolis photo—which my mother still happens to think is nice, even if the fellas don’t—are a few photos of us on board our carrier. I’m glad that you remember what I look like so that you don’t confuse me for my much better looking buddies—I hope seeing us side by side doesn’t do me too much of a disservice. I labeled them on the back for you, but there’s a few shots of me and Paul, then me, Benny, and Tommy Boy, then all four of us, then me standing beside me and Paul’s plane.

You know, now that I really think about it, I have a feeling that Benny and Tommy Boy’s grand scheme all along was to make sure that you had photographic evidence of them to show to all your friends and fellow USO volunteers. I tried to explain to them that you had very kindly informed me that most of the girls you know are spoken for, but they both still seem to have it in their heads that you can find a couple nice girls for them. Like I told you, they’re completely insufferable. Good thing they’re also pretty great guys, otherwise I don’t think I’d be able to stand it.

Anyway, all that to say that now you have some photographs, Peach. More than you asked for, I know, and I hope they don’t disappoint. Perhaps it was you who’s been remembering things with rose-colored glasses all this time and not me? Either way, I’ll stop rambling about it now.

Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny send all their best. Paul especially appreciates all your kind words, and your thoughts for him and his family. He says he knew you were a great girl, right from the start when you nearly spilled that punch all over him.

Speaking of punch and the dance, congratulations to your friend, Emily! A little bit of good news in the midst of all this madness is always greatly appreciated. And I’m sure that when the time comes, you’re going to be the prettiest bridesmaid there ever was.

Can I be honest with you though, Peach? I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, especially if she’s lucky enough to count you as a friend, but at the moment, I have to confess that I don’t hold her fiancé in quite as high esteem. Now to be fair, I don’t know much about this Eddie guy, but from what I do know, he has to be one of the most foolish men I’ve ever seen. Before I explain, I should mention that I saw Eddie at the dance that night, right before he pulled Emily out onto the dance floor. You might wonder how, and I’d tell you it was because I was standing a few feet away from the punch table like a total coward, trying to work up the nerve to go talk to you. So the truth, Peach, is that I saw what happened between you and Eddie—how he approached you and asked you if it would be alright if he asked Emily to dance.

On the one hand, I was selfishly relieved that he didn’t ask you. That meant that all hope wasn’t lost, and I might still get a shot to talk to you. But on the other hand, I couldn’t understand how one man could be so stupid, if you’ll pardon my saying so. Like I said, I’m sure Emily is a lovely girl, but I don’t understand how anyone could see you, Peach—especially that night, when you looked so beautiful in your pretty party dress—and think to dance with anyone else. I suppose you’re right though. It is funny how things work out. And as big a fool as I thought Eddie to be at the time, if I saw him right now, I might just shake his hand and thank him. Because if he hadn’t been a fool, I might not be talking to you right now. And let me tell you, Peach, that is as depressing a thought as any I can think of. So three cheers for Eddie and Emily! I wish them nothing but a lifetime of happiness, and I’ll join them in praying for an end to this war so that they can have their big wedding.

It sure is wild to think that in your last letter, you were telling me about your holidays, and now it’s already March. Time feels like it’s flying much too fast, but not quick enough at the same time. Do you know what I mean?

Paul still can’t believe how big Clara and Paul, Jr. are getting every time Natasha sends him updates. In her last few letters, she wrote that Paul, Jr. has finally started talking—she was very smug that his first word was “Mama,” but only because Clara’s first word was “Dada.” And now that he’s started, he just can’t stop. He’s starting to call everyone by their names—or at least his version of their names—and he even says “Dada” now when Natasha points to pictures of Paul. In her most recent letter, Natasha said he was even starting to walk and that she’s been having to chase him all over the house. “He’s going to be a runner, like his daddy,” she wrote. Did I ever tell you, Peach, that Paul and I ran track and field in high school? He could always run circles around me. Paul’s quite the proud papa, and he’s been bragging about his family to anyone on the carrier who will listen—it usually ends up being me, Tommy Boy, and Benny.

I’m sure little Frankie—or maybe not so little anymore—is starting to walk and talk now, too. Has he been giving you, Dottie, and Paddy a run for your money?

Peach, you once called me an honest man and so I don’t want to lie to you now—as much as I’d like to say that I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been attending any more dances, I’m just not as good a man as all that. The truth of the matter is that I’m quite chuffed (can you tell I’ve been spending time with a lot of Brits?) to hear that you’re saving a dance for me. It makes me want to finish this war and get home all the faster, knowing you’ll be there to welcome me back.

You know, we’ve actually gotten to enjoy a few USO performances over here recently. It does a lot to lift our spirits, and it always makes me think of you. One of the singers performed that Vera Lynn song, “We’ll Meet Again” the other night and I couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be dancing with you again. I thought I might share some of the lyrics with you, the ones that really made me think of you:

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away

I believe deep down in my heart that we’re going to meet again, Peach. Just like the song says, I might not know where and I might not know when, but I know it’s going to happen. And what a happy day that will be, when I get to see your smiling face again.

I haven’t even sent this letter yet, and I already can’t wait to receive your next one. I hope whatever you’re doing right now, Peach, it’s bringing a smile to your face and that you’re doing real well.

Until next time and until we meet again.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I’m very embarrassed to admit that for a farm boy from Iowa, I’ve got quite the brown thumb. My only advice to you and Dottie when it comes to your Victory Garden is don’t do anything I would do!

April 2, 1943

Dear Bobby,

What an absolute treat to receive not one, but five wonderful photographs with your last letter! You can tell Tommy Boy and Benny that they were dead wrong—I would have been MORE than happy with just your photo from Annapolis! I think you look remarkably handsome in it, and I’m very thankful to your mother for thinking to send it along with you. The other photos you included are just the icing on the cake.

I love getting a tiny glimpse of what life is like for you over there, and it’s so good to see all of you smiling, despite the circumstances. Tommy Boy, Benny, and Paul all look very handsome as well, but between the two of us, I don’t think any of them could hold a candle to you. Still, it does make me wonder if being handsome is a requirement for joining the Navy nowadays? If so, I’d say you all certainly fit the bill.

Dottie was quite eager to see your picture, and I’ll have you know that she declared you even more handsome than she had been imagining—and my big sister has quite a vivid imagination, let me tell you. Paddy teased her about it endlessly, saying that maybe she should find herself her own pen pal considering how much she seems to enjoy sticking her nose into my correspondences. Just to get back at him, Dottie traded our extra coffee rations with one of our neighbors for more sugar rations. Paddy grumbled about it the next few mornings, but Dottie made it up to him with a chocolate cake after dinner.

I’ve been keeping all your photographs on the desk in my room, Bobby, and I’m looking at them right now as I pen this letter. I promise you that I certainly wasn’t remembering you through rose-colored glasses and that, in fact, you’re even more handsome than my faulty memory could recall. I especially love the pictures of you with your friends—your smiles are all so bright that I can actually feel the joy of your friendship just by looking at them. You have such a lovely smile, Bobby, made all the lovelier by the fact that you have such a wonderful heart underneath.

