#i hope this all makes sense i am so fucking awful at putting thoughts into words
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do you think jason was fridged? i see a lot of people talk about it and i wanna know what you think
the boring answer is no, he was not fridged because the term was created in reference to female characters and jason isnt a female character
but that answer sucks. so lets look more into it!!! (trigger warning for screenshots of alex dewitt & barbara gordon's respective fridgings under the cut, also screenshots from death in the family but none of the graphic ones)
i make jokes about jason getting fridged all the time bc there is definitely an argument for it but i think my answer is. no but with feeling
i can definitely see where people who think he was fridged are coming from. jasons death was entirely used to further bruce's grief and joker killed robin just to get back at batman, not to mention starlin was writing jason out of character so he could have an excuse to kill him. then ofc after jasons death there was the glass case & the fact that he was only brought up with things like "jason died because he didnt take it seriously" or whatever so the case for fridging is there
but the reason i dont consider it fridging is that he had a good amount of agency in death in the family. the story was ABOUT him, and he made choices in the story that led to his death in the way that other fridged characters didnt
ofc we have to look to Miss Refrigerator herself alex dewitt <3
alex was attacked because of kyle, she didnt do anything to cause major force to attack her, she was a character that was killed just so kyle could be upset about it. she had no agency in the story, and he killed her so hard they had to make a new word for it
then ofc there was the same thing with barbara
the only agency she had in this moment was that she chose to answer the door and. thats it. she wasnt even shot for being batgirl, she was shot because she was jim's daughter and it was entirely intended as a way for joker to use her injury to hurt jim
jason on the other hand! the story was about him (as much as it could be for a side character) and before i get into this i want to clarify that i am NOT saying that he deserved it because of his choices. that is not at all true. all im saying is that he had agency in the story and it was about him in a way that it wasnt about alex or babs
in death in the family, jason had plenty of agency. his death was about finding his mom and saving her. he died after he chose to protect her instead of listening to bruce
also?? bruce isnt mentioned once in the scene where joker beats jason until its already done and joker doesnt want batman to find out
so overall its not really a fridging!! he has a lot to do and a lot of focus within the story, and he was killed during his effort to save someone :( once again thats not to say his death was his fault, but he had a lot to do in the context of his death that it was still about him up until he died
his death was because of bruce because joker wouldnt have gone after him if it werent to get back at batman, but jason still had a lot to do in the story and it kinda goes against the whole point of the fridging trope. fridging isnt "side characters getting killed is bad" its "established characters getting no agency in their own death is bad (especially when said characters are women or minorities)"
#im sorry fridge truthers </3 i understand your argument but alas i dont agree#i hope this all makes sense i am so fucking awful at putting thoughts into words#jason todd#dc
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Congrats on 40k Jade! Also hi, I hope you're having a great day (I'm really nervous this is my first time sending in a request I'm so sorry if I sound weird)
𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less
Can I request a reader that has a bit of a temper and got told that no one would like her because of it so she's a bit insecure about herself? My favourite character is James so maybe with him or with Remus whichever you prefer (and they reassure her and it's awesome because your writing is just so awesome)
Congrats again <3
luveline's 40k party ☆
thank you so much, you didn't sound weird at all dw ♡ fem!reader
The day has been long, your feet dragging up the steps to Remus' flat. His door sticks and the only radiator that doesn't need bleeding is the one in his bedroom, so it's cold, and you're irked. You kick out of your pinching shoes and hang your jacket up, which falls on the floor. You pick it up and it falls again. Huffing, you put it on the sideboard and trudge down the hallway to Remus bedroom.
"Hello, my lovely," he says without looking up.
There's a notebook in his lap. He's wearing his reading glasses. If you were in a better mood you'd try to distract him by laying across his thighs. As it stands, you're fucking exhausted. You flop down in his bed and curl towards him where he's sitting against the headboard.
"Tired?" he asks.
"Mm." Tired isn't the right word, but the right word makes people cringe at you.
Today has been awful and you hate the part of you that wants to rail about it. You can't help how you feel; this anger glows molten. It makes you hate yourself, which irks you worse. You grab one of his pillows and pull it against your chest to squeeze it until your arms hurt.
"Bad day?" he asks, pen scratching.
You exhale. "A bit," you say into the pillowcase.
"Sorry, dovey," he says. There's the sound of paper leaves catching against one another and the clink of a pen put away. "What did you say? I needed to finish writing that edit down before I forgot."
You're not mad at him in particular but your voice comes out tightly strung anyhow, "I said it was a bit of a bad day."
Remus hears your tone and refuses to skirt around the issue. Not from a want to be confrontational, but a direct way of going about things. "What, are you mad at me?"
"No," you say, turning away from him.
"You seem mad."
"I think I am."
"Well, now you don't sound mad," he says, dipping down to talk into the back of your neck. "Now you sound upset. Have I upset you?"
"No, Remus," you say. Mad to sad to mad again, your shoulder and spine ache with rigidity.
All his questions didn't make you mad, but you were mad to begin with, and so what might usually be very normal turns to irritating. In the moment, you've no hope of controlling it, and, not wanting to further subject Remus to any misdirected annoyance, you shuffle out of his reach. "I just need a minute," you say.
Remus is used to your temper, though you often worry he'll grow tired of you and your big moods and throw in the towel. You count useless numbers in your head and curl your fists into balls until your bones feel like they're too big for your skin, wanting to deal with it alone.
A minute or two later and Remus reaches for your side. "I was trying to lighten the mood, and it wasn't my best work," he says, tip of his thumb drawing semi circles into your shirt.
Remus taking the blame for your emotions has you frowning, rabbit-holing into twisting thoughts. He's always been good for you and good to you, accepting of your short fuse. He's not always sunshine and lollipops himself. But, he's not angry half as often as you are. Does that bother him? People have said to you before that your temper will be the ruining of a good thing, that Remus won't want to deal with it. And it makes sense.
You don't want to deal with it either. You don't really feel like you have much choice when it comes to being mad.
"Sorry," you mumble.
Mattress springs groan as he leverages himself closer to you. Familiar, his hand sneaks under your shirt to tickle the soft roll of your stomach. He draws a slow and winding line with no end nor goal in mind, uncaring of the pouch you get laying down. Remus doesn't really care about anything that could be marked superficial. It's one of the many reasons that he's markedly the best person you know; he loves everything that you hate about yourself without hesitation. Like your anger.
"Do you want to set a rule?" he asks.
"Pardon?"
"Humour me. Let's make a condition before we have this conversation." Remus stops drawing to slide his hand between your hip and the mattress, hugging you to him. "I'll assume you're not mad at me even if you sound angry, and you can assume I don't mind."
"Do you mind?" you ask.
"Well, I don't love when you're angry, but I know it isn't at me so it won't matter."
Reassured enough to face him, you meet his eyes.
"I know I have a tendency to make it sound like I'm angry at you when I'm really mad at someone else," you say.
"That's not true. And I ask, don't I? If I think you're mad at me?" Remus' already dulcet voice drops to a murmur, words said slowly and with as much care as a person can put into words alone, "I don't know why you feel like you're such a bad person for being angry."
"Because it's all the time," you say. Your throat burns with the effort that it takes to stay intelligible.
"It's not all the time."
"It's often, and it's not fair to you."
"It's not fair to take it out on other people, and I promise you I'd let you know if you were doing that. So… could you just tell me why you're mad? Without worrying I'll take it personally."
"It's not about taking it personally, I don't want you to take it personally, but it's just– it's just ugly, isn't it?"
Remus frowns. "Honestly? I don't think so. You have to be angry sometimes. Everyone gets angry and those feelings need somewhere to go, or it'll eat you up inside and make you bitter instead. Like… okay, he'll forgive me for telling you this, but Sirius used to get into these awful angry tirades where he'd shout at nothing, you know? And I hated seeing him do it, but I wasn't sitting there thinking he was ugly for it. I just kind of hated that something was able to occupy him so heavily. And that's how I feel about it when it happens to you, dove."
"He used to?" you ask, the bridge of your nose flat to his knee.
"Yeah, he did." Remus pushes your shoulder flat to the bed beneath you and leans in to give you a kiss. The corner of your mouth takes the brunt of it.
"Did you kiss him like this, or–"
Remus laughs and hugs you, "A discussion for another day," he murmurs. He gives you a last kiss and squeeze and then sits up. "So shout at me."
"I don't want to shout at you."
"You know what I mean. Tell me what pissed you off today."
"Are you sure?" you ask.
"Yeah, I'm sure, I like the way your eyes look anyways, when you get riled up." Remus finds your hand to hold. "Tell me, dove. I'll be angry with you."
#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x fem!reader#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x y/n#marauders era#remus x reader#remus x you#marauders#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin blurb#marauders x reader#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fanfic#remus lupin fanfiction#the marauders#luveline's 40k party
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A Shadowed Throne (Azriel x Reader)
Summary: The warmer seasons have been particularly hard this year as Azriel awaits his Queen's return. When winter finally dawns he finds Death will only kneel to life in one circumstance.
Warnings: SMUT, throne-sex, unprotected sex
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: Hello everyone! This was heavily inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone if that wasn't obvious. Also incredibly inspired by @azsazz's beautiful work called "Between the Shadow and the Soul" so please give that a read. I asked on anon if I could write something similar and I am thrilled they agreed. I hope everyone enjoys it, and as always constructive criticism is welcome!
The halls in the Obsidian Castle are always eerily quiet. You can only hear the whispers of the souls that bustle around the castle. The God of Death finds that he enjoys quiet peace. The cold marble of his throne presses against his back and calms his racing pulse. He feels your presence enter his realm. Shadows bring him a rush of warmth and the smell of sweet spring flowers.
The feeling awakens something in his blood he thought was long dead. This spring's goodbye was awful, the summer bittersweet, and the fall melancholy.
Winter was always his favorite season.
Selfishly he loved the quiet bliss of snowfall and the influx of souls that enter his realm. Most of your smaller creations don’t survive the harshness the winter brings, but he wipes your tears and consoles you that all of your creations will be safe with him. He cherishes each one, kindly guiding them back when they’re ready to move on.
Two souls open the large doors to the throne room. When he sees you the cold heart in his chest starts to beat again. He surveys you from where you stand at the door.
You had chosen a dress in a deep purple for your return home. Two thigh-high slits let him see the vines that wrap all the way down to your bare feet. Your usual flowers had been swapped out for an homage to the underworld. A crown of lilies, nightshade, and oleander were woven through your hair. Two sets of foxglove dangled from your ears and purple emperor butterflies fluttered around your neckline.
You were a vision, a true queen of his realm.
Your eyes locked for one tortuous moment. Neither of you moved, exhaling a small breath before you take off to him in a run. With a wave of his hand, the souls cleared out of the throne room. They would celebrate the return of their queen later with a week-long festival in your honor.
He fully intended to celebrate the return of his queen right fucking now.
He pulled you onto his lap as soon as you reached the throne, the butterflies scattering into the air and landing around the both of you. One brave butterfly rests on his hair before your fingers chase it away.
He wraps one strong hand through your hair before finally drawing his mouth to yours. After months and months of cold, he finally feels warm again. He draws his tongue along the seam of your lips, and they open for him as he greedily slides his tongue into your mouth. He moans as the taste of honey and pomegranates flood his senses and you dig your hands into his hair and pull so harshly he fears you may have drawn blood.
“Azriel,” you whine his name into his mouth and he wants to inject the sound into his veins. Mortals fear his name, only referring to him as Death or King, and he finds he doesn’t mind their fear.
He only wants his name to fall out of your lips anyway.
He moves his lips to mark the soft skin of your neck. He wants to leave his mark everywhere on your body. He wants to remind you of why he deserves your return to him every winter. Azriel’s instincts are kicking into high gear. He wants to claim you and make you beg and cry underneath him and never let you go again. However, he puts that on pause.
For now.
He stands up, hauling your whole body against him before pinning you to the back of the throne and falling to his knees.
All life has to yield to Death eventually, it’s the way of the world, but Death kneels for Life in some instances. He parts your dress, fingers toying with the vines that wrap up and down your legs before diving in. His eyes almost glaze over as he licks one strong stripe through your center, tongue gently flicking over the apex of your thighs in a way that makes you convulse and squirm beneath his tongue. There will be time for teasing later.
Azriel intends to fully make you beg for him when he can properly take you apart in the bed that has been dreadfully cold in your absence. He eats you like he was starving for it, in a way he was, as he laps at the juices running down your thighs and looks up at you through half-lidded lashes. Your cheeks are flushed, your chest heaving up and down as your fingers wind through his inky black hair. You urge him back down and he lets out a dark chuckle that wraps your bones in dark silks.
Azriel laps his tongue at your center before thrusting inside and you let out a moan of approval. His tongue fucks you in and out as one hand comes up to rub tight circles against your clit. You shatter against him with another scream of his name. Azriel’s eyes find yours again and he takes a moment to admire his queen. Your skin is flushed with a thin layer of sweat, even in the cool throne room, and you're lounging on the throne like a true ruler of the underworld. The sight makes his painfully hard cock twitch in his pants. He shucks your legs off of his shoulder before rising to his full height before you. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, playing innocent, even as you undo the laces that hold his pants shut. Your hand runs over him and his head falls back with a groan.