While we’re on the topic of photographs, it seems that you and I are starting to play tag with them. Since you sent such sweet photographs of you and the boys, I thought I might send a photograph I really loved that we took while we were home in Georgia for Christmas. That’s me, Dottie, Frankie, and Paddy on Christmas morning, right before everyone started opening their presents. Since I talk about them all so much in my letters, I thought it might be nice for you to put some faces with their names. Besides Paddy, of course, since you already know his face.

By the way, I’m truly touched to know that you’ve mentioned me in your letters to your family. Of course I don’t mind it! My family knows all about you, so it seems only right that you should be able to tell your family about me. Maybe one day we’ll all get to be together to share some peach cobbler and pumpkin pie!

Tell Paul, Benny, and Tommy Boy that I say hello and that they looked great in those photos! Tell Tommy Boy and Benny in particular to keep their chins up, and that they’ll find two lucky girls to call their own very soon! And you can tell Paul that I’m still mortified about that punch spill.

Oh, Bobby, I’m so embarrassed to think you overheard my conversation with Eddie that night! Truth be told, in that moment, I felt so silly. I thought for sure he was going to ask me to dance, so I felt a bit ridiculous when it turned out he just wanted to know if it was okay to ask Emily. In all honesty, I really wanted to leave after that. But then you showed up and everything changed. My whole night turned around. Dottie always says that everything happens for a reason, and I really do believe that. I think Eddie and Emily were meant to meet each other that night, just like you and I were meant to meet each other, Bobby. Knowing you has brought so much goodness to my life, and I can’t imagine what it would be like if our paths hadn’t crossed that night. So now I can say thank goodness for Eddie wanting to dance with Emily!

I know exactly what you mean about time, Bobby. Dottie and I were just talking about how we want time to slow down because it feels like Frankie is growing up way too fast! Just like Paul, Jr., Frankie is walking now and we have to be vigilant at all times to make sure he isn’t getting into any mischief. Just the other day, he somehow managed to get his hands on Paddy’s keys and hide them under the couch. We spent hours looking for them! He also said his first word a couple months ago—Dada. Thankfully, Paddy was home to hear it, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so proud. Dottie pretended to be miffed—”Fifteen hours I spend in labor with that boy and he says ‘Dada’ first!”—but she really was excited, too. Now he also says Mama, hi, bye-bye, and milk. Sometimes he’ll say doggy, too, when we see dogs out on the street. The funniest thing is that he seems to have given me the nickname “Cookie.” Whenever Dottie asks him who I am, he laughs and says, “Cookie!” So to you, I’m Peach and to my nephew, I’m Cookie. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve all these food nicknames!

I’m so thrilled to hear that the USO has finally made its way over to you boys! I can’t imagine what you’re all going through over there, but I know that you do deserve an opportunity to relax and unwind.

That Vera Lynn song is so beautiful, and my heart is so full to hear that it made you think of me, Bobby. After I read your letter, I remembered that we actually have a record of that song in the house, so I immediately went and put it on. I admit, I played it a few times and imagined that you were here dancing with me. We will meet again, Bobby, I just know it. I feel it in my heart, too, the same as you. And the sun will be shining bright when we do, just like the song says.

I hope the sun is shining on you right now, Bobby, and that wherever you are, you’re safe and you know that I’m thinking of you and wishing you the speediest return home.

Until we meet again, know that I’m sending you all my very best.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Dottie and I have been cursed with brown thumbs ourselves, but we’re determined to make this Victory Garden work! I’ll keep you updated on our efforts!

P.P.S. I know it will probably be a while until we hear from each other again, so I want to wish you a very Happy Easter. Stay safe, Bobby!

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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jamneuromain · 6 months

Note

Allright my sweet Jam, listen about this. How about a reader who is new at her work and Meet our dear nerdy boy Jensen, Who happens to be in a very bad relationship with a mean girl. He doesn’t leave her because he thinks nobody would date him again , however there comes our reader girl being a badass, sort of friendsxlovers cuties🤭.

Im loving thiiiis!!!! 🙈

Hi nonnie😌❤️

😩soft boi Jakey is always going to have a special place in my heart - the golden retriever look on his face is so damn adorable-

Bad B*tch

Jake Jensen x Reader (you)

Summary: Jake is in a tough spot with a terrible person around. You choose to be the bitch and snap him out of it.

Warning: Swear words.

"I'm so fed up!" Hush-yells Clara, who shoved Jake away from her close proximity, "Leave me alone!"

Storming off from the coffee room, she didn't look back.

If anyone other than people from your department is seeing this, they would think that Jake, who had been pushed and shoved, must have done something wrong to piss off the pretty lady who ran away.

From your point of view?

Clara was obviously manipulating her boy toy again.

It was unfair to call Jake "boy toy", however, with his weirdly cute goatee and the round spectacles on the bridge of his nose, you understood why Clara would want him around. He was undoubtedly good-looking, and practical regarding computers, phones, and anything linked to the power strip.

In fact, your laptop was what connected you and him in the first place. On the first day in your office, you were completely bewildered by the complicated authorization process to make amendments to some files. After some help from the only guy at IT - Jake - you were lucky to gain the authorization from the IT department twice as fast. You had been friends since.

Now, after two years working for your company, you knew too well of your co-workes, Jake included, but especially Clara from the same department where you came from.

Clara was the notorious slayer of hearts, keeping a few men around the tips of her fingers, and manipulate them to do her work for her, occasionally rewarding them by blowing a kiss (or screw them in an empty office, you had the unfortunate experience of walking in Clara and another men fucking each other's brain out) and making their sanity scrambled into mush.

Jake, as it seemed, has fell into the hands of Clara since six months ago.

Jake met your eyes from where he was standing. He managed a small smile, which looked sad rather than happy.

"What is it with this time?" You asked quietly.

It has happened so many times after Jake was determined that Clara was willing to be his girlfriend. Clara would scream and yell whenever something didn't work out the way she expected to, and Jake would hastily apologize for something that wasn't his fault.

"I ... got upset when she got too close with Felix." Jake scratched the back of his head, stepping out of the coffee room and gesturing towards the terrace, where he'd be more open to conversation without eyes and ears close by, "It's ... it's my fault, though, I'm insecure, I'm ..." Jake repeated what Clara had hissed at him, shutting his eyes, he could still hear her words ringing in his ears.

"Sorry about dumping this on you." He hastily apologized. He noticed that you were awfully quiet, probably because that you didn't want to hear about his yet-to-be relationship drama.

"It's okay." You shrugged.

It was not. But last time when you told Jake that Clara was manipulating him into doing her biddings, Jake broke into a large fight with you.

Even though he apologized the next day, but stating the fact that Clara was nothing like you imagined her, you realized some topics were better staying in the dark.

Topics like Clara and her ways with men.

However, it didn't mean that you couldn't wiggle your opinion into his mind.

You turned to him, your voice flooded with sympathy, "You must feel that you are out of her league, I get that a lot."

Yeah sure, Clara didn't deserve him.

Jake took a deep breath, before continuing, "It's just that ... none of the girls finds me attractive." He casted a small glimpse in your direction, "I'm the nerdy IT guy, and they are always ... hot. " Licking his lower lip nervously, Jake huffed, "Clara is different. She has a bad temper, but I think she likes me. She really does."

You were not going to dwell on the case of Clara, because you knew no matter what you say, he was going to defend her. So you changed your approach, "Rewind to the last thing you said - you're not a nerd."

Jake pouted, blinking his puppy eyes.

His whole demeanor was expressing one simple idea. He knew you were trying to sneak by with a white lie.

You laughed. "Okay! Okay, you are. But you're cute. Don't girls dig the cute nerd type?"

"You'd be surprised." He sagged his shoulder, looking depressed, mumbling, "Thank you, anyways. You must have something better to do, and yet you chose to stay and listened to my miserable love life-"

"Don't." You instinctively stopped him from saying more, "Look, Jake, you've been my friend ever since I got to this place, and I know you. I chose to stay because my friend is in need because of a-" You swallowed the B-word, with difficulty, "a really bad person broke his heart, over, over and over again. Not because of anything else, and certainly not because my dear friend 'doesn't deserve' some comforting when he needs it."

Jake stretched his arms over the terrace railing, looking into the city's concrete walls and iron jungles.

"Jake, look at me." You whispered.

He gave no reply, simply letting out a long sigh.

"Jake." You raised your voice, only by a little, and he still did not answer you.

"Jake-" You squished his cheek between your palms, finally made him turn your way, with his adorable lips protruding, "You're better than this - sulking over that bitch - okay?"

A pit of fire rolled in your stomach.

Why couldn't he see the truth? That Clara was playing him, that she never meant to be his girlfriend, not to mention the new boytoy she had, Felix, who was in the accountant and that she needed Felix to check the books for five dozen purchases in your department - on top of, the purchase checks were supposed to be Clara's work, because she messed up with her data entries.

"She wants me." Jake repeats stubbornly. If he had puppy ears, they'd be dangling to the floor, "She likes me."

God, enough with Jake and his bullshit-

You stood on your tiptoes quickly, and smothered Jake with a kiss. The hands on either side of his cheek helps. The fire in your stomach fueled to the kiss, urging you to nibble on his lips, regardless that you were on the terrace of the company building, that you could be seen by almost anyone who stepped foot into the second floor, while the only thing that separated you from the building was see-through glass doors.

"Jake, I need you to help me with-" Clara rushed over, pulling the glass door open, was stunned at her spot, and then, "YOU BITCH!" She screamed at you.

"Guess I am." You smiled coyly, letting go of Jake's reddened lips, "need anything?"

Clara turned to Jake, stomping like a teenager, "Jake, please, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I really need your help."

"I-" Jake hesitated.

"Jake pleaaaaase, you can't help her like that." You mocked her voice, fingers exploring his chin and his stupidly cute goatee, "Oh wait - sorry, forgot I was a bitch. Now why don't I live up to that name - " You made the most impressive bitch face in your entire life, not that you did it before, but with you narrowing your eyes, and twitching your lips, and the "Fuck off from my boyfriend", you made Clara scatter.

You were crossing your arms in contempt, satisfied with your tactics, when a small gasp from Jake made you aware of his presence.

"For the record, I'm not saying sorry." You pursed your lips into a thin line, "Even if you don't want me to be your friend anymore."

Jake gulped, and gulped again, and calling your name hesitantly. Thin sheet of sweat emerged from his forehead, before the goofy grin curled up onto his lips.

"No. No." He murmured. Cheeks pink, biting the inside of his lip, staring into the ground so hard as if studying tile patterns, he added, "You're not asking me for help at work, are you?"

You huffed out a laugh. You could not believe his first concern of your announcement.

"Yes." You cleared your throat.

His eyes looked up in disbelief.

"And asking you to come to our house for New Year's dinner. And asking you to teach me how to play Overwatch. And asking you to be my date at my cousin's wedding. And such and such." Your hand sneaked to his side, secretly interlacing his fingers with yours, "What'd you say?"

"Yeah." He breathed, "Yeah that sounds ... great. As long as I get to be Sombra."

"Who?" You quirked your eyebrows.

Jake giggled, holding your hand tightly in his, "You have so much to catch up on Overwatch! Sombra is the most badass one of them all - well, not as badass as you, it seems..."

Find Jammy's 500 Follower's Celebration here 👈

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#jake jensen x you #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen angst #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen #jammy's 500 celebration #writing challenge

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captain-mj · 9 months

Text

Vampires Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Soap sat at the table right after sunset. His vampires, Price, and now Chuy, because apparently he decided to invite himself in, were sitting with him. Chuy was wearing his outfit again, deer skull included. It made him look very unnerving.

“So your fiance will be here soon?”

Price nodded excitedly. “Yep. She’s wonderful.”

“She?” Ghost laughed before realizing he was serious. “Ah. Damn. Seriously?”

Price frowned. “I’m bisexual.”

“I know, I just thought better of women. Even witch women.” Ghost replied, shrugging.

Price stared at him, slightly opened mouthed. “Damn. Cold, Simon.”

“Ghost.”

“Simon. Anyway, she’ll be here shortly. Her name is Clara.” He looked so happy that Soap couldn’t help but feel happy for him. Even if he was pretty sure Price was being used.

Alejandro hummed. “Right. Anyway.”

Rodolfo raised his hand. “I don’t really care about your fiance, I’m more worried about the hunter walking around talking about bigfoot. Can we focus on that?”

“No. you guys gotta meet my fiance.”

“Fuck that.” Alejandro spoke up. “I agree with my lovely husband.” He kissed Rudy’s hand, looking at him with giant heart eyes.

Ghost groaned. “Do you guys have to be so in love?”

“Loser.”

“Lonely ass bitch.”

Ghost frowned. “Goddamn…”

Price hissed loudly and they all turned towards him. He looked a little flustered, as if they weren’t actually supposed to hear him. He took a deep breath. “As the eldest vampire, I am requesting you guys please meet her.” It was said with a touch of… sincerity that had been absent from Price in a wild.

Interviewer: I’ve been meaning to ask. Ghost puts up with Price because he’s his sire. Rodolfo seems to like him. However, you don’t seem to like him.

Alejandro: Don’t know. Guess I miss how he was. Sometimes it feels like I got the last few years of lucidity. He probably told he was four hundred years older than Ghost right?

Interviewer: I thought he said two hundred.

Alejandro: He told Rodolfo a hundred. I thought for the longest time it was just something he did, but I think he just doesn’t remember.

Interviewer: Ah. And the comment about lucidity.

Alejandro: I think he’s half insane. It happens. Mentally, being alive a long time… it makes things tiring.

Interviewer: I noticed the way you looked away when Rodolfo asked if you regretted being turned. Do you?

Alejandro: No. Course not. I love my husband.

Interviewer: I can see your love and devotion to him. But I’m asking, do you wish you died human?

Alejandro: Sometimes, I do. I wish Rodolfo killed me that night. However, I’d never want to make him go through the centuries alone, so I’m glad I am here with him.

Interviewer: Thank you, Alejandro.

“Alright, sir.” Ghost mumbled. “I’ll meet Clara.” He smiled, eyes crinkling.

Price smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you, Simon. Rodolfo, Alejandro, Gaz, I hope you all like her.”

Simon and Chuy looked at each other and shook their heads.