He needs to get inside you now or this is going to be over far before it begins.
He takes your hands away and pins them above your head as he slowly sinks in inch by tortuous inch. He tries to patiently wait for you to adjust but you dig your nails into his wrists and growl in his ear for him to “move already,” he begins to fuck you at a relentless pace. His hands drag down the top of your dress and he takes the weight of both breasts in his palms. He runs a thumb over your nipples before pinching and pulling in time to his thrusts.
“You’re such a good fucking girl,” He growls into your ear and he feels your run a hand up the back edge of his wing. He lets out a long moan, hips stuttering for a second, and he bites your neck in warning before pounding into you at a relentless pace.
You’re trying to arch your hips to meet his thrusts but you’re too fucking cock drunk to keep up.
He reaches one hand down to play with your clit again and he brings you to another mind-numbing orgasm that makes your walls convulse around his cock. That and the way your nails are digging into his back sends him growling through his release. He pulls out slowly before tucking himself back in his pants and rearranging you so that you’re sat on his lap. Az rubs small circles on your lower back and you play with the ends of his hair.
“Sweetheart,” you mutter and he looks down at you, a small smile playing on your lips. “Where’s my throne?” He tries to smother the guilty look before feigning his innocence. With a wave of his hand your throne appears. A rose quartz twin to his obsidian one.
“It depresses the souls when you’re not here Flower. I had to hide it.” It’s not a complete lie. He notices the sad glances the souls steal at your throne when you’re not here, it saddens him a bit as well, like half of his heart is missing. An incomplete set.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” He sends another guilty smile your way. The whole truth is that he hid it so he could enjoy you on his throne, and you’ve always been able to clock his bullshit from a mile away.
“Anyway,” He continues, hopeful to change the subject as he rises to his feet with you in his arms. You let out a small squeal and grip him tighter. “You have a party to prepare for my love. We’re thrilled to have you back.” He’s marching you to your bedroom and he kicks the throne room door closed behind him.
“Azriel if you drop me I swear I will make flowers grow out of your ears.” It’s an empty threat. He can feel your body shake with unreleased laughter and hear the smile in your voice. Az leans down to playfully nip at your ear before he jostles you in his arms just to make the laugh you were holding bubble up in your chest.
“I would never drop you Flower.”
And for the first time in months, on the evening of the first day of winter, the halls of the Obsidian Castle are filled with the sounds of laughter.
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Jamie’s afraid of making a big deal out of being hurt after everything that happened in season 1 - he doesn’t want everyone to think he’s being a prick again. But then one day either in season 2 or 3 he actually is genuinely hurt badly (the reason is up to you) but doesn’t tell anyone and shows up to practice anyway. It’s bad enough that he collapses on the field and that’s when everyone finds out.
I could have made this so much easier on myself and literally just written the conversation at the end. As it is, I started hating this about a third of the way through.
I hope that's just hyper-criticism of my own work and that this is still an enjoyable request fill.
---
It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose.
A lack of sleep, a dark hallway, and a half-forgotten set of steps had all converged into a little tumble in the middle of the night. That was all.
A bruised side. A knock on the head. No big deal.
That’s what Jamie had told himself as he’d inspected the damage in the mirror. He would be fine. He could put his kit on at home and wear a beanie to cover up the dark smudge of skin at his temple.
No one would notice. No one needed to know. It would be fine. Hardly the first time he’d pushed through an injury to stay in the game, was it?
He didn’t need to miss training. He didn’t need to turn up at Nelson Road and tell Ted he couldn’t play. Just the thought of trying to do so sent a thrill of unease through Jamie that he wasn’t keen to examine too closely.
So he took some ibuprofen, slowly and stiffly got changed into his Richmond gear, and called a taxi to get himself to the training ground late enough that no one had time to question his appearance.
(Driving was out of the question. He could admit that.)
Roy all but sneered at him when he stumbled in - that wasn’t anything to write home about, though. He caught a few looks from the others and had to wave Dani off on their way out to the pitch but, otherwise, Jamie was able to keep his head down and not draw attention to himself.
Drills were awful. Just stretching out his legs had him biting his tongue against making any pained sounds. When they started lunging, the hot-sick pain in his side necessitated swallowing down bile.
Sprints weren’t the worst, though Isaac definitely noticed he wasn’t starting from a crouch as he normally would. Then Nate had them doing a coordination exercise, hopping sideways and throwing balls between each other.
Lifting his arms was bad enough. Then each hop jolted Jamie’s whole body and made his head throb.
He managed, somehow, but Jamie wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He was being slow and clumsy. He was being useless. Fuck.
Panting, sweating, and trying not to throw up, he hovered at the back of the group and prayed no one called him out. No such luck.
“You alright, mate?” Colin had sidled over while Ted called out their scrimmage teams. He was speaking quietly, which Jamie appreciated, but frowned at him with an unusual level of seriousness. Shit.
“Course I am.” Jamie forced himself to straighten up and smile. It felt wrong on his face. Too many teeth. “Just got a stitch. Didn’t drink enough.”
Colin looked doubtful, like he was about to question him further, but Jamie pushed forward to accept his yellow vest from Beard and positioned himself as far away from the Welshman as he could.
He was careful to stay in the formation they were practising, though. No sense in fucking up training for everyone more than he already had.
Roy hollered “WHISTLE!” from the side of the pitch and everyone lurched into action. Running around wasn’t so bad and Jamie soon lost himself in the game, following the movement of the ball and players with a preternatural instinct, ignoring any pain as the inconvenient distraction it was.
The few times the ball came his way, he took control of it as if by second nature, barely having to tell his feet what to do as he passed to Dani, then to Sam ten minutes later.
He was being a good teammate. He was playing like he was supposed to. And then he heard someone shout his name.
Jamie didn't need to look around to know that the ball would be sailing through the air towards him. He didn't need to deliberate about what to do. He would catch the ball on his chest and send it to Sam again before Richard could make it close enough to tackle. It was the only option to get it in the net.
He didn't need to think about it. He just did it.
And his sore, battered ribs only crossed his mind when he jumped up and twisted mid-air.
The yelp of pain was completely involuntary and Jamie would have been horrendously embarrassed by it if he hadn’t immediately crumpled into a heap on the pitch.
Something had grinded in his torso. It fucking hurt. It felt wrong.
He distantly registered the sound of an actual whistle over the rushing white noise in his ears as he lay gasping on the damp grass. A hand grasped his arm and Jamie realised Richard had skidded to his knees beside him, ball forgotten.
“Jamie? What’s wrong?” More hands were on him, trying to turn him over, but the slight pull sent another wave of sick pain through his side and he keened, curling up further to stave off the harm. “Merde, get the medics.”
“Colin’s already gone.” That was Isaac, a lot closer than he’d been less than five minutes ago, defending the box on the other end of the pitch. “He’ll need a stretcher if we can’t move him ourselves.”
“Fuck.” The notion of needing to be carried out of training brought Jamie back to himself. “I don’t need… Fuck it. I’m fine.”
“No, you are not.” Sam was standing over him as well, Jamie realised as he tried to force himself up to his knees at least. Most of the team were looming around, actually, and Ted broke through their little huddle right as a spike in pain brought up the vomit Jamie had been desperately holding back all morning.
“Hoo boy.” An American accent could really cut through the crowd, apparently, since Jamie had no problem hearing that low exclamation over twenty or so sounds of disgust.
Someone stopped him from pitching forward into his own sick and Jamie finally, limply, accepted help back upright onto his own shaky legs. Ted’s hands were one of the several pairs supporting him and Jamie could feel the humiliation and shame rising up in his gut like another bout of nausea.
“Sorry, coach,” he mumbled, even as he let Isaac put a secure arm around his waist. Sam tried to prop up his other side but Jamie shied away with an apologetic shake of the head. “Ribs. Don’t- Can’t lift me arm right now.”
He silently begged the younger player to understand, to not take it as yet another personal slight. Because Sam Obisanya was a much better person than Jamie would ever be, he only took a firm hold of Jamie’s elbow instead, face belying nothing but concern.
“Okay, folks, let’s give him some room.” Ted shooed gently at everyone not currently vital to keeping Jamie vertical. “You fellas got a good hold of him? We can get a stretcher out here, tout sweet.”
“Don’t want a fucking stretcher. I can walk.” Jamie bit out, choosing not to acknowledge how heavily he was still leaning on Isaac and Sam.
“Well, son, I’m not all too keen on taking your word for that right now.”
Ted’s tone didn’t change at all from the pleasant, practical way he’d just addressed the others. He didn’t raise his voice even a little. Jamie still felt the admonishment like a physical blow and hung his head with a wince.
“We’ve got him,” Sam spoke up. “Treatment room, right?”
They made an awkward threesome, hobbling off the pitch behind Ted and down the tunnel. Colin jogged out to meet them with a medic in tow and (surprise, surprise) Roy peeled off from the other coaches to join the entourage hustling Jamie towards the now-not-haunted medical suite.
Settled uncomfortably on the edge of the reclining bed, with a hovering audience whose eyes he couldn’t meet if he tried, Jamie numbly answered the medic’s questions about his pain level and location. He allowed her to gently remove his hat and examine the bruise underneath, went through the concussion tests without complaint, and was even honest about when he’d last eaten or drank anything.
When she pulled up his shirt, there was more than one sympathetic wince around the room. A quick look down confirmed that the bruise, though still quite small, had deepened in colour since he’d last poked at it and his skin looked oddly swollen around the area.
Even the barest methodical prodding with careful fingers made Jamie flinch and hiss through his teeth. The medic (Jennifer, Jamie vaguely recalled) hummed thoughtfully.
“Two are definitely broken. You’ll need to stay off the pitch for a few weeks, at least.”
The prognosis tightened Jamie’s throat like a hand was clamped around his neck.
“Weeks? Nah, fuck that,” he choked out. “I were playing fine until I took the chest ball. I can still score.”
“Are you actually thick?” Roy demanded, loud and angry as per usual. There was something wild in his expression as he stepped closer to the bed. “How fucking stupid do you have to be to try and play with broken fucking ribs.”
“Fuck off, you won’t even coach me,” Jamie snarled at him, all attempts at mending bridges forgotten in the wake of pain and frustration. “Don’t act like it matters if I play hurt or not. I’ve done it plenty times before.”
“Alright, alright!” Ted cut in between them before Roy could retort with whatever words had conjured up that twisted, outraged look on his face. Nothing good, Jamie was sure.
“Roy, why don’t you take five, okay? In fact, let’s clear the room. Y’all got things to do, I’ll stick with Jamie while the good doc here gets him set up with what he needs.”
Even with Ted partially blocking his view, Jamie could see Roy was about to argue. Surprisingly, it was Isaac’s hand on his shoulder that seemed to take the wind out of his sails.
“Fuck! Fine!” He shrugged the hand off and pointed damningly at Jamie’s face. “But you’re not putting a toe out on the grass until I say so, you bloody fuckwit.”
With that, Roy stormed out of the room, sending the door bouncing off the wall with the force of his exit. Jamie’s teammates followed much more sedately, all with looks back over their shoulders and quiet murmurs Jamie couldn’t discern.
“Here.” He jumped slightly when maybe-Jennifer reappeared at his side with a bundle of items. “Drink this and take two paracetamol. Hold the ice pack to your side for twenty minutes. If the swelling hasn’t gone down, I’ll send you home with a few extras, okay?”
“Thank you kindly, doc,” Ted answered for him. “I’ll make sure he stays put for a bit.”
“Not a doctor,” she corrected mildly but gave Ted a smile and nod. “I’ll need you to sign an incident report and there’s some insurance paperwork to go through. I’ll go get the ball rolling on that and check in later.”
Jamie didn’t really like the way they were talking around him, rather than to him. He liked the idea of being alone with Ted after having caused a scene and an extra load of work for him even less. Still, he couldn’t think of any reason for the medic to stay and just watched her walk away, gently closing the door in her wake.
“You should probably do as she says,” Ted said softly after a moment of quiet, indicating the bottle of water and packet of tablets. “Doesn’t strike me as the ‘take it or leave it’ kind of advice. Rarely is, from those of the medical persuasion, even if they don’t have a fancy title.”
Moving like he was underwater, braced for the other shoe to drop, Jamie silently went through the motions of taking the painkillers. He tried not to move in any way that would agitate his injury but his hands were still shaking by the time he reached for the ice pack.
“Oh, here, let me…” Ted stepped in closer, his own hands outstretched, and Jamie flinched violently. The sudden jolt caused his abused ribs to make themselves known all over again and a small shout fell from his mouth unbidden.
“Alright, okay, no touching, got that memo, loud and clear,” Ted rambled on while Jamie waited for his vision to clear from the haze of pain. When it did, he noticed his coach frozen in place, hands still hovering in midair and significantly less threatening than moments before.
“Sorry,” he croaked, embarrassment and discomfort robbing his voice. “Didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”
“Now, hey, no. That one’s on me.” Ted glanced around and pulled up a chair to sit near Jamie’s knees. “How’s about you get that ice where it needs to be and you and I have a little heart-to-heart, that sound okay?”