Gaz hummed. “Will it be super awkward?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Gaz nodded. “That sounds nice. Like chicken soup after a hard day. I’m in.”

Interviewer: So do you regret turning into a vampire?

Gaz: How do you know I wasn’t born an energy vampire?

Interviewer: Oh, were you? That’s fascinating.

Gaz: No, I mean I was turned. Just why did you assume?

Interviewer: I mean. I just thought all vampires were turned. Who was your sire?

Gaz: My mom when she birthed me. I lied, I was born.

Interviewer canceled the rest of the interviewer due to “broken pencils”.

Price smiled fondly at Gaz before quickly going to get the door, answering before Clara even had the chance to knock. She giggled as he picked her up and twirled her before leading her to the kitchen.

“Oh this is nauseating.”

Rodolfo hit Ghost. “They’re cute.”

They kissed passionately.

“Nevermind.” Rodolfo hissed under his breath. “Clara?”

Clara quickly pushed Price back a little and properly introduced herself. She was how described. Dark hair and nice.

Too nice.

Soap liked her. She shook his head and smiled at him before moving on to them.

“Oh!” Clara said softly while staring at Ghost. “You must be Simon.”

Price flinched and looked guilty. And a tiny bit betrayed, as if he had warned her prior.

“Don’t call me that.” Ghost got up. “Okay, this is horrible. I need to leave.”

Price grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. “A little effort.”

“Don’t call me something stupid.”

Price sighed and plastered a smile on his face. “Ghost.” He introduced everyone there to Clara and Clara waved just a little. She didn’t look at Price much, but when she did, she did look like she liked him. Maybe not love in any of their opinions, but that’s okay. Maybe it would blossom?

If they stayed together long enough.

Maybe.

The two of them stared at each other for just a second and Chuy got uncomfortable.

“Alright. I’m gonna head out.”

Clara frowned a little before perking up. “I’ve heard about a hunter in this area. Hope you’re doing okay and he hasn’t given you too many problems.”

Chuy faltered and shrank down when Reyes got brought up. Ghost wondered why he didn’t just have them get rid of the guy. It would be easier.

“Well… yeah. He’s uh… Yeah…”

Clara noticed his hesitance and decided to drop it.

They had a delightful conversation honestly.

Price informed them all that the wedding would be that Friday. “Because of the goddess Freyja. May she bless our marriage.” He smiled, showing fangs.

Rodolfo looked at the interviewer, clearly cringing.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“May Clara stay here until then? We’re having the ceremony in the graveyard nearby.” Price took his hat off and held it to his chest in a pleading manner.

Collective groans occurred before they agreed. She could stay.

Interviewer: The vampires think you’re after Price for his… uh…

Clara: His money? No. I’m rich enough actually.

Interviewer: No his… um… Dick?

Clara: It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not that artificial. I just want his heart.

Interviewer: That’s sweet.

Gaz put his hands on the table. “Before I ask this, I promise not to feed on anyone.”

Price nodded. “Okay.”

“Can I bring Alex?”

“That dog?” Price groaned.

Alejandro started to look at face masks and Febreze.

“Yes. He’s my boyfriend. You can’t tell me he’s not attractive.”

Soap nodded. “And really cool too.”

“See! And he doesn’t smell bad. He smells like cologne because he drowns himself in it before he comes here.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Gaz sighed. “If he can’t come, I’m not coming.”

Price rubbed his temples. “Alright. He can come. Have him invite Laswell too.”

“At that point, why not invite the rest of the pack?” Alejandro pointed out, frowning. More out of confusion than anything else now.

“Fair. Let’s just invite all of them. And Chuy. And Koenig if the lad can ever make it here. I heard he was coming to our area a while ago.” Price pointed out.

Ghost hummed. “I’ll reach out to him through the ether later.”

“Fantastic idea!” Price clapped, looking very excited. “I’m getting married again!”

Interviewer: So, why do you want to kill bigfoot so bad?

Reyes: Bigfoot took someone very dear to me.

Interviewer: You want revenge?

Reyes: Yes. Bigfoot took… well. I shouldn’t say boyfriend. We were neighbors. Jesus. He was beautiful. He was kind. Rather generous but could set harsh boundaries if needed. I fell in love with him more every time we interacted. I watched that thing disappear from his home the same night he disappeared.

Interviewer: And why a crossbow?

Reyes: Well, the majority of hunters use them. They’re quieter, easier to certain materials, and you can reuse arrows. Plus, a lot of creatures aren’t hurt by bullets and needed something sharp that will pierce them.

Interviewer: Fascinating. Thank you so much. What else do you hunt?

Reyes: Well, normally I hunt and kill werewolves but since the night happened, bigfoot is all I have my eyes on.

Interviewer: Understood. And where are your plans now?

Reyes: To break into the Scottish man’s home because I know he’s harboring monsters.

Interviewer: How can you tell?

Reyes: Only someone who knows of monsters listens to advice from someone who’s a monster hunter. He didn’t take me seriously, so he wasn’t paranoid.

Interviewer: That’s smart.

Reyes stayed true to his word. He caught them by surprise because the interviewer wasn’t going to interfere there. With his crossbow in hand, he aimed right at Chuy. Deer skull shining in the cryptic light of the room.

“You bastard. I am finally getting my revenge against you.”

Chuy perked up when he came into the room. Not flinched or shrank or looked to leave. He leaned into Reyes’s aim. Soap thought he was an odd fellow.

“Why?” Rodolfo interrupted his clearly well thought out speech. He was currently sewing and seemed a bit put off about being interrupted. Everyone else was around doing similar hobbies now that Price had stopped talking to them. Even Soap was just casually drawing.

Reyes stumbled over it, caught off guard. “As I was about to explain.”

Clara snapped her fingers. There was no blast or light. Just a simple sound.

Reyes swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Ah…. I was saying…” He paused again and this time frowned. His nose twitched and all the bravado left him.

The man shook and shuddered, not fully reacting yet but clearly something… internal was happening.

Chuy stood and rushed to grab Reyes who tried to get away from him. Soap prepared himself to watch Chuy rip the man to shreds but before Chuy could even lift his mask to uncover his mouth, Reyes shrank and contorted. His body twisted and curled, enough to drag ragged, pained groans before they transitioned into squeaks. The shirt in Chuy’s hands stayed solid but the rest dissolved and bubbled into the rest of him. And in his place stood.

A rat.

Well groomed and with fur as dark as Reyes’s hair. It looked soft. Almost cute.

Chuy scooped him up immediately. “Enzo?”

The rats frantic movements to escape halted as it went still, looking at Chuy with wide rat eyes.

Chuy slid the mask off, revealing his face to the rat who continued to stare.

“Mi corazón. I am so sorry. I was so bored with my old life, I never anticipated anyone noticing me being gone. Yes, I lived as your neighbor your years, but I never realized how you looked at me.”

Alejandro stopped playing the piano. The room was silent.

“I noticed you but you were human. I couldn’t… drag you into this world when it’s so unsafe.”

If Ghost put his hand on Soap, it wasn’t noticeable.

“I live so long. I wanted to start new. Do something completely different. You were… new. So fun. Interesting. As you chased me, I will admit, I grew affectionate for you. Maybe that was my mistake, putting you in such danger.” Chuy gently pet the rat, watching it relax. “Mi corazón, can you understand me?”

No response.

“That is okay. It’s best you still don’t know my affections. You should go home. Be human like you’re supposed to be.”

Chuy gently held the rat. “My sweet Enzo.” He took a deep breath and held him out to Clara. “I appreciate what you did. But I’d like you to turn him back and erase his memories of me.”

Clara frowned. “No.”

Chuy frowned. “What. No. You don’t get to say no, change him back.”

“I can’t. I’m not able to erase memories. Not the right kind of witch for that. If I make him human, he’ll probably kill us.”

“No, listen, I can talk to him then. Convince him to leave, he has a soft spot for me, It’ll be fine.”

Clara frowned and waved her hand, but nothing happened. “Sorry, out of juice. He’s stuck.”

Chuy stared at Enzo, the rat in his hands.

“Look, luckily with his age, you have another few months!” She clapped happily. “Plus, well, he was only human. What’s the saying? Don’t worry about breaking them, they’ll die soon anyway? Or is it don’t worry about breaking them, they’re replaceable? You said it yourself, this world is dangerous for him. At least now, you can keep him safe in your pocket. Now, I’m going to go finish planning my wedding.”

Chuy stared at Reyes in his hands, clearly seething. He growled and Soap noticed how many teeth he had.

“Do any of you know any other fucking witches?”

#captain john price #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #Vampire Au #rodolfo parra

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starkwlkr · 1 year

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ii. i’ve got my eye on you

sorry anon who was asking about a new chapter, i finished writing it early so here you go :)

Clara had said her goodbyes to Valentino Rossi while her father continued his conversation with the Italian man. Several photographers had taken pictures of the King and Princess with Valentino. She waved and smiled as she was taught. It became a routine for her.

“I’m late?” She heard a voice from behind her causing her to turn around. She saw Marc, who she immediately recognized.

She chuckled at his nervousness and shook her head. “Not really. Just don’t tell my father about it, he gets annoyed when I’m late.”

“Oh. Uh, how are you liking it so far? Is it too loud?” Marc asked. He had no idea what to talk about with the literal princess of spain. They didn’t have anything in common as far as he knew. Maybe they both liked the same food or a show? He just felt a bit overwhelmed by a princess.

“You’re asking me if it’s too loud? We’re surrounded by motorcycles. It’s fine, Marc. I am definitely enjoying myself. It’s been a rough couple of days, but this is a great distraction.” Clara smiled.

“How come? Is being a princess hard? It doesn’t seem like it in the movies.” Marc joked. Being busy with motogp, he had no idea of what had happened with Clara and Lorenzo.

“It’s definitely not like the movies. I think I would much prefer being a princess in the movies than in real life. It looks like they have it easy—”

“Marc! There’s the world champion!” King Felipe interrupted.

“Your majesty, I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” Marc smiled at the king.

“The day has been great. I’m sure you’ll make our country proud like you always do.”

Talk about pressure.

Clara could sense Marc had become more nervous. Not only did he have the eyes of fans on him, but he had the king and princess of his home country counting on him.

“Thank you, your majesty.” Marc nodded. “I was just about to ask the princess if she would like some kind of souvenir to remember this day—”

“Lead the way, Marc.” Clara said. She loved her father, but he always had the worst timing.

“Clara!” King Felipe called out.

Marc felt like he was going to get banned from his home country for leaving the king by himself, but Princess Clara had dragged him away.

“Shouldn’t we—”

“Just pretend you’re giving me a tour. It’s nice to not have a microphone or camera in your face.”

So that’s how Marc and Clara ended up in his motorhome. He showed the inside and saw how her face lit up just by the simple motorhome.

“It’s cozy. I’m jealous.” She said as she sat on the sofa.

“Of this dirty unorganized thing?” Marc joked.

“It’s tiny and quiet. It feels nice in here.”

Marc nodded. Maybe the movies didn’t represent the royal life all too well. “Do you think your father likes me after this? He might think wrong. I don’t want to be on his bad side, he’s the king.” Marc sat beside her.

“If you want, we can go back. But you did promise some kind of souvenir.” She teased.

“Here.” Marc took off his hat and placed it on her lap.

“What? No autograph?” Pretended to be upset.

“The princess wants my autograph? I would be honored,” Marc played along and took out a permanent marker from his back pocket and signed the hat. “So do princesses have a complicated schedule or do I have to make some calls just so I can see you again?”

“You want to see me again?” Clara couldn’t believe it. Maybe this was some kind of prank and she was the victim of it.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”

It was clear that Marc couldn’t keep his eyes off of the princess. He didn’t believe in love at first sight until he finally met Clara then he realized how quickly she had stolen his heart.

#motogp fanfic #marc marquez #mm93 #sweet series #Marc Marquez x oc #motogp #princess of spain!oc #royal!oc #princess!reader #marc marquez imagine

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cowboylikelyric · 18 hours

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crystal (journalist!harry x gogo dancer)

Summary: Harry, a serious journalist, is taken to Club Chrome and becomes captivated by a dancer named Clara, known on stage as Crystal. Despite feeling out of place, Harry's flirtation leads to a deep connection and an invitation to walk her home. Their chemistry intensifies, revealing a side of Harry that contrasts with his usual nature.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving)

A/N: i know this isn't harry x reader but it was something that i really loved writing and i hope that you guys enjoy reading it. it isn't something that i've ever read before so i hope that you love it. let me know if you enjoy this because i'm thinking about making it a series.

---

April 10, 1962

I step into Club Chrome and immediately I feel a heat rush over me. People crowd everywhere around and Will nudges at my back to push me further in.

“C’mon, man,” He takes a grab at my shoulder and directs me toward the bar, “I needed a drink yesterday.” Will wears his shirt barely buttoned and his corduroy flares tight to his thighs. His hair looks like he hasn’t styled it in a week. I look down at my brown suit and tie with my quaffed hair. I’m completely in the wrong environment. I follow William to the bar, not aching for a drink in the slightest.

“Let me get two Old Fashioneds.” He slaps his money on the bar top and turns to watch the stage, or hanging platform rather.

The lights blare on the high stage, twinkling against the dancers. Do You Love Me by The Contours is the soundtrack to the three dancers' moves. Two of the girls stay in cages as they dance to the beat, while one of the girls remains free swaying her hips devilishly. She wears a silver bodysuit with glittery fringe dangling against the very tops of her thighs. She’s electric as she grabs one of the bars of the other girl's cages, slowly dropping her body down it.

William slaps my side. “What a fox, am I right?” He points to where she shimmies in her knee high gogo boots. Will hands me a drink, “You’re welcome, stud.”

My brows pull together in confusion. “And what exactly would I be thanking you for?”

“Getting your ass out here tonight.”

5 HOURS AGO

Sighing, I stretch against the office chair and drop my pen on my desk. I grab my mug and take a sip of my coffee, trying to find any motivation in the world.

At 7:30, I hear my apartment door slam shut, shortly followed by the yell of my best friend.

“Har?!”