Jamie nodded and gingerly wrapped the frozen pouch in the towel provided before applying it to his side. The relief was almost immediate and he felt his shoulders relax from the tense position he hadn’t even registered amongst everything else.
Ted clearly noticed too, since he smiled up at Jamie. There was still a furrow between his eyebrows, though.
“Ain’t it great when stuff helps the way it’s supposed to?” he started and Jamie tried not to let the dread of what was coming show on his face. “You know, when you’re sure that, in theory, something should do you good but you’re not quite bought into the reality yet? It’s a damn good feeling when the bet pays off.
“Course, sometimes it goes the other way. The thing that’s supposed to help you doesn’t do anything at all. Or, hell, it just makes everything worse…”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie blurted out again in a panic. “I weren’t trying to do that. I swear, I know I’m not supposed to mess up training or nothing. I… I…”
“Whoa, whoa, Jamie!” Ted’s smile had dropped clean off his face. “I think we’ve got some wires all muddled up here, somewhere. I’m not fishing for an apology. Matter of fact, I’m kind of wriggling on the end of the hook, myself.”
Jamie really, honestly tried to wrap his head around that one. He failed. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Jamie,” Ted told him firmly. “We all knew something wasn’t right with you out there today and let you play on through anyway. That’s no bueno. If you can’t rely on your coach to help you out when you need it, well, then, that’s not a sign of a very good coach, is it?”
Jamie stared at him, dumbfounded. “But… I didn’t tell you I were hurt.”
“There is that,” Ted agreed easily, nodding and settling back in his chair. “And I’d sure like to hear how you got knocked around so good in the whole twelve hours you were out of our sight. Any particular reason you didn’t share that with the class this morning?”
“I…” The hand that wasn’t holding the ice pack to Jamie’s ribs started picking at the disposable paper sheet on the bed. “I fell. Down the stairs at me house. Last night. I. It didn’t hurt too bad, I thought.”
Ted hummed. “Well, you see? Accident like that, it ain’t anybody’s fault. And you felt okay after?”
The excuse hung there so temptingly that Jamie was almost inclined to think they were back to mind games. He could tell Ted that he’d been sore, but fine, up until he got out on the pitch. But that would be just another lie, wouldn’t it? And all lying had done for him today was drag more and more people into his shit.
So, instead of agreeing like he so desperately wanted to do, he shook his head slowly.
“No, no I weren’t okay.” He swallowed and looked down at his shoes, dangling just shy of the floor. “Couldn’t even drive myself in, could I? But I thought being here and acting normal was better than… better than saying I couldn’t train today. More important.”
“Oh. Now, that’s another thing to chalk up in the ‘no bueno’ category, I’m sorry to say.” Ted’s voice had softened again but Jamie couldn’t bring himself to look up. “Jamie, if you’re hurting, ever, practice or no, I’d really rather you say so. Nothing’s more important than that.”
“Team is,” Jamie objected quietly. “Being here is. I don’t got anywhere to get sent back to now, do I?”
That sullen admission hung in the air. Jamie heard Ted suck in a breath.
“Okay. Alright. Could you do me a favour and try to lift that handsome as all heck face of yours up, just a smidge? I’m getting the feeling eye contact is going to be real important here.”
With very few options of avoidance available to him, Jamie forced himself to meet Ted’s gaze. His expression bore a startling resemblance to Roy’s wild-eyed reaction before, which did nothing to set Jamie’s mind at ease.
“Jamie, when you turned up to practice last season and said you weren’t going to train, I assumed you were mad because I benched you. That sound about right?”
The player nodded, ready for the familiar prickle of shame that clawed through his chest at the memory.
“So you weren’t actually hurt? Or did I get that wrong?”
Jamie shook his head this time, then clarified: “Were being a prick.”
“Alright, that’s fine. Water under the bridge.” Ted scrubbed a hand over his face, looking relieved for some bizarre reason. “Can we agree, though, that there’s a difference between someone pretending to be hurt, for whatever reason, and someone actually being badly injured? That a middle ground we can settle on?”
“Yeah…” Jamie agreed cautiously.
“Outstanding.” Ted took a deep breath. “So, let’s just take a little hop, skip and jump from there to how things might’ve played out a little differently today than they did last year?”
“Oh.” Jamie blinked a few times, processing. Slotting that bit of logic into the missing gaps of the day. “You’re not angry at me for missing training?”
Ted’s face broke back into a genuine, if tired, smile. “No, sir, I am not angry at you for that. Or for any other reason, while we’re on the subject. I am… mighty disappointed that you didn’t feel like you could come to me, or even call when you took your little tumble. But I think maybe we can both agree to do a little better next time, how about that?”
He held out his hand for a shake - his left, in deference to Jamie’s occupied right. That small concession alone was enough for Jamie to wordlessly grasp Ted’s palm with his own in a firm hold.
“Alright. I’ll try.”
“I know, Jamie,” Ted assured him. “That’s all any of us can do.”
#someone tell me why this is 3k words#jamie tartt#ted lasso#my fic#afc richmond#fic prompts#roy kent
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Pairing: John Price/Reader
AU - Professor!Price & TA!Reader
MDNI - 18+ (minors and ageless blogs WILL BE BLOCKED)
Part 2 of 2 (part 1 here)
Read on ao3
♡
Kate Laswell is the only person John tells about you. It’s her guidance he seeks when he realizes how far up the creek without a paddle he is. Figures you have your confidant, he may as well assume his own. He’s known her longer than anyone else, and he knows she knows all the loopholes, since she faced a vaguely similar situation a few semesters before. All worked out well for her, so there’s hope for him, too, right?
John sits in her office, door locked and lights off. It’s safer that way; far less potential for eavesdroppers and interruptions.
“Oh, you’re in deep on this one, Price,” Kate chides with a grin over the edge of her coffee mug.
“That’s putting it mildly. What am I supposed to do here, Kate? It feels like every decision I make is wrong.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me about her,” she implores as she takes a sip, a soft smile etched into her fine-lined features.
He ponders for a moment on where to start, but when the dam breaks, it all just spills out. Nothing and everything, all at once. He tells Kate how fucking beautiful he thinks you are, all the things he absolutely adores about you, even the tiny little details, like your stupid red pen and the time he saw you yell at a vending machine on a bad day. He tells her about the way you work so well with students, and how helpful you are to him; what a stellar conversationalist you are, but how well you listen as well. He tells her about how you always make him laugh, how reassuring and kind and caring you are, how you really are every single thing he’s ever wanted rolled into one singular being, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that very thing since -
“You’re falling in love, aren’t you?”
“Aw, hell, Kate… What kind of pubescent horseshit - ”
“Answer the question, John.”
“Kate - “
“Yes or no, Price.” Her voice is firm but friendly, telling him to cut the shit and at least consider the possibility.
In a stunned silence, John sits with his thoughts for a moment, eyes locked on Kate as she cocks an eyebrow. He thinks back on his short-lived first marriage, how that the military was both the beginning and end of it. Felt more like convenience and holding off loneliness in his time between deployments than it ever did truly being in love. The second, while lasting exponentially longer, also felt equally as devoid. While he cared for that second wife on some level, it didn’t quite reach the depth of how he feels now, how he feels about you. If neither bout rang of actual, genuine emotional connection, then he can say with absolute honesty that, no, John Price has never really been in love. Not until now.
Everything around him seems to slow to a stop. He can no longer hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, only the rhythmic pounding in his chest. It’s like a switch is flicked, and the lightbulb in his head brightens until it bursts, sending fragments flying into every corner. He’s not stupid enough to try to touch that filament, so he allows it to settle. In a haze of falling glass, suddenly it all makes sense to him again. A revelation that he can’t tamp down now that it’s been put into words.
“...yeah, I think I am.”
Every nerve in his body is alight, begging him to scream it from the rooftops, make sure the whole world knows.
He can’t yet, but he wants to.
“Christ,” he mutters instead, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve gone and fucked all this up, haven’t I?”
“Perhaps,” Kate muses, tucking an errant blonde strand behind her ear before folding her empty hands together on the desktop. “I mean, you did reject the poor girl at a very opportune - not to mention vulnerable - moment…” She sighs. “But I don’t think you’re completely beyond the realm of forgiveness. Find the right way to apologize to her, and she may start to let you back in.”
He’s unusually hesitant. Apologies have never been his strong suit. He’s painfully headstrong, rarely wrong and rarer to admit, so this is new territory. Mentally, he ticks off all the clichés, like flowers or a box of chocolates with a little card of a briefly expressed remorse or a surprise picnic where he spills his guts to you in hopes of some form of clemency. He wants to plan something bigger, more grandiose, more romantic, but Kate interjects before he can even begin.
“I can see the gears turning. Stop overthinking it, John. Just buy the girl some damn flowers, and tell her you’re sorry.”
♡
He did it. Bought you flowers, that is. Early this morning, he picked up a big fall arrangement in a stunning crystal vase. Took him way too fucking long to choose and he was almost late, but John’s pretty sure it’ll all be worth the look on that gorgeous face of yours when you see it. He takes his time placing it perfectly on your desk, giving you the fullest view upon first sight, and he tucks a little white envelope under the edge of the glass.
It took quite a bit of time for him to even write the note inside. He wanted to convey how he feels without dragging out a full confession of just how hopelessly head-over-heels he is; that goal seemed to fall short beneath the tip of the pen as he all but outright tells you he loves you in neatly corded letters. The words on the page felt sufficient at the time, and he has to shut himself in his office to stop himself from second guessing to the point of re-writing it or just throwing it away period.
When the light kicks on in your office a few minutes after the start of his day, John feels his stomach flip. He hears a striking thud and a gasp of ‘aww’, and he’s cursing inwardly that he just had to have a student come in right at 8:00. After a few beats of silence, he hears a couple sniffles, and it has him a bit worried. Mr. Garrick would probably be understanding if he wanted to pop in and check on you, but he continues to talk to John like he doesn’t notice it, even if his expression softens just a little and his eyes dart to the side each time he hears it, too.
“So, does this mean you’re looking forward to finishing it?” John asks in earnest. Kyle had been quite vocal all semester about how much he was looking forward to exploring Stephen King’s Carrie, especially with it falling right around Halloween. It’s been a long time since John’s seen anyone but you get excited about his choice novels, even if they do tend to change every year.
“I actually, uh, finished it last week,” Kyle admits shyly. “Honestly, I just couldn’t put it down. I couldn’t just stop at her turning around to go home after all the shit she blew up! I needed to know what happened next, so I read ahead.”
Well, there’s no way John can be upset about that. It’s not every day one of these kids expressed interest in anything they’re reading. More often than not, they bitch about the amount of reading - if they even do it, that is. He can always tell the students that use Cliffs Notes or Sparknotes instead of actually doing the reading. So, the fact that Kyle, even just one student, is genuinely enjoying it - no, genuinely looking forward to reading more - seems to make all the work John’s put into this semester worth the while.
They go back and forth for a while, discussing the thematic elements and John details the rationale behind the novel’s subsequent banning in a majority of American schools. It’s a long geekfest between the two of them, and the only disruption is Mr. Garrick’s sudden realization that he’d stayed far too long and was late for his class.
“Thanks again, Professor Price!” he chirps, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m really looking forward to what’s next!”
He darts out of the room, practically slamming the door behind him. John cringes as the latch bounces into the frame, and he sighs heavily, grateful for today’s break in his normally hectic schedule. Only two students on his books today; one of which is already out of the way, the other not until this afternoon. Gives him time to do more overthinking while he waits for you to free up.
Settling himself further into his chair, John logs into his desktop and starts inputting grades from last week. Keeping his hands busy will help in keeping his mind busy, considering the small second voice in your office. From the sounds of it, it’s Ms. Graves.
It fascinates him, the way the two of you interact. You speak with her much differently than the other students who occupy your days without classes. There’s a much more candid sense of honesty, and he’s never heard either of you speak with such raw enthusiasm.
“What about ’Lullaby’ by the Cure?” he hears Pia ask.
“Good choice; how about Echo & the Bunnymen’s ‘the Killing Moon’?” you respond. He hears a hum of consideration, a few exchanged whispers - and some laughter - and that gets his attention.
Yeah, fuck it. He’s too invested in eavesdropping now to continue to pretend to be busy.
He hears the exchange of several more artists: the Cramps, Electric Light Orchestra, Prince, Oingo Boingo, the Doors, Bowie, Blondie, Siouxsie and the Banshees; all of which strike him with a baton of nostalgia. Lots of favorites in there, especially music he enjoyed growing up; some of his father’s top choices, too.. He’s only marginally impressed that the two of you can volley like this; you do enjoy 90s boy bands, after all. Bound to know plenty, eh?
Speaking of which, he hears Pia thank you for your suggestions. Her backpack rattles as he’s sure she’s tossing it on her shoulder, and he hears your office door close. He’s pretty certain you’ll have another appointment coming in soon, so he takes the opportunity to pop over.