“In the office, like every other time, Will!” His footsteps track toward the room until he’s standing at my doorway. He sees my notebook on my desk and that I’m still in my work clothes, his expression automatically dropping.

“Does work turn you on or something?” He shakes his head. “‘Cause I just don’t get your constant need to fuck your social life over.”

I turn my back to him, “Some people like to pay their rent, unlike you William.”

“Oh, my rent’s paid, Harold,” Not my name, “The ladies pay real nice.” He winks at me.

“Even better, “ I smile with sarcasm, “You’re a whore and a jobless loser.” Sadly, this doesn’t even discourage him, instead he just smirks.

“Being a man of the night, while uncommon, is still a job, Harry.” Yeah, my best friend’s a prostitute. Where have I gone wrong? “Besides the point, you need to get out of that chair and go somewhere that exercises your sex life.”

“I’m not practicing your lewd ways, Will.” I drink the rest of my coffee. “And even if I did want to leave the house, I’m not going because I need sex.” Sex wouldn’t hurt.

Will scoffs, “Well, then get your ass up for a drink, you look tense.” I grind my teeth. It’s not respectable to punch your best friend, it’s not respectable to punch your best friend.

“If I go, will you shut up?” A smirk paints his face again. Impossible. He nods quickly. I point past the doorway. “Fine, but get out.”

“Perfect, I’ll be here at midnight.” He slaps his own ass before leaving.

“Jesus Christ.”

NOW

“Whatever,” I scoff. I take a sip of the drink and feel the burn down my throat. I don’t fancy drinking, but I suppose some whiskey won’t hurt. Drifting closer to the stage, I leave Will behind. If I’m here against my will, I’m at least gonna try and enjoy it.

The lady on the stage’s eyes scan the crowd while everyone continues to dance and pay no mind to the beauty of the women on the platform. But when she finally meets my eyes, there’s a spark and my stomach drops. A wicked smile graces her face and she tiptoes herself to the edge of the platform.

She shouts down from her spot, “And who might you be?!” The corner of my mouth ticks up.

“Harry!” I yell up to her. She stops her dancing, which saddens me a bit, but she begins talking to me instead.

“You new around these parts, Harry?! Don’t think I’ve seen ya before!” I can’t stop focusing on the way the light bounces off her incredible body suit. She sits herself on the edge of the platform, coming closer so that we don’t have to shout.

“No,” I admit, “This just isn’t my scene.”

She laughs. “Baby, this is anyone’s scene once you’ve had a few drinks.” She extends her hand out to me. “Clara, but everyone here knows me as Crystal.”

I take her hand in mine and shake it. “Like Clara Bow.” Her smile twinkles.

“Exactly.”

I point to her fellow dancers beside her. “How come they don’t put you in a cage?” This sinister smirk spreads across her face at my question.

“Nobody puts Crystal in a cage.” Just the way she says it sparks something within me, making me want to reach forward and pull her off that stage and take her home. Clara runs her hands across the bedazzled fringe that covers her thighs. “How could I shimmer behind bars?”

“That’s a good question.” I reach and grab the heel of her white boot. “I guess we’ll never know.”

She smiles. “I like you, Harry.” Clara pokes my dimple that makes a rare appearance. “You’re different from these other fellas.”

“Oh yeah?” I hand my drink to her and let her take a sip of it. She hums and nods. “And how’s that?”

“Well, for starters, most of them are the fuzz and they’re all trying to cheat on their wives.” Then her eyebrows raise. “Please say you aren’t married,” Clara grabs my hand, “don’t be all show and no go, Harry.”

I raise my left hand and wiggle my bare ring finger. “Nothing to worry about.” She lets out a sigh of relief.

“Phew,” Clara pretends to wipe sweat from her brow, “I didn’t want to have to shoot you down.” I chuckle and she sets my drink down beside her on the stage. “What do ya say we cut outta here?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dancing?” She places her hands on my shoulders, beginning to slide off of the high stage. I grab her waist and bring her safely to the ground.

“They won’t mind.” She grabs my hand and starts pulling me further into the club. At some point, I lock eyes with Will and he sees Clara, offering me a wink. When I look back at her, Clara’s blinding me with a smile as she pulls me. “Hurry! Hurry!”

“Why in such a hurry?!” My shoulders keep knocking against others as we finally approach this door in the back of the club.

“Time is of the essence, Harry!” She pushes the door open and the cold air outside slaps us. Clara finally quits her pulling and lets the door shut behind us, leaving us outside. She reaches her hands up to grab my face, pointing it down toward her. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet, Harry?”

My breath catches in my throat. I rest my hands on her hips and press my forehead to hers. “Wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“Of course I want you to.” She presses her lips to mine and my tense body automatically relaxes. I pull her in closer by her waist and she wraps her arms around my neck. Her lips taste like cherries, making me groan.

“Taste so good.” I growl as her tongue skates across my lips, getting access to my mouth. She moans against my lips and I feel the sound in my cock. I try to gently back her up against the brick wall of the building, lifting her leg to wrap around my waist as I grind my hips forward. Clara gasps at the feeling, pulling away from the kiss. She has that sweet as sin smile on her face again.

“We shouldn’t do this out here.” She pushes at my chest before sneaking around me and walking forward along the sidewalk. “Now be a gentleman and walk me home, Harry.” Clara looks back over her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

I jog up to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder as we continue to walk in the cold night. In return, she wraps her arm around my waist.

“So what does a man like you do for work, Harry?” I notice how she likes to say my name at the end of every sentence. It makes me smile.

“I’m a journalist.” When she looks up at me, Clara gives me an amused look. “I know, go ahead. Call me a square. Will does all the time.”

She shakes her head. “No, you aren’t a square. It just makes perfect sense.” She leans to press a quick kiss on my shoulder. “Who’s Will?”

“The bane of my existence.” Her brows scrunch in confusion. I offer her a smirk. “Kidding. Unfortunately, William’s my best friend.”

Clara giggles beside me. “And what does Will do that’s so much more exciting than journalism?”

I clear my throat, not expecting her to ask that question. “He’s, um, a… man of the night per say.” My cheeks burn as if I’m talking of myself. Her brows rise a touch before she bursts out in laughter at the color of my cheeks I assume.

“Why so flustered, Harry?” I watch as she shivers just a touch. I peel my suit jacket off of my shoulders and drape it over hers before holding her again as we walk.

“Not sure.” I look down and her beauty strikes me in the gut. “You just make me so nervous.”

When she tips her head up to catch my eyes again, something in her gaze digs so deep into my soul. “Well, you make me feel brand new.”

“Brand new?” Clara nods. “In what way?” She stops walking and turns to face me.

“No part of you seems to be bothered by my work.” Her dancing.

“That’s because I’m not.” I grab her cheek and bring my nose to hers. “Your dancing amazes me.” Her eyes sparkle.

“That.” She emphasizes. “You’ve just made me brand new.” Clara pecks me quickly before looking past my shoulder. “This is mine.”

I turn around and try my hardest to not let my jaw drop at the house before me. No, the mansion in front of me.

“Yeah, trust me, I get it.” I look back at her and she nods at my expression.