“What was that about?” he asks from the now open doorway, expression curious. You look up from your laptop and smile more sincerely than he’s observed in a while, and John sees that big bouquet sitting front and center on your desk. That stirs his stomach and wakes the butterflies, fresh from the cocoons he’d tried to build over the weekend. They flutter this way and that, and he’s filled with a renewed desire to kiss you; one that never wanes, but ebbs and flows in intensity. Right now? Oh, right now, he wants to so god damn bad…
“Pia learns better with music. She listens while she reads, and it helps her remember the content when she listens to it again. Her grade has improved a lot since we started making playlists together.”
It sends a wave of warmth through his chest, the thought that you’ve been doing this for a few weeks. You’re arguably more dedicated to his students than he is at times, which says quite a bit. He’s pretty sure the look on his face matches up to those cartoons a lot of his students watch - what’s it called? Oh! Anime! He looks like every character that’s ever seen food or a pretty girl - heart eyes, pink cheeks, and an open mouth bordering on drooling.
“We sit down together at the start of every unit and make a playlist that matches the decade. Helps keep her centered in the story and prevents overlap so no information bleeds over from another book. It’s remarkable, reading her work and seeing her test scores; she’s really flourishing, Professor Price.”
John’s awestruck.
“Oh! Can I ask a favor?” Your inquiry draws his eyebrow up, implying you may ask. “Would you be willing to let her listen to music during the final? I’m willing to go old school, if you’re worried she’ll cheat; I have an old iPod at home that I can load up with the music, and we can keep it locked in your office until then. You’re welcome to go through it, too, just to make sure nothings hidden or anything. I just really - “
“Hey,” John says softly, effectively silencing you. “If you think she’ll do better being allowed to listen to music, we can make that work, love. I trust your judgment.”
If the incoming is any indicator, the flowers were the right call. You’re thawing, spring seemingly on its way, and Price will have to send Kate some sort of gift of gratitude.
You leap from your desk, and the next thing he knows, you’re throwing your arms around his neck, giving him a tight squeeze. He doesn’t register what’s happening in time to wrap himself around you, palms rising to meet you a beat too slow, and he finds himself missing the warmth radiating from your skin as you step back just as quickly. Your hands clasp in front of your chest, and you’re positively beaming.
“Thank you, Professor! I… We really appreciate it. Pia is going to be so happy!”
He can’t fight off the smile on his face. It’s absolutely adorable when you get excited; you’re wearing the same expression as the day he agreed to dance with you. He refuses to let this end the same way, so he takes a different path.
“She seems different with you,” he notes aloud. “Definitely not the same Ms. Graves I see in class.”
“Oh, I, uh… I know her pretty well outside of class. I… dated her brother for a while when I was doing my undergrad work.” You don’t seem too pleased to admit the latter, judging by your expression and the sudden appearance of nerves. He’d be lying if he said he was pleased to hear it. His stomach gnarls itself at the mere thought of you being with anyone else. To consider that someone else has kissed you, touched you, made love to you; that’s enough to make him crazy if he dwells on it too long.
Don’t get him wrong, he’s under no illusion that you’re some sort of saint, even if just the sound of your voice is pure heaven. You’ve spoken about your dating history before, though it’s typically just in overheard fragments to Mr. MacTavish.
“How long?” He wants to clap a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. The words came out, and he can’t take them back or play it off like he isn’t actually curious. Instead, he stays still, hoping the look on his face reads as if this is friendly conversation and not him prying where he oughtn’t.
You seem surprised by his question, and his blood floods with panic.
“You don’t have to answer that,” he quickly throws out, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry; that was inappropriate.”
“Two years.” You shrug like it’s nothing, and John swallows his gum by accident. He wasn’t expecting that. Maybe a few dates, a couple months tops, but two years? Doesn’t seem possible for a guy like Phillip Graves to sustain a relationship that long, given his penchant for obnoxiously blatant flirtation and his wandering gaze, practically eye-fucking anything with a pulse.
"What happened?" Fuck it. He's going to be a Nosy Nellie. It’s selfish and shady, but he can learn a lot from this. Come hell or high water, he swears he’ll treat you better. He’ll take the lessons learned from lesser men’s fallacies (and/or women’s; he’s got some questions after the last conversation he eavesdropped on between you and Johnny).
“He couldn’t seem to stop flirting with other people, and I’m pretty sure he loved his car more than he ever loved me.” Your laugh is dry and humorless, but your wry smile does extend to your eyes. That tells him you’re over it. The hurt you may have felt when it happened doesn’t linger. Good news for John.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies, trying his best to be sympathetic. You shrug again.
“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t still feel bad that it happened. You deserve better than that.”
He wants to tell you what you really deserve; how you deserve a man, not a man-child. You deserve a man who’s going to take good care of you, worship you, love you selflessly. Someone who will make you breakfast, warm up your car for you in the winter, hold your hand every chance they get. Someone who only has eyes for you. Someone like John.
But he can’t say that, so he doesn’t.
“Yeah, I do,” you agree with a nod. “Know someone who wants to treat me right?”
You say it with a laugh, and John smiles hesitantly, choosing his next words carefully.
“Yeah, I think I might.”
“Oh, yeah? Anybody I know?” It’s coy and cute. You know exactly what he means; he has a feeling you just want to hear him say it. I’d treat you right, honey. Let me show you. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, giving you a look that feels way too suggestive for the current environment.
“Yeah. I think you know him pretty well, actually,” he shrugs, nonchalantly holding his expression. “He’d be good to you.”
“Well, slip him my number, would ya? I could do with a nice date night soon.” You throw him a wink before turning back to your laptop, and John slowly slinks back into his office. Before he can close the door, you call for him again. He pops his head back in and sees his white envelope held up between your index and middle fingers, the flap torn open.
“Thank you for the flowers, sir. They’re beautiful.”
♡
There’s a rule in film: if you mention a gun in the first act, it must go off in the second. That’s not directly how the quote itself goes and this most certainly isn’t a film, but it still rings true.
It was only a matter of time before the proverbial gun went off, now that Price has inquired into your history with Phillip Graves. He didn’t expect it to happen so soon, though. Only a week passes before the soon-to-be-graduate rears his ugly little head.
“Oh, feminism, huh?”
The voice comes from your office, sultry and low, just barely within a range for John to hear it. His skin prickles, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He knows that voice; it’s the very one that’s haunted him for days now, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and holding you close in a way John is desperate to, but cannot yet. It’s Graves, the little prick, and that makes him nauseous.
You’re trying your hardest to explain the running theme of feminism in Carrie with the unit coming to a close, and Phillip’s ignoring the help you offer in favor of instead taking certain liberties with twisting everything you say into some sort of line or innuendo. Like that would ever work on you; you’re too smart not to see through that bullshit. You shut him down every time and ask him to focus on the material so you don’t have to deal with him next semester.
Still, it wrenches John’s gut in a way that bleeds him of his patience. He meant it when he said you deserve better than Phillip, and after the things you told him, there’s no fucking way he’s letting that weasel worm his way back in. You would never, he knows, but he doesn’t want Phillip having even the slightest sliver of hope.
Before he can stop himself, he’s knocking at the dividing door.
“Come in,” you call sweetly. He opens the door and sticks his head in, plastering the kindest, fakest smile on his face. You return the look as Graves sucks at his teeth, looking markedly impatient and making his irritation known.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” John says, syrup seeping into his tone. “But I think I might have accidentally deleted my gradebook. Can I borrow you for two quick seconds?”
“Of course,” you answer, tone laced with a bit more haste than either man apparently anticipated. “Excuse me just a moment, Mr. Graves. I’ll be right back in.”
You stand and push in your chair, making John’s stomach leap in the process. You’ve got on that burnt orange corduroy skirt that hugs your hips the way he’d someday like his hands to do and a plain, black, long sleeve top that matches the cling. It does nothing to disguise your perfect figure, his ideal figure, thrusting his erratically-beating heart into his throat entirely involuntarily. He never forgets how beautiful you are, not even for a second, but the visual reminders are always welcome.
He can feel the relief rolling off you in waves. Your expression stays neutral as you smooth out your skirt. There’s a gentle sway in your steps as you round the desk and follow John into his office. As he closes the door gently, you bee-line for his computer. A few clicks, and you look to him over your shoulder, perplexed, while he moves to stand behind you.
“Professor, your gradebook is fine. It’s right here.” You point at the monitor, and John nods.
“I know.”
“Then why - “
The words die on your tongue as John’s hands delicately close around the curve of your jaw. He hears the softest hitch in your breathing as he leans forward, half-lidded eyes searching your expression for any indicator that you want him to stop. He owes you that much.
“I should’ve done this weeks ago,” he murmurs, stroking a thumb across your cheek.
“John, what are you - “
His lips crash into yours, mouths meshing together like pieces of a puzzle, a perfect fit. It feels like centuries he’s waited for this moment, and the fire it spurs in his soul feels only comparable to the sun, licking up his throat like a solar flare.
You’re hesitant at first, rightfully so, but it doesn’t last long before that flame of desire kindles within you, and you melt into him, body molding to his. A particular breadth of warmth spreads across his chest as your hands come to rest against it. The tips of your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in your fist as you tug him impossibly closer. He’ll take the time to map and memorize every inch of you when he isn’t so consumed by the way you move in tandem without faltering as you become so wholly entangled with each other.
As his arms ensnare your waist in a vise-like hold, one of your hands, so soft and kind, nails painted a pretty shade of plum, threads itself into his hair. John has to bite down to stop himself from outright moaning into your mouth, the favored fantasy that often played out while he masturbated seemingly coming to life just in one movement. Your lower lip somehow gets trapped between his teeth, though, and you are the one to moan, hushed and soft, just for him to hear.
Fuck, if that doesn’t fuel the fire inside his abdomen. He’ll do anything, any-fucking-thing, to hear that sound again and again and again.
He walks you backwards until he feels the edge of his desk pressing against your backside. The hold he had on your waist is abandoned in favor of assuming a sturdy grip on the back of your soft thighs. No warning is given when he suddenly lifts you, depositing you on the top of his desk. He slots himself between your knees and leans over you, still wrapped in this heated exchange. The tip of your tongue flickers against his only briefly, and it makes him borderline feral with want.
Your thighs get one little squeeze before John lands one hand on your back and the other just below your ear. He guides you down until he’s practically laying on top of you. Instinct guides your legs to hitch over his hips, and he’s well aware that you can feel the growing bulge in his slacks pressing up against your covered center. He ruts into you feverishly and mindlessly, desperately chasing another of those sweet little noises.
He almost whines when he feels you pulling away from him, mouths separating only for you to press your forehead against his. There’s an attempt to reconnect on his behalf, but you decline with the softest whisper of his name.
“John, there’s still a student in my office.” He can feel the smile on your lips as he moves to your neck. His lips seal over a spot where he can feel your pulse racing. It sends more blood south, having even the slightest inkling that you’re just as affected as he is, and he struggles to stave off the urge to rip a hole in the middle of your pantyhose and see just how affected you are.
“So?” he grunts, nose nudging your ear lobe as he lowers his voice more. “Let the little bastard sit there. Let him hear how a real man treats a fuckin’ prize like you.”
You swat his chest playfully, chiding him for encouraging you to shirk your responsibilities; the responsibilities assigned to you by him, no less. Your thighs squeeze his midsection again when you guide his face back to yours, stealing another peck before holding his gaze with a softer expression.
“He’s a nightmare, I know, but he’s still paying for a quality education. Just give me ten minutes to wrap this up, and I’m all yours.”
I’m all yours - those three simple words loop in his head, a phrase he’s ached for, longed to hear, for months. His heart clenches at the thought; summer nights on the porch swing, his hand on your thigh while he drives, letting you fall asleep on his chest. He wants it all. He wants every inch of love and affection you can offer and wants to give his in return. In this moment, the way you’re looking at him through your lashes, it’s so sorely tempting to say three different words back. He can’t yet, but he wants to.
“I hate to seem impatient, love, but I don’t think I can wait another ten minutes.” His thumb strokes across your cheek endearingly, and just beneath his finger tips, he can feel your heartbeat hammering away. “Don’t know how I ever lasted a minute without you now that I’ve got little taste of ya.”
You let him kiss you again, chaste and tender, a stark contrast to the frenzy he felt in the minutes before.
“You always been such a sweet-talker, Price?” you whisper with a grin, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. He huffs out a muted laugh, trying to stifle his amusement. “Keep it up, and I might just let you keep me.”
John’s quiet a moment, basking in your borderline ethereal glow, before he murmurs, “I like the sound of that.”
A beat passes, appreciative and intimate glances exchanged, the two of you sharing breath. Oh, how hard-pressed he is to move, to allow the contact to dissipate, to willingly let you out of his arms, his sight, to shoo away the little leech awaiting on the other side of the door. It’s unfathomable, in his mind. Months of waiting, weeks of agonizing, and now that he’s got you exactly where he wants you, he has to let you go for even a second? Inconceivable. Preposterous.
With a gentle palm against his chest, though, you manage to convince him. He wraps his fingers around yours and lifts himself off of you with a checked grunt. God, you look beautiful like this - splayed out across the top of his desk, skirt rucked up higher than would be decent to make room for his large frame to slot between your thighs, chest rising and falling steadily, though you still seem breathless. The sight alone requires him to reach down with his unoccupied hand and adjust his stiff length just to make the wait bearable.
He pulls you to your feet, still careful to keep you close to him. Graceful touches follow as he helps you right your hair and smooth out your clothing. When nothing wayward is left to stall, you press your lips to his one more time and turn on your heel, eyes promising a swift return as he plants himself back in his chair.
♡
It doesn’t go further than that for the remaining weeks of the semester, but that doesn’t mean Price isn’t counting down the days. While there’s still plenty of heated makeout sessions and aggressively building sexual tension, he finds other ways to show his affection in the interim; he brings you coffee every morning, walks you to your car after hours because it gets dark out far earlier in the winter, sets the heater in the lecture hall a few degrees higher than he’d like to ensure you’re comfortable throughout classes.
Restraint is gentlemanly. Just because he’s no longer deterring himself from chasing you doesn’t mean he’s willing to forgo all the rules. Though he’s following his heart down a path that leads straight to you, his stubbornness won’t allow him to jeopardize your future. Plausible deniability until you’re safely under the tutelage of another professor.
He discussed the transfer with you long before requesting it. You were surprisingly amenable to making the change once John made it clear that it wasn’t based on your performance. He adores you, admires the work you’ve put in for both him and his students, and he’d be remiss if he let you think for a second that you’ve been anything less than perfect.
No, no. He only broached the subject in hopes of fostering the seed you’d planted months ago. The little seed that is only now peeking through the topsoil. A burgeoning affair of the heart that he’s hoping to see blossom into something far more beautiful very soon, something you can grow together. He’s already fully committed to making sure it gets plenty of water and sunshine, but having you remain his TA would flood the garden and keep the skies cloudy. Nothing could flourish unhindered that way.
That’s not quite how he phrased it to you, though. He still plays his cards close to his chest and has yet to confess the full extent of his feelings. You’ve off-handedly mentioned bits and pieces of your near future plans - plans that John’s certainly a part of - but any discussion about where your entanglement is headed beyond stolen kisses has been… unclear. He’s not a presumptuous man. It’s not his place to assume you’re on the same page, to assume you want an actual relationship with him.
So, to avoid the pressure of expectations or labels, he simply said, “I’d feel better about seeing where this goes if you were under another instructor. It would be unfair of me to ask you to wait another semester. You don’t deserve to be kept a secret, love.”
The request was put in shortly after, though Simon had already signed off on it over a week before John even mentioned it to you.
He only briefly second guesses that decision seeing you now, hovering in the doorway between offices. You look as beautiful as always, sporting a simple, sensible sweater dress that accentuates your delightfully buxom figure. What’s unusual is the mournful smile on your lips and the banker’s box in your hands.
Your watery eyes, swimming with unshed tears, scan over his office. You sigh heavily through your nose, biting your lip to stop it from quivering. John is immediately thrust into comfort mode, ready to soothe whatever savage beast has upset you so.
“What’s the matter, sweet girl?” he asks softly, pushing aside the last of the stack of final exams atop his desk. Those can wait a bit longer; another day if need be.
“Oh, nothing,” you answer, clearly willing your voice not to crack. “Just a little sad that this is the last day. I’m really going to miss my office.”
It’s the little sniffle that follows that makes his chest ache. He’s smart enough to read between the lines. This has nothing to do with your office.
Without thought, Price automatically pushes his chair back and stands, shortening the distance that separates you in just a few strides. He takes the box from your hands, setting it in the empty seat closest to you. You’re looking at the floor now, avoiding his gaze. A curled finger beneath your chin tilts your head back up and gives you to choice but to look at him.
“Don’t you give me that nonsense,” he chides with a soft smile. “What is it really, darling? Tell me what’s on your mind.”
A few stray tears fall between blinks, and John is quick to wipe them away with the pad of his thumb. He’s sure you can see every ounce of worry etched into his features, even as much as he’s trying to mask it.
“I’m scared, John.” The admission surprises him. “I don’t like change. I don’t like not knowing what to expect.”
“I promise you, my dear, everything is going to be perfectly fine. Professor Riley will take excellent care of you. He’s a wealth of knowledge; well-versed, brilliant. I trust him. As for your office, it’ll be exactly as you leave it any time you want to come visit.”
“It’s not just that,” you interject, chewing at the inside of your cheek. There’s something more on the tip of your tongue, and he tilts his head just enough to prompt you to say it. “I just… I won’t get to spend as much time with you, will I?”
Price frowns.
“You’ll have all the time you want with me. Needn’t but ask, and I’ll be right there.”
That’s not what he wants to say. What he wants is to tell you that he’d sooner have you planted in his lap every second of every day so he never has to be away from you, that he doesn’t particularly enjoy the thought of sharing your time with any other man for any period of time (even if it is just Simon), that he values every fleeting moment he spends with you over any material thing in existence...
“It’s not just about what I want, John,” you counter in a hushed, wobbly voice. “What do you want?”
He sighs, taking your pretty face in his large hands. His mind is racing through a rolodex of anything and everything he could possibly say to keep that more lax, collected façade he’s curated intact; but the second he feels another tear drip onto his hand, it all goes out the window. He asks you to look at him, and you do. You look up at him with those bright, kind, teary eyes, and any ounce of resolve or restraint left in John’s body crumbles to bits. He takes a long blink and just lets the words come out how they may, consequences be damned.
“I want you. Whatever you’re ready for, whatever you’re willing to give, I just want you.”
Words are often said to carry weight; some far too heavy, some not quite so, but all with their own heft. Like rocks tied to the soul, his grandmother used to say. Choose them wisely, and use them with caution, lest you be burdened by the stones in your mind. But John Price has never felt so weightless and free as the moment a syrupy, surreptitious smile settles on his lips and he utters a phrase he didn’t ever anticipate using before even taking you on a proper date: “I love you.”
Your expression softens. Dumbstruck, your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Your eyes search through even the deepest recesses of his, looking for some sign of deception or jest, but there is none to be found. Never will be. Not with him.
After a few beats of silence, John clears his throat, admittedly a bit sheepish.
“You don’t have to say it back. Just couldn’t -”
“No, John, I-I… I love you, too.”
He doesn’t waste even a fraction of a second pulling you into him further for a searing kiss, one you melt into as soon as his lips meet yours. It’s nothing like the dozens of times he’s kissed you before; there’s nothing frantic or frenzied or feverish about it this time. True, it gets his heart racing all the same. His blood still sings with the same carnal cravings. But his mind and body do not share the driver’s seat this time. No, this time, his heart has the wheel.
It’s almost instantaneous, how hard he gets while just kissing you. Happens every time, but this is the first where he doesn’t feel such an innate need to hide it from you. He has nothing left to hide anymore.
You’re held there in a languid but torrid lip-lock until your fingers curl into the collar of his sweater, like you’re trying to pull him impossibly closer. The first little tug begs for more, and John takes a step forward to grant your wish, effectively backing you into the wall. The second tug draws his hands downward, skating oh so gracefully along your sides until his firm grip settles around the curve of your hips. He gives you a gentle squeeze there, just tense enough to make you gasp before he licks into your mouth.
The feeling of his tongue sliding past your teeth seems to spark something wild in you. You abandon the give of his collar, instead weaving your fingers through his hair. An experimental tug makes him grunt - something you seem to like given the way your back arches from the wall, canting your hips up into his. John takes the opportunity to wedge his knees between your thighs, pressing securely against your clothed cunt. Your tongue prods his back as you grind into him a time or two, and like an electric shock, the motion has him pulling back just enough to speak clearly.
“You want me, pretty girl?” he asks gruffly, breathlessly. It’s near impossible to stop his eyes from migrating, but the way you’re fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back when you rub yourself against him again keeps him entranced. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“Just… Just want you,” you pant, biting your lip, failing to hide the sweet little whimper that slips out.
“Yeah? That all you want, sweetie? You already have me. I’m all yours.”
“You know what I mean, John.”
He chuckles.
“You’ll need to be more specific than that, love. I haven’t spent all semester with a TA that can’t use her words, have I?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That won’t do at all, my love. Tell me exactly what you want, and I might just give it to you.”
“I-I want - oh fuck - I want your cock stuffed so deep i-inside me that I can f-feel it for days.” You whine, assuming a steady pace. It’s the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard. “Need you to fill me up. Been waiting for months, John.”
His mind goes blank. He’s dumbfounded. An entire dictionary at his disposal, and the only word that comes out of his mouth in response is a hushed, “Fuck.”
You seem to have usurped his confidence, based on the way you’re looking at him as you whisper, “Let me show you.”
Before he can process any of it, you’re guiding him back to his chair and sinking to your knees. Deft fingers make quick work of his belt while you mouth openly along the bulge in his slacks. He swears he’s dreaming when those dark blue nails unfasten the button and begin to pull down his zipper.
Something in him short-circuits when he looks down and sees the wet patch you’ve left just above his knee. Either you’ve soaked through your panties, or you don’t have any on; he’ll find out which is the case soon enough, but it’s enough to keep him hard for hours.
His eyes dart back to your face, and you’re looking up at him expectantly, tugging his pants and briefs down in tandem, asking him so very sweetly to have a seat. Like a well-trained dog, he obeys, lower layers shoved to his ankles. Tugging a hair tie from your wrist, you make quick work of pulling your hair back. Once done, you only break eye contact to trail a fingertip down his throbbing erection, a haughty smirk tugging at your lips every time it twitches beneath your touch.
“You’ve got the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen,” you mutter, palming it as it lays against his stomach just enough to incite a sharp gasp.
“Don’t tease me, woman,” he groans. “Been waitin’ just as long.”
Almost too delicately, you wrap your hand around his cock, middle finger and thumb barely missing each other. You give him a tight squeeze, making those fingers meet as you painstakingly slowly begin to pump the base. His head falls back against the chair with a muted thud, and the second his eyes close, you have your lips wrapped around his tip.
Your tongue flickers over that sensitive spot just below the head, and John sees white spots behind his eyelids. It’s been so long since anything has felt this good. In fact, he’s not sure if anything ever has. Nothing compares to you. Not by a long shot.
As heavy as those eyelids feel, he lifts his head, forcing himself to watch you work so he can commit every second to memory. That warm, wet, wanton mouth of yours just keeps sucking him deeper, worshiping each inch you take with appreciative hums and whimpers. The pressure is perfect, especially with your tongue pressed to the underside. Your soft hand works the length you’ve yet to reach, the drool leaking from your lips lubing it up for you.
When he finally nudges the back of your throat, you gag, but you don’t pull back. You push just a little farther first, forcing him into the start of the curve and giving him a swallow. What in the actual fuck did John Price ever do right to deserve an angel like you, huh? How in the hell did he ever get this fucking lucky?
The moment your head starts bobbing in his lap, he swears he’s actually died and gone to heaven, or rather, the closest thing he believes in. He has a deathgrip on the arm of his chair, and to ground himself, he has to put one hand on the back of your head; not pushing, not guiding, just resting to keep himself from floating away entirely.
It’s almost overwhelming, just how god damn good you feel. He’ll never get over it. He’ll never get used to it.
You haven’t stopped stroking that extra length since you started, but the other hand is conspicuously absent. He wonders what that hand is up to, but he can see the smallest sense of movement in your shoulder, and he knows exactly what you’re doing.
“Hands on my legs, love. Don’t you dare touch that cunt,” he growls, renewed confidence seeping down to his marrow. Pretty eyes narrowing just slightly, you place your other hand on his thigh. He can feel how wet your two middle fingers are, slick against his skin. The noise that comes out of him is one he doesn’t recognize - somewhere between a whimper and a moan, but somehow neither - as he grabs your wrist and pulls that hand to his lips. Taking those two fingers, he licks them clean. You’re just as delectable as he imagined, and the need to get his mouth on you rears its head. That little voice in the back of his head tells him you deserve it; it’s only right that he shows you how much he truly loves you after making you wait so long.
You pull his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, kitten-licking the tip between ragged breaths. Still pumping him and keeping pace, you duck your head down a little more. You begin alternating between sucking on his balls and tracing the seam up the middle. It’s only a few switches, but it feels like dozens before you start sucking on his dick again. His hips buck involuntarily, grip on your head tightening when he feels every muscle his abdomen tensing.
“Gonna cum if you don’t ease up,” he warns, but you continue with a hum. He has no choice but to guide you away by your hair, and he just about cums anyway at the sight of you.
Your makeup is smeared, little gray streaks running the length of your face. Your entire chin is glistening in the low warmth of the fading sunlight from the window. A few small, silvery strings of saliva and precum keep you connected just a second longer. Any hope you may have started the day with that your lipgloss would stay put was dashed by the first kiss, but is now an absolute impossibility. John almost feels bad about ruining your morning’s work, and by almost, he means not at all. The smile on your face is more than well worth it.
He stands, pushing the chair back with his legs.
“Get that gorgeous arse of yours on the desk, love.”
Divesting himself of his remaining clothing, he sees your eyes widen just a hair.