“This place is…”

“I know.” She looks down at her feet. “I live alone.” She pulls my arm to follow her up her driveway. Clara sighs. “Daddy doesn’t really approve of my work, so he pays for me to live somewhere separate.”

“You live alone?” I could never live in a place like this all on my own. Too much of everything and not enough people. She nods softly.

“Yeah, it has its ups and downs.” When we reach the front door she turns back to me and presses her lips to mine quickly in a soft manner before turning back to lead me inside. I feel a flush on my face at her gesture.

“What are the ups?” I ask, not seeing how it could possibly be enjoyable to live in a house this big all on my own.

A wicked smirk spread on her face. “I get to be as loud as I like and no one can hear.” She wiggles her brows in a suggestive gesture.

My cheeks heat as we enter the house and I have to stop myself from gasping. Above us is a large, glittering chandelier and around us is a space larger than my entire apartment.

But when I look back down to Clara, she’s looking up at me with the same expression.

“What?” I ask. She shakes her head with a smirk.

Taking a firm grip of my shirt, she pulls me into her. “Nothing. Now kiss me you hunk.”

And of course I can’t say no. I grab her chin harshly and pull her lips to smash into mine. Clara moans against my lips as I migrate my hands to her hips and then her ass, squeezing.

She sheds my suit jacket from her shoulders before running her hands all over my body, all while kissing me. Clara began pulling me toward the couch, pushing me onto it. Before I know it, she's climbing onto my lap and connecting our lips again.

Clara takes complete control over me, and I can’t say that I hate any of it. In fact, I think that it’s making my cock throb even more.

Her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt as she presses continuous searing kisses on my lips. As soon as she’s got it unbuttoned, she’s throwing it behind her. However, she pulls from the kiss, groaning, when she realizes I’ve got on an undershirt.

“Are you trying to kill me, Harry?” She giggles into my shoulder.

“Never,” I say, sitting back a bit to peel the tank top over my head, tossing it beside me. “Better?”

Clara bites her lip with a smile, nodding, “Much.” She runs her fingers over my abdomen, a darkness tinting her eyes. They run all the way up my chest until her fingers grab at my chin, tilting my head to look at her.

Her eyes are this intense shade of blue that I’m sure only exists in the deep depths of the ocean. They punch me in the gut, rendering me speechless.

Clara smirks at the look on my face, I’m sure. She then takes my hands and leads them to her back where there’s a zipper waiting for me.

“Be a doll and unzip me, would you?” I nod like a helpless puppy, running my fingers over her skin before reaching for the zipper and slowly trailing it down her spine.Once it’s down far enough, I slide my fingers to the straps, slipping them down her shoulders. Clara helps me out, tugging down the front of the bodysuit, rendering me speechless as her breasts come into view.

Her tits sit up nice in front of me, her nipples flushed and hard as I reach for them. “So pretty, baby,” I whisper as I pinch her nipple between my calloused thumb and pointer finger.

A sweet moan leaves her lips, making me yearn for more noises. I lean forward and bring my tongue to her chest, licking my way all around her one tit, still using my fingers to stimulate the other. My lips wrap around her nipple, sucking in hopes of hearing more of her pretty noises.

“Harry,” A gasp leaves her throat as she tangles her fingers in my hair.

“What is it, baby?” I tease before switching my mouth to her other nipple. Her hips have a mind of their own as they begin grinding against mine, causing me to groan against her. Clara uses her hands that are in my hair to pull me from her chest.

Taking them out of my curls, she uses her hands to push herself off of the couch, before pulling her bodysuit the rest of the way down her body and stepping out of it. My cock twitches as I get sight of her fully naked body, the only thing left on her body is her gogo boots.

I reach forward and grasp the back of her upper thigh, pulling her directly in front of the couch. She looks down with a genuine smile, her hands resting on the sides of my face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper.

She snickers, “Quite the language you’ve got there.”

I shrug, “Can’t contain myself around someone as stunning as yourself.”

It was sweet, if you wanted to know the truth. The way we sat here in this comfortable silence after meeting only an hour prior. Sweet and sultry.

Clara takes my hand and pulls me from the couch, before turning her back to me and leading me through her house. It gives me the perfect opportunity to lower my eyes to her perfectly rounded ass. The way she sways her hips as she walks leads me to believe she knows exactly what she’s doing. I can barely pay attention to where I’m going with that thing in my face.

“Right here,” Clara drags me out of my daze as we enter what I assume is her bedroom. It’s a spacious room with not much in it beside a large bed pressed against the wall, an armoire, and a side table. “It’s not much I know, but I don’t need much.”

I look at her with a smile, placing my hands on her hips, and pressing my forehead to hers. “You know, it’s funny that you say that, because neither do I. Just need you in this moment.” And because I’m too impatient, I lock my lips with hers and begin pushing us in the general vicinity of the bed. Eventually we make it there and Clara tips back as her calves hit the edge. She laughs and pulls from the kiss, pushing herself up the bed. I kick off my shoes and shed my trousers before following after her.

She rests back on her shoulders, her chest rising as she breathes deeply. I unzip her boots and throw them beside the bed. I sit on my knees and rest on my calves as I let my eyes run up and down her dancer body.

“Hey, baby?” The word makes my heart jump.

“Yeah?”

She drags her foot down my chest to my boxers that hold back my very evident erection. “M’feelin needy.”

I grab her ankle and crawl closer to her, wrapping her leg around my hip. I offer her a faux pout, “Need me do somethin’ about it, baby?”

Clara nods. I smirk and take her hips, lifting them up abruptly. She squeaks at the movement, soon moaning out as I plant my mouth directly on her sopping pussy. I drag my tongue up her folds, huffing out a laugh.

“Shoulda told me you were this wet, honey,” I mumble against her cunt. Her chin is dropped to her chest as she watches me lap at her arousal. Bringing my lips around her clit, I suck on it making her groan.

“Oh my g- goodness,” Her teeth chatter as she speaks out. The desperate tone in her voice makes me thrust my hips against the mattress, looking for friction of any kind. I notice her hips start to grind against my face, moving them to her liking.

Bringing my fingers to her center, I run them up and down her folds, hearing her gasp. “Want my fingers?”

She nods, insistently, “Mhm!” I press one into her slowly and her back lifts off the bed, arching.

“Yeah?” I give her a second one and she’s squealing into a moan. I allow my tongue to continue working on her nerves as I fuck my fingers into her. Her cheeks are flushing as her eyes begin to shut and god, is it a sight to see.

I curl my fingers inside of her and feel around for the spot within her that will drive her crazy. When Clara gasps out suddenly, I know I’ve found it.

Her legs begin to shake and her cunt squeezes my fingers like a vice. “Gonna cum, Clara?”

“Yes, Harry,” Her eyes wired shut, “Yes!”

“C’mon, baby,” I keep my fingers at their pace, my tongue flat over her clit so she can ride it herself.

She lets out a stretched out moan, her back arched beyond belief as her hips continue to grind against my face through her orgasm. It has got to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Her cries only get louder as my fingers continue to fuck her through that high. When it becomes too much, she grabs my wrist, pushing my hand away.

I crawl up over her, softly kissing her cheek then down to her lips. “Feel good, baby?”