“Jesus, John,” you whisper, gaze roving his body like it’s a modern marvel. “You’re fucking perfect.”
“You’re one to bloody talk,” he retorts, letting the hem of his sweater fall from his hand. It crumples into a pile with his slacks, and he’s back on you sooner than it hits the floor.
Another blistering kiss, and he can taste himself on your tongue. It’s heady and intoxicating. Enough so that he’s already laying you back on top of the desk, just like the first time he kissed you.
Like muscle memory, your legs come up astride his waist, and his hands are rucking your dress up over your hips. You only break away from him long enough to pull it the rest of the way off before pulling him back in. The hands used to guide you down work tirelessly to unhook your bra, and both offending garments are tossed aside carelessly. He’ll help you find them later.
He’s the one to disengage this time, the one to stare, the one marveling at the wonder before him. To say you’re beautiful, gorgeous, or any other synonym in his repertoire would be a disservice. There really is no word in the English language - or any other, for that matter - that really captures just how breathtaking you are. Every curve, every line, every mark, mole, freckle, dimple, it merely confirms what he’s surmised from the start: you are perfect.
A slew of words escape him, none of which are coherent to either of you, between the kisses he places along your jaw, down your neck, across your chest. His large hands cup your breasts, pushing them together in the middle. He seals his lips around one of your nipples and lets his tongue move in mindless patterns, adding little sucks or nibbles when he hears you give him a little sigh. The other gets the same treatment immediately following, but he doesn’t forget his mission. A mere detour won’t derail him.
John makes his way down your stomach in a slow trail, leaving hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Your hand is in his hair again, and you’re watching him like a hawk, brows furrowed in a throes of ardor.
Another prediction is seasoned as fact when he reaches your pussy. He doesn’t recall any underwear being removed, and yet, you’re bare to him. The evidence of your arousal extends from your lips to your inner thighs, and his cock throbs tirelessly between his legs at the mere thought of his effect on you.
“Cheeky little minx,” he comments, heated breaths washing over your slit. “Were you planning on tonight going this way?”
Almost bashfully, you shake your head.
“I don’t like panty lines,” you cop. “Don’t think anyone else needs to imagine what’s under my clothes.”
He huffs out a chuckle before taking a knee, hitching yours over his shoulders. His arms circle beneath your ass, wrapping around until those big paws are settled on your hips. The tips of his fingers dig into the meat as he hauls you closer to the edge of the desk.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmurs between the kisses he lays against your skin, kissing up one thigh, then the other, never taking his eyes off yours while he licks the slick from his lips. “Most stunning creature I’ve seen in all my life. Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
You’re not given the chance to respond before he descends, licking a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue. You yelp, grabbing a fistful of his hair. He feels your legs tense, but his hold keeps them from closing around him. As much as he’ll enjoy the free earmuffs on the impending colder nights, he wants you spread out right now.
He drinks you down, savoring how good you taste. You’re keening high in your throat, pulling his hair, digging your heels into his scapulae; he’d gladly spend the rest of his life between your legs if you’d let him.
The tip of his tongue nudges your swollen clit. You arch off the desk, panting. He sucks it between his lips, putting just the right pressure on it in a thrumming cycle. The sounds you’re making whisper of being close to the edge, and he wants to keep pushing.
“John, please,” you whine, squirming in his iron grip. “I want your fingers.”
He releases your clit, flicks his tongue over it one more time just to see you jolt. If you’re going to ask so sweetly, who is he to deny you?
“Yes, ma’am.”
Untangling one arm, Price wastes no time guiding his middle finger into your sopping entrance. It slides in like this is where it belongs. He uses the opposite thumb and forefinger to spread you open, eagerly easing a second finger in.
His hands are much larger than yours; thicker, longer fingers, meatier palms, knotted and scarred knuckles from his time in the service. Two of his digits equal three of yours. He’s gentle, cautious, and the addition of his ring finger lures him into a trance of wonderment, watching with rapt attention as your hole flutters, stretching to accommodate him.
You clench around him, a scarcely audible hiss sneaking between your teeth. The depth he reaches is far more than you’d ever manage on your own, he knows, and when he crooks his fingers, catching that sweet spot, you bow up again, grinding down into his hand.
The blissed out look you aim at him sparks the frenzy, and he’s ravenous, devouring you like a man starved. Lapping at your clit, hand keeping a steady pace, it doesn’t take long before you’re issuing a warning that you’re close.
“Cum for me, pretty girl. Not stoppin’ ‘til you do.”
Your thighs clamp down around him when his efforts double. A dull thunk is barely heard as you throw your head back, and almost on cue, your walls are squeezing him, pulsating as a sharp bout of convulsion hits. He can’t make out the words you’re saying, so he tenderly guides you back down from the peak until you release him.
The heave of your chest as you try to catch your breath gives him pause. While he’s desperate to feel you wrapped around him, milking him for all he’s worth, he’d still be plenty satisfied finishing himself off at home if you needed a break. You look absolutely wrecked already, smeared makeup and mussed hair, sweat beading above your brow. He’s clearly done a number on you already, but when you spread those perfect legs again and start palming your tits in a way that makes his mouth water, John finds himself grabbing a throw pillow from the couch beneath the window.
In a rare display of raw, brute strength, he gathers both your legs in one arm and lifts your ass from the desk just enough to wedge the pillow in. He’s bumped into his own desk enough times to know what a nasty mark it can create, and he’ll be damned if you’re left with any bruises other than the ones he creates with the intimate intent of branding you as his.
“You ready, love?” he asks softly, guiding his drooling cock through your folds. Your wetness slicks him up nicely as you nod, tacking on a gentle ‘please’.
His tip settles in just the right place, and he pushes home in one fell stroke. Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open in a silent moan, and John feels as if the air has been punched from his lungs. He has to steady himself to keep from cumming right then by holding just beneath your rib cage, the natural curve of your waist. It fits so immaculately in his hands, and it roots him into place.
This is real. You’re real. You’re really here, and this is really happening.
“John,” you mewl, placing a delicate hand over one of his.
“Just… Gimme a second, sweetheart,” he mutters with a kind squeeze. “Feels too fuckin’ good bein’ inside you like this.”
One moment bleeds into another, and you’re so patient as he collects himself. No push, no prod, no protest; just the tips of your fingers tracing the veins in the back of his hand until he’s ready. When he is, he gives you a gentle tap of confirmation before experimentally rolling his hips.
He groans, the feeling still so intense as he works in shallow thrusts. You fit him like a glove, like you were made for him and him alone, like you’re meant to be his. A step away from the precipice does him no favors; he knows he’s not going to last long. With the way you’re wrapped around him, looking up at him with a degree of reverence reserved for someone who hand-painted all the stars in the night sky just for you, how could he?
His hips draw back further each stroke now, and he begins to pick up his pace. The meat of his thighs claps against your ass as he pulls your hips towards him at every collision. Your nails bite into his forearms. Every sound you make fuels his primal need to hear more, and he knows he’s hitting all the right spots when you’re slurring out swears and babbling nearly incoherently beneath him.
A bead of sweat drips down to the hollow of his throat. He glances down at where you’re joined, watching your sweet cunt stretch to swallow down his thick cock. A milky white ring has formed around the base. As many times as he’d pictured this exact moment, nothing in the most feral corners of his imagination could’ve conjured something so inherently erotic. Seeing his length disappear inside you over and over assures that he’ll never be satisfied with fucking his fist again, not after this.
The pad of his calloused thumb finds your swollen clit with ease. He rubs in tight, calculated circles, applying a little more pressure when you nearly shriek his name. He needs to see you come undone for him again.
“That feel good, love?” You nod. “Yeah? You like that, huh? Can feel that pretty pussy squeezin’ me. You’re takin’ me so well, honey.”
You’re barely coherent beneath him as he drives into that spot that keeps you breathless. He doesn’t know what you’re begging for, but you keep saying ‘please’. You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes on him, and they keep threatening to roll back. The sight only spurs him on.
Any semblance of control is lost when you warn him that you’re close again. Words of encouragement pour out like a fountain before he can process what he’s saying. Your whole body tenses, walls clamping down around his length in even pulses, and John folds himself over you, fucking you through the waves.
“Shit, I - oh, fuck! - John, I-I… I love you.” You struggle to get it out between pants and moan and whines, but his heart soars all the same. He ruts into you feverishly, peppering your face with sloppy kisses as he chases that high. There’s no controlling the near whimpers that escape him as your orgasm pushes him to the brink of his own.
“‘Bout to cum, baby. Where do you want it?” he sighs into your mouth.
“Inside - please, want you to cum inside me.”
That’s what does him in. He pushes as deep as he can, tip kissing your cervix as he pumps rope after rope of warm white into you. The edges of his vision blur. He can’t remember a time in his life that he’s cum so hard, but he knows it won’t be the last. Not when there are too many months to make up for.
One more kiss, and he whispers back, “I love you, too.”
#john price x reader#john price x you#john price imagine#john price cod#john price#cod x reader#cod x you#cod writer#jj writes
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The hell am I doing here?
Mood board made by my lovey love @iamasaddie tysm 💗💗
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
Creep!Joel Miller x plus size!fem!reader
!!! 18+ content. If you’re a minor go away !!!
A/n: Here we are! My 3rd installment to my now series! I hope the smut parts are good and makes sense! Also not proofread so any and all mistakes are mine! As always constructive criticism is welcome! Enjoy! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 🫶🫶💗💗
Warnings: creepy behavior, stalking, facefucking kinda- , cum eating, lmk if I missed any!
W/c: 1.4k
Creep (pt.1) Weirdo (pt.2)
* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・
It had been a few days since your sleepover with Sarah, you left their house in a rush and with so much guilt. When Sarah called and asked why you left before she woke up you made the sorry excuse saying you had to do homework because you forgot that you had an early due date. She was a little confused but she didn’t press on. Joel on the other hand was dying, this man didn’t know how to cope with what had transpired between you both. You hated him now didn’t you? Every day he hoped to receive a call or a text from you saying you didn’t mean those harsh words you told him that night. You didn’t mean them at all and you loved him. But that didn’t happen. He was losing his mind- he needed to see you, needed to hear you speak, needed you in your entirety.
Sarah had tried to get you to hang out at her house again but you always refused. You would only hang out with her if it was at your house or it was out in town. You didn’t want to see Joel, you didn’t even want to see Sarah still consumed with your guilt. But you couldn’t just ghost your best friend no matter how bad you felt it wasn’t fair for her to be punished for your bad decisions.
Sat alone in your room you’d often think about how he made love to you.. No matter how awful you felt you couldn’t help but put your hand in your panties trying to replicate the delicious feel of Joel. Too often did you masturbate to the thought of his thick cock or his thick fingers stretching you out perfectly. The more you thought about it the more you felt bad for how you reacted but there was always a nagging voice inside saying that you did the right thing. That what you both did was highly inappropriate and should never happen again. As you went through your post-nut clarity you decided that no more. You had to move on, it was for the best. Even if it hurt you to the core, it had to be done.
.。･:*♡ ♡*:･。.
Summer had passed and Sarah had gone back to college. It was also radio silent from both yours and Joel’s ends. Little did you know that a few days earlier Joel lost it and began keeping tabs on you. Before work he’d drive past your dad’s house to see if your car was still in the driveway or not. During his lunch he’d slowly drive through the different parking lots of your college to spot your car. When he’d get off of work he’d pass by your dad’s house once more, just to be sure you got home safely.
After a few days of his stalking, he had spotted you walking out of college. You looked so beautiful and radiant, he smiled at the sight of you. His smile quickly soured when he saw who you were with, who was making you laugh. You were with some lanky kid, he had seen the look on that boy’s face and he knew that look all too well. A boy like him couldn’t handle a plump goddess like you. Only he could. Why did that asshole feel so entitled to be in the mere presence of his girl?
Enraged, Joel sped off to his house. Once there he made his way to his room. He took out his phone. Fuck it. He was gonna text you and demand answers as to who that kid was and why he felt the right to be around you.
Baby. who the fuck were you with today?
WHO fucking was he?
Why was he so chummy with you huh?
Answer me.
He spammed your phone and when you wouldn’t answer after several hours he took matters into his own hands. Getting in his truck he sped to your house, he knew your dad was working late for these past few weeks so he wasn’t concerned with getting caught. He knocked loudly at your house door calling your name.
Eventually you came out with an angry look on your face. “What the hell are you doing here?! I thought I told you not to look for me.” You spat out in anger. “You gonna tell me who that boy was princess? Or do I need to fuck that information out of you brat?” He replied in a low growl as he shoved his way inside your house slamming the door behind him and locking it. You walked backwards towards the living room. “What are you talking about Joel? What boy?” you asked as he inched closer to you, making you fall back on the couch.
“Don't play coy baby.. That boy you were smilin’ and laughin’ with earlier today as you were leavin’ campus.” he chuckled darkly as he towered over you. He gently grabbed your chin and made you look up at him. “Don't tell me you forgot how good I stretched that pussy of yours some nights ago. Why you doin’ this baby hm?”
You gulped as your lips trembled, why was this turning you on? The simple fact he just admitted to stalking you should’ve turned you off- should’ve made you kick him out but it had the opposite effect on you. You shifted your thighs as you felt your arousal leak out of you. “Sorry… he was just a friend.. Nothing serious..” You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain yourself to him. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you promised yourself you’d stay away from him but here you were falling into his arms again. “Thas not good enough baby. I don't like when my girl is laughin’ around someone who ain’t me. Oh and don’t think I’m lettin’ you go unpunished for ignorin’ me either. So be a good little girl and show me how sorry you are.”
He spoke condescendingly as you felt butterflies in your stomach. Fuck morals, fuck your principals, you let your arousal take over your actions as you stood up and got on your knees. You looked up at him and went to unbutton his pants. “Thas a good girl.” He encouraged you as you freed his rock hard, throbbing cock. “Go on baby, put ‘em in your mouth.” You’ve never sucked cock before so this was all entirely new but you had seen women give blowjobs to men in different pornos you’ve browsed. You spat on your hand and began to pump his cock, he groaned as he bucked his hips into your hand. You leaned down and kitten licked his tip, before you took him in your mouth. You only made it halfway when you began to gag and tear up. “Easy princess go slow f’me. Don’t hurt yourself. Breath through your nose.” He encouraged and you nodded your head. Doing as Joel instructed you eventually were able to take him completely in your mouth. You had a steady pace that was making him whimper out and his thighs tremble. “Fuck so good baby..” He grabbed your hair and began thrusting in your mouth. At first he started out slow then as if something snapped inside of him he began to thrust his hips harshly and wildly. Your eyes widened as more tears spilled out and you held onto his hairy thighs for stability. After a few more ruthless thrusts he came down your throat.
He pulled out and grabbed your chin. “Open wide baby.” You opened your mouth to show the pearly spend that was inside. “Thas a good girl. Now swallow it all. Don’t waste a single drop.” You closed your mouth and swallowed. The salty taste of it all overbearing your senses and it slightly hurt your raw throat as it went down. He brought you up to your feet and placed a rough kiss on your mouth.
“There we go baby. That wasn’t so hard. Now stop ignorin’ me and maybe I’ll fuck you again real soon.” You were dumbfounded, completely gobsmacked. You just nodded your head as Joel smiled darkly. “Good.. Gonna get goin’ now baby.. Remember your pussy is mine. Your little throat is mine. You are mine.” You watched as he left your house and heard him drive away. You were deeply enamored at this point, he had imprinted on you. You knew were completely fucked.
* ・‥…━━━━━━━ *˖◛⁺♡ ━━━━━━━…‥・
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I just finished the Gale Origin epilogue endings and omggg the god ending is so LMAO - find some of my fav moments below the cut
On this run I romanced Shadowheart so I'm unsure if this is her usual god Gale dialogue or if she just says this, but it's incredible and I fucking love it
Shadowheart: Hmm, you feel a little more substantial than before. Less camping and scrounging off the land, I take it?
Gale: Naturally. The god of ambition has an ambitious larder to match. I'm not exactly fighting for scraps.
Shadowheart: No offense intended - quite the contrary, in fact. I'm glad you seem well. Truly.
I was hoping to get the option to ascend with her or anything like what I've seen when you romance God Gale otherwise, but it seems like the ascension as an origin makes your romance default to the non-romanced ending.
Tara is also VERY pissed that Gale is a god now and has a lot to say about it. Also so many beard roasts!!
Tara: Ugh. I thought the beard was bad before, and now it's glowing.
Gale: Tara! How glad I am to see you!
Tara: I wish I could say the same. I thought you had more sense than this, Gale. I thought you had any sense at all.
Gale: What happened to 'Mr. Dekarios'?
Tara: Using your family name was a show of respect. But you've buried that deep in the litter box, haven't you? Godhood. So vulgar. It isn't too late for you. Other gods have given up divinity. You could still come home. To me. To your mother. To everyone who loves you. But you won't. I know you won't. You've followed Karsus straight down the road to ruin. And I won't be there to watch, Gale. I suppose this is good-bye. To you, your wretched ambition, and that gods awful thing on your chin.
And then naturally you can turn her into a HAIRLESS CAT.
Tara: Oh, very funny. Very godlike behavior. Is this what Elysium's brought you to? It'll take me a tenday to put this right...
For the rest of the companions, there's at least one dialogue option in all of them that includes something about ambition, which seems to be on the forefront of Gale's mind. Here are some of my favs:
Lae: We've heard word of a githyanki outpost hidden deep in Chult. The last of Vlaakith's Sword Coast strongholds. Perhaps you might join us. Help us raze it to the ground, put those godly powers to good use.
Gale: If you pray to me during battle, I might aid you.
Lae: Pray to you? Chk. I suppose to you, mortals are meant to only worship and obey. What other role might they possibly play in the life of a god? Why don't you go and mingle? That's the word, right? 'Mingle'?
Lae gets so offended by Gale asking her to pray to him she literally just stops talking to him there and then, and I couldn't talk to her after this.
Minsc: How have you filled your days, since we tore the sticky tyrant from the sky?
Gale: I claimed the Crown of Karsus, became the god of ambition and established my new domain in Elysium.
Minsc: And yet you still make it sound so boring. Truly, God-Gale, Minsc is glad to see you have not changed one bit! But I ask - should Boo send you prayers, answer not. For his ambitions to be realised... the world is not ready for such things.
Fuckiong lmao at Boo being a menace, but also Minsc roasting Gale so hard, get his ass!
And then of course Gale telling everyone to pray to him if they need anything lmao, always be hustling Gale.
#bg3 epilogue spoilers#bg3 spoilers#bg3#shadowheart#gale dekarios#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#gale of waterdeep#gale bg3#god gale#god of ambition gale#minsc and boo#lae'zel#tara the tressym#bg3 gale
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Hi Sarah!! Happy New Year!! 🥳
I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your positivity and all of your posts. They’ve gotten me through some not so fun times this year and always put a smile on my face. I feel like I’ve been channeling a bit of Bucket of Sunshine Eddie the last few months, so I’m wondering how those two are doing. Did they enjoy their first New Year’s together?
~🐈⬛
Hiii babes!! Happy new year to you as well!!!🥳🥳 I am sooo happy to hear you enjoy my posts that means the world to me!! Ohhh how I do miss my little grumpy Eddie and his little ray of sunshine!! So I hope you enjoy these conversations from their New Year’s Eve together!!💖
-find everything Bucket of Sunshine here✨
“What’s all this shit for?” “It’s rude to-” “Sorry…hello sweetheart.” “Hi Eddie…now was there something you wanted to ask me?” “Yes..what’s all this shit for? We are just going to the lake to watch fireworks.” “Edward James Munson as if I’d ever show up to a party empty handed? It’s not polite.” “Baby it’s not a party it’s us and Steve who is bringing uhm…uh…what’s her name again?” “Her name is Heather…don’t call her Maggie like you did his last date.” “I didn’t mean to! I swear I thought it was Maggie…looked exactly like her…kinda creepy if you ask me…how he dates girls that all look the same.” “Well thank goodness no one did…now can you please put this in the van?” “Did…you…just insult me?” “No? I simply stated a fact? No one asked you if it was weird that Steve dates girls who kinda look the same.” “Sounded like an insult to me sweetheart…” “Then it also sounds like we need to get your hearing checked…now can you please put this in the van?” “Yeah yeah I’ll go put it in the van.”
“What are you wearing? You’re going to be freezing.” “It’s a dress? And won’t you be there to cuddle me?” “Well yeah but still that’s uhm…a lot of leg to show off when it’s cold as fuck outside baby…” “you don’t like it?” “No no…that’s uh not…what I said…” “I’ll be fine…I packed an extra blanket and I still have your jacket so I’ll be nice and warm.” “Stealing people’s clothes isn’t very nice you know that right?” “It’s not people’s clothes it’s just your clothes and you’re my boyfriend so it’s fine.” “Oh right…yeah that makes sense…you look really beautiful by the way.” “Thank you Eddie.”
“Here you go…don’t worry it’s nothing crazy it’s just cheese.” “Will you ever stop trying to feed me?” “No…now take the pizza and say thank you.” “Thank you sweetheart.” “You’re welcome…where is Steve? Have you talked to him since we got here?” “He said he’d be here in a bit but that was…over an hour ago…maybe him and Heather changed their minds and want to party alone.” “That’s rude to not tell the other people in your party that you’re no longer going to be attending…I packed him a snack so he wouldn’t get grumpy waiting till midnight.” “I see he didn’t get blessed with the politeness gene?” “Apparently not.” “Well if I’m being honest I’m glad it ended up being just the two of us…not that I don’t like hanging out with your brother but…you’re my favorite Harrington.” “Awe am I really? That’s so sweet…you’re my favorite Munson.” “Oh Wayne is gonna be so upset when I tell him you said that.” “I’ll tell him you’re lying.” “What? You’d lie to him just to make him happy?…I’m so shocked.” “You’re making fun of me aren’t you?” “Teasing you baby not…making fun of you…that sounds way more harsh.” “You love how nice I am to everyone…just admit it.” “I wish you’d be a little more strict on who you’re so nice to but…yeah…I love you and how nice you are.” “I love you and how hard you try to be an asshole…it’s cute.”
“You’re going to give me an anxiety attack with the way you’re so reckless with that sparkler….just hold it still until it burns out.” “Hold it still? That’s not fun Eddie don’t be lame.” “Me? Lame?…now that’s just downright rude baby.” “Am I really making you nervous?” “You always make me nervous.” “What? Why?” “I’m just always nervous you’re going to snap out of whatever daze you’re in and you’ll see me for who I really am and you’ll…run away like everyone else.” “Eddie…I do see you for who you really are and that’s someone who loves me and would do anything to keep me safe and happy…what else could I want from someone? I’m not going anywhere.” “I do always find myself having to keep you out of harms way…so please can you just…stand still while you have a sparkler in your hand?” “Fine…this better?” “Much…thank you.”
“Ohhh Eddie only thirty seconds till midnight!” “Time flies when you’re having fun doesn’t it sweetheart?” “It really does.” “Happy new year Sunshine…I hope this is just the first of many new years we’ll be spending together.” “Oh don’t worry you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future…I love you.” “I love you too.”
#bucket of sunshine convos#eddie munson series#Eddie Munson au#Eddie Munson x sunshine!reader#eddie munson x harrington!reader#grumpy x sunshine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x reader#bucket of sunshine series#eddie munson fanfic#Eddie Munson#stranger things au#stranger things fanfiction#my little dungeon master baby#🐈⬛ anon
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Between Us (Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader)
Song Inspo: They Don't Know About Us - One Direction
WC: 1.2K
Warnings: curse words, a little angst but mostly fluff
A/N: I miss Christian (I mean, don't we all?) so I decided to write a fluff for him 🥹💕 Hope you all enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts through reply/reblog/ask! 🫶 Special thanks to @ariddletobesolved for proofreading 💖 Feedbacks would be highly appreciated!
–––
“They don’t know how special you are
They don’t know what you’ve done to my heart
They can say anything they want
‘Cause they don’t know us”
–––
Since the moment your relationship with Christian went public, you’ve been receiving a lot of mixed reactions. Some are positives, and some are negatives. Dating a famous professional athlete was never in your book, but somehow you met and fell in love with him despite his job and status. Besides, you can’t really control who you love can you? You didn’t care that he’s famous nor will you ever, because it didn’t matter. What truly matters is the genuine love shared between the two of you.
No, you’re not a celebrity. You weren’t famous at all. You work nowhere near the media or even football. You’re just someone ‘ordinary’. You randomly met him at a bar in London during a night-out with your girlfriends – one went to a college in London, and you happened to be in the city to visit her. You knew who Christian was but you didn’t want to freak him out so you tried to act cool, and before you knew it he asked for your number. From there on, the rest is history.
Days before you two went ‘Instagram official’, you were already so anxious about how people were going to react. You know he has a lot of fans, and they could be pretty ruthless with their comments. They basically could get away with anything, since they could create any persona they wanted and stayed anonymous on the internet, which was and still is terrifying to even think about. You didn’t want to hear people talking shit about your relationship, but at the same time you knew it was sort of inevitable. You two wanted to keep it lowkey, but didn’t want to hide it from the world. After long talks and careful considerations, you both decided to go public.
You couldn’t be grateful for the support people have given you, but negative comments about you and your relationship sometimes would mess with your head.
“What the fuck does he find attractive about her??? cause I don’t see it!! 🤮”
“they’re not gonna last. mark my words”
“yikes... everyone knows Pulisic deserves better”
“😒 how they got together in the first place I’ll never know”
“she’s so basic... lmao puli open ur fucking eyes 🙄”
“another episode of clout-chasing girlie dating a footballer”
“if he does terrible on the pitch now u know why”
You’ve been trying to ignore those awful comments, but since you’re not used to the attention, it was hard not to think about those things they’d said. You knew they’re nothing but strangers on the internet, but you couldn’t stop thinking to yourself: what if everything they said was true? Am I not good enough for Christian? Does this relationship not make sense? Are we not going to last?
Christian has been very protective of you, and he’s told you so many times to just ignore everything. He’s been reassuring you that those internet trolls have no idea what they’re talking about.