She nods and lifts her arms to pull my hips closer to her. “Very good.” Her sneaky fingers tug at the waistband of my briefs.

I pull my face back a touch. “What’re you up to, crazy?”

Clara bites her lip, trying to hide her suspicious smile. “Wanna make you feel good.”

I grab her wrists and pin them above her hand, placing my lips beside her ear before whispering, “Oh, trust me, I’m gonna feel real good when my cock is drowning in your pussy.”

She gasps into my ear, but when I pull back to watch her face, she’s got a wicked smirk on. “Such naughty things you say.”

“I’m a journalist, baby.” I smile. “Wide vocabulary.”

I peel my briefs down my legs, kicking them from my feet. I sigh at the relieved feeling my cock experiences as it’s freed. When I look back up to Clara, she’s got wide eyes and blushed cheeks.

“I- I, uh,” She shakes her head, “I don’t know if that’s going to fit in, um, me.”

“It’s okay,” I bring my hand to my cock, giving it a few strokes with my that’s soaked in Clara’s arousal, “We’ll make it fit.”

She gulps in the way a cartoon character would, where you can watch the bump travel down her throat. I run my opposite hand up and down her hip.

“Relax, baby,” I kiss her cheek again.

Clara nods and brings her hand in front of her face, spitting on it, before wrapping it around my cock to join my own. A deep groan travels up my throat as she squeezes it slightly.

“Perfect,” I growl, “You’re perfect.”

She shakes her head, “Not a singular person is perfect,” Clara brings my tip to the mess of her wet cunt, dragging it through it, “But together, we could be perfect.”

She lines me up before I nudge my hips forward, slowly feeding my cock into the tightness of her pussy. Her jaw drops as she lets out a sound I haven’t heard from her yet.

“Fuck,” I whine out as I continue to slip into the wetness of her. Her arms reach up to rest on my abs while her legs wrap around my waist.

When I give her the last bit of my cock, submerging myself fully, her nails dig into my abdomen and her voice turns shaky, “Oh my- you’re so deep.”

I took a firm grasp of her hips and started to give her gentle thrust, not trying to overwhelm her too quickly. But, god, was it hard to hold back.

“You feel so good, baby,” I whisper beside her ear, “Nice and wet for me, squeezing me just right.”

Her face screws up in pleasure as she whines, “More, please.” And of course I can’t say no to her.

I pull my hips back until all that’s left inside her is the tip before thrusting back into her. She cries out, her hips grinding up to meet my thrusts. I move one of my hands to her ass cheek, giving it a tight squeeze as I give her harder thrusts.

Clara starts laying kisses on my neck, her tongue dragging against the spot beneath my ear, making me growl, “Driving me fuckin’ crazy.”

She giggles, quickly cut off by a moan, “Good, I like my men wild.”

“Yeah?” I tease, taking the back of her thigh to push her knee to her chest, putting us in a position that allows me to slide deeper. “Well, I like my women tight and dripping so I guess we’re both in luck.”

Her brows furrow as uses her fingers to tweak her nipples, moaning softly.

“Be loud, baby, wanna hear you.” I pick up the pace of my hips and she sure does let go. Her cries grow louder and longer, especially when I reach my thumb down to rub over her clit.

“Oh sh- shoot!” She shouts, squeezing her tits. I laugh at her choice of words.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” She nods desperately. “Won’t even swear while I’m inches deep in your pussy.”

She whimpers as I press my thumb firmer to her clit. She also clenches around me and I nearly cum right there. It’s then that I think about the fact that I’m fucking her bare. Fuck.

Clara’s walls continue to flutter around me, signaling to me that she’s going to cum again. So I keep my pace steady and keep pinching at her clit.

“I’m gonna-“ Her eyes squeeze shut and her fists clench beside her.

“Give it to me. And I want you screaming my name when you do.” And scream she does. We may be alone in this huge mansion but I’m sure someone miles away could hear how loud she’s being.

“Harry-“ Her thighs start to shake and I feel a certain feeling climb up my spine as my thrusts begin to lose rhythm. Her back arches as high as it can with her knee still to her chest as I continue to pound her through her high.

“That’s it, baby,” I talk her through, feeling as my high starts to make its way to the surface soon after hers. My chest rises and falls as I try to control how fast it comes on to me. But it has been months since the last time I had sex, and my hand can only get me so far.

When her orgasm recedes, I pull out of her, giving my cock the proper strokes as she lays there is a post-orgasmic bliss. “Where do you want my cum at, darling?” She’s a bit slow to answer, saying nothing, just opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out. My cock twitches in my hand at the sight in front of me. “In your mouth?”

She nods with a smile on her face, tongue still out. I grab the back of her head and lean her face closer to my cock. She touches her tongue to my tip as I stroke it and something about the way she looks up at me with a sweet look in her eyes has me done for.

“Shit, Clara,” I groan as I shoot ropes of cum onto her tongue. She snickers as I do and it drives me insane. I milk out every last drop into her mouth and watch as she enjoys every bit of it. I tap off any last drops then pull away as I start to slowly soften. Clara closes her mouth and swallows my cum before smiling. I lazily lay my body on top of hers, burying my face in her neck.

She rubs her hands up and down my back, speaking up, “Harry?”

“Mhm?” I barely hum out.

“My leg’s starting to cramp. Could you move it please?” Oh, yeah. I still had her leg folded like a pretzel against her chest.

“Shit, yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t even think-” I pull away from her, an embarrassing flush coating my face as I let her leg down to hit the mattress. She gets a smitten smile on her face.

“It’s okay,” Clara reassures, “Don’t get all shy on me now, you’ve already done me in.” That is what I’m going to guess is her clean version of saying I’ve already fucked her.

“I know,” I put my face back in the crease of her neck and shoulder, “Just feel like such a square around you.”

She laughs, “Nothing about what you just did to me was square, Harry. And maybe I like squares. Did you ever think of that?” I shrug, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull myself closer to her.

“Explains why you brought me home.” She scoffs, but doesn’t continue the conversation any further. We bask in this comfortable silence for a good while. A romantic silence even. Clara has her hands in my hair, massaging my scalp, and I have my hands rubbing her hips. How come I’d never experienced this before? Every other time I’d been sexy with a lady, she’d kick me out immediately, embarrassed, I assumed. But Clara was in no rush for me to leave.

“I’d like to see you again, Harry.” She breaks the silence. “I’d like to see you a lot.”

I huff out a chuckle, assuming she’s joking until I hear no laugh from her end. I pull my face from her neck to look at her. “You serious?”

She bristles at my question. “Of course, I’m serious. I’m no jokester.”

My brows furrow, “Well, why’d you wanna see me again?”

She rolls her eyes as if it’s obvious, “Because I told you, you make me feel brand new. Like I-” She takes a deep breath, “Like I can be who I wanna be.” She bites her lip, getting visibly nervous.

“Shouldn’t everyone make you feel like that?” I ask.

“They should, but they don’t.” She frowns.

I close my mouth and stare into her eyes. I run my hand up to her cheek, brushing hair from her face. “Then, yes, I’ll see you again. I’ll see you a lot.”

A bright smile takes over her entire face as she plants a peck on my lips, “Cool.”

I nod, “Cool.”

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