“Y/N, love... Stop. Just stop looking at those comments.” He took your phone, locked the screen, and put it away.
“You are perfect for me, Y/N, they just don’t know that. God, you’re fucking amazing! Believe me, if they got to know you, they would take their words back.”
You shrugged and shook your head while looking down, “You’re my boyfriend, of course you’d say that.”
His brows knitted as he let out a sigh, “No, that’s not true! Even if I wasn’t, I’d definitely say what I said. Why can’t you see it?”
“Christian...” You paused, “do you think our relationship is going to last? I mean, I love you...” You were fidgeting your fingers, hesitated a little to continue because you were afraid of how he was going to react.
“But I- I just... I don’t think I’m good enough for you,” you whimpered.
“Excuse me?”
You took a deep breath, still avoiding eye contact, “maybe they were right, Chris. You deserve bet-”
“No,” he cut you off before you even finished what you were saying, “don’t even think about it. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend if I didn’t think we’re going to last. There is- hey, look at me,” as he lifted up your chin, your eyes met his beautiful chocolate eyes, “there is no one else that fits me better but you, Y/N. You are my one and only. If anything, you are way out of my league.”
You blushed, trying not to giggle but you couldn’t help it. “Dammit Pulisic, you really have a way with words don’t you?”
He grinned, he was pleased to hear your cute little giggle. “I’m the luckiest fucking guy,” he said before he leaned closer to you, his lips was gently pressed against yours for a moment, then he whispered, “I still couldn’t believe you are mine.”
That man really swept you off your feet. You have never experienced this kind of love before. Every single day with him feels like heaven. When it’s just the two of you, it feels like the world revolves around you – nothing else matters but you and him. He is the only man you’ve ever had late night talks with – well, it’s mostly late night for him because you live in the States and you’re like 5 hours behind him. Hell, you both dropped the L bomb to one another a month into your relationship – your friends thought it was way too fast, but the truth is it wasn’t. You had never been so sure about any man ever, and you just knew Christian is different – special, one-of-a-kind.
Before no one acknowledged you, you felt a lot freer. You didn’t have to worry about how others would perceive you or judge you. Now, people are watching your every move, ready to bring up even the tiniest mistake you made just because you’re dating their favorite footballer. You became very self-conscious, and Christian noticed that. He felt guilty because he thought because of him you had to go through this and he knew you didn’t deserve any of the horrible judgements, but he’s never stopped giving you the reassurance you needed. At one point, he wanted to post something on Instagram to defend you, however you told him not to so he didn’t do it.
“Baby...” as he held your hands, “honestly, I just want the world to know you’re mine. I’m sorry that I’ve caused you any trouble, but I don’t want you to worry ‘cause I’m always here for you. They don’t know shit about us, they really don’t...”
“I know Chris, I know. I just, um... I need time to get used to this, you know? This is the risk I have to take to be with you, and I will eventually find my way around it.”
He smiled and nodded, he understood how you were feeling. “Let’s just keep things between us, yeah? It’s more than enough that they now know we’re together. Who cares, right?”
You laughed a bit, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I just want you to know... You’re it for me.” He kissed the top of your head, then rested his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N. Now and forever.”
Your cheeks turned bright red and the biggest smile appeared on your face. “I love you, Christian.”
–––
“They don’t know about the things we do
They don’t know about the I love you’s
But I bet you if they only knew,
They would just be jealous of us”
–––
taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @masonspulisic @swimmingismywholelife @chelseagirl98 @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @mortirolo @masonsrem
#christian pulisic#christian pulisic x fem reader#christian pulisic x reader#christian pulisic x y/n#christian pulisic imagine#christian pulisic fluff#christian pulisic fanfic#christian pulisic fic
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alright, finally put my thoughts together after watching like 6 povs on and off and processing what we saw today. i have two major points to make, and i guess i'll just start with the meta one.
on a meta level, the eggs are fine. narratively, to just grab them from their beds and "oops goodbye" is a level of lazy, awful storytelling that we just… don't get from the qsmp lore gods. who wants to watch these kids grow up and then one day they're all missing, the end? nah. also, i am fully convinced that they wouldn't do it without giving their regular players a chance to show up, and with phil, baghera, and etoiles gone i don't think they'd ever do that. plus vegetta would kill quackity lmao the eggs play a pivotal role in the qsmp, quackity's said so before, and i'm honestly still half convinced the new players will get eggs… maybe after the original ones hatch. either way, on a meta and / storytelling level it doesn't make sense, and my mind's not changing until something big happens.
now, on a more "in character" perspective? today felt like two distinct moments in qsmp history rolled into one, and it makes my stomach churn. i was watching bad's live when the code killed ramon, and all povs were dripping with that heartbroken but hopeful but empty feeling, the exact same one i had when i watched bad sit silently by ramon's dead body for hours, throwing totems at him. it also reminded me of the day we had to wait for a verdict on bobby's final death, how we were all so sure that he'd survive only to be hit with the news that no, no he didn't. no, bobby was gone. for good.
what the qsmp admins and ccs accomplished today was amazing, because my feelings right now? definitely don't match what i logically know as fact. i know the eggs have to be okay, but i thought that before and look what happened. the emotions, the dejection, the stillness, the silence of the server today is jarring and awful, and it makes me second guess myself at every turn. it takes a lot for media to be able to be so visceral and raw, but today it was.
today, we had a front row seat to grief, in all it's shapes and forms, and of the silence that children leave behind when they're no longer with us, and i won't ever forget the streams i watched tonight.
g fucking g qsmp, admins and streamers alike.
#qsmp#qsmp live blogging#egg kidnapping 3 : ah shit here we go again#child death mention tw#i love it and hate it at the same time#long post
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Crying in the Rain
WC: 1,3K
Relationship: Raindrop (but its not exactly relationship focused)
Tags: Angst with a happy ending, idk what else, character study?
After his elemental change, Dewdrop felt like he lost all control. He was robbed of himself, of his life and shoved into body and role someone else designed.
Notes: Written for @jazz-bazz's ask that my dumbass deleted by accident. Not as angsty as I wanted it to be and weirdly written so if you think I was high when writing this no I was not... this time. I also shoved a lot of guitar stuff in there because I am myself and this was a gear talk ask sooo...
Read under the cut or on AO3.
The guitar, the Fantomen, was… pretty. It was beautiful, even, Dewdrop has always thought so, when Ifrit played it.
They made some changes for him, already, though. The pretty knobs with “H” engraved on them were changed to boring, plain silver ones, Dew didn’t know why. No one changed Aether’s knobs.
There was no space for questions, any questions, regarding all this change.
So much has changed. Has been changed.
Rest of the changes that had been inflicted on the instrument was more technical than visual. They probably just wanted Dewdrop’s playing to sound the best way possible, he doubted anyone cared about his comfort. He knew they didn’t, actually.
The strings were too thin, his fingers were shredded already. There were also too many of them, he was tumbling over the fretboard all days long not hitting the right strings, the right frets.
Ifrit was sweet, understanding and patient… not something fire ghouls were accused of being often. But even the sweetest, most understanding, those with the most patience can and will eventually run out of it.
“Droplet, it’s not that fucking hard,” he growled, slamming his hand down onto the strings of a guitar nestled in his lap. His raised voice and awful feedback the instrument let out made Dewdrop flinch.
“‘m sorry,” he whispered as he curled in on himself. As much as the big piece of lacquered wood in his own lap would allow, that is. His now dull and weirdly warm toned hair hid his face and the tears that were dangerously close to rolling down his burning cheeks.
“No, Dew, I’m sorry,” Ifrit sighed, putting a hand on the smaller ghoul’s back. Not so long ago he’d purr at the inhuman warmth but now he didn’t feel a difference. Just some additional weight. “I just, uhm… didn’t sleep well. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lashed out.”
“It’s fine, I know I suck,” Dewdrop mumbled, barely loud enough for the other to hear.
“Dew-”
“No, don’t,” he didn’t snap, he spoke softly quietly. He was no fire ghoul. “It’s fine.”
Ifrit sighed, ran his hands down his face and even opened his mouth to speak again. Dewdrop was no longer there, a hard case for his Fantomen left empty on the floor.
They made Dewdrop’s guitar even heavier.
A few simple modifications didn’t make much difference for him, he couldn’t lie and say they didn’t make it sound better.
But they made it heavier.
It originally weighted more than his bass already and they made it heavier.
Dew wanted to cry. He did cry. He was so out of control, he sucked at guitar and he sucked at being a ghoul and he hoped he sucked enough to get banished back to the Pit. Because there was no way he’d be able to do this.
To replace Ifrit, to play lead guitar, to be a fire ghoul.
To teach Rain bass.
He stumbled under the weight of the Fantomen again, his vision was clouded with tears, his shoulders were cramped and bruised.
Why was the strap so thin? It didn’t make sense.
But, again, why would anyone care about his comfort? He was just a tool and right now he was a faulty one.
At least he was alone in the practice room.
No one heard the butchered solos and his sobs. No one saw the blood and his shaking form.
Dewdrop couldn’t touch the bass, even if it wasn’t his. It wasn’t even the same model.
Why was Rain given a choice where he had none?
But it wasn’t the new water ghoul’s fault, he didn’t even know of Dew’s life just before he was summoned. Dewdrop couldn’t be angry at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked him, seemingly out of nowhere. The fire ghoul snapped back to reality, realising Rain had asked a question and was waiting for an answer when Dew was busy staring into the distance at nothing in particular.
Are you okay? Rain has asked. How was he supposed to answer?
“Yeah, sorry, didn’t sleep well,” Dew grumbled. “What was that?”
Rain looked at him like he absolutely did not believe him. Dew wasn’t surprised, “I asked if there’s a slide the second time or just the sixth fret.”
“Just the sixth fret once more, but you can do as many slides as you want, no one will probably notice,” Dewdrop shrugged. Rain nodded and turned back to his bass.
Dew started zoning out again as the water ghoul was going over and over again on the same part of the song. His eyes were fixed on Rain’s strap. A solid piece of leather and he wondered…
“You should get a different strap,” Rain called out from the other side of the practice stage. What?
“What?” Dewdrop turned around and sized the water ghoul. Not in a hostile way, he was just… how did he know?
It was their first actual practice as a band, the rest already filtered out, only the two of them left. How did he know?
“This strap isn’t good for you,” Rain said matter-of-factly, like it was common knowledge. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t have been, he hid it so well, he wasn’t a pussy it was just a stupid strap. “Hurts your shoulder and back.”
“Oh, I- they… they gave me this one with the guitar I don’t-”
“You should take your control back, Dewdrop.”
How did he know?
He changed the strap.
Dewdrop basically broke into one of the storage rooms by the part of the Abbey dedicated to the Ghost project and stole all his old straps he could find. The wide, padded ones with grucifix pins he added himself. They were his.
Nobody but Rain seemed to notice the change on the next rehearsal. Maybe Aether or Mountain would, but they’d probably not realise the… the importance of such a small change.
Rain noticed, and warmth bloomed in Dewdrop’s chest when he smiled and nodded at him.
His shoulders weren’t bruised anymore and his back wasn’t strained.
But there was another thing that was pissing him off and… and Rain had told him to get back control, so…
Dewdrop stole a drilling machine.
He was pissed with the placement of his strap, he didn’t have that much accessibility to the highest frets which were important for lead, for playing solos.
So he stole a drilling machine.
He drilled the hole.
He moved the strap to the side, above the neck instead of where it had been nestled in the back, where the neck met the body. He shoved three toothpicks into the hole the screw left and put a few drops of white nail polish over it to make it as unnoticeable as possible.
Only Rain noticed the change, and warmth bloomed in Dewdrop’s chest when he smiled and nodded at him, again.
Dewdrop regained all control there was to regain when he first kissed Rain.
It was like something snapped inside of him, like a rope that was slowly being cut and burned until only one thread remained, and Rain was the one to snap it. He was who started cutting and burning it in the first place, after all.
One day, years later, Dewdrop crawled out of bed, Rain’s arms and went to the newly anointed Papa’s office. He asked him for a new guitar, a Stratocaster. A few different models, actually, each one with different modifications, customisations.
Because it was going to be his and his only, and no one was going to take away his control again. He let them rob him of years of his life on Earth and he was never going to give up control again.
He accepted the past.
Dewdrop was a fire ghoul now, but it was his life, he wasn’t going to waste any more of it and he was his own ghoul.
Well… maybe Rain’s too.
When he took Terzo’s grucifixes off of his straps it was his choice.
In the future, when he’d put stickers on the backs of the guitars, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Not again.
#hypnone writes#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#dewdrop ghoul#rain ghoul#fanfiction#hypnone gear talks
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* ( THE GOOD WITCH BY MAISIE PETERS / SENTENCE PROMPTS
" it's still me here "
" did you think i forgot about you? "
" i'm still upset "
" it's armageddon "
" i'm still a good witch with her tea "
" all i do is think about the past "
" i still argue like my mother and suppress stuff like my dad "
" i still miss you "
" i still miss you but i know now it will pass "
" i will try forgiveness, but i will not forget "
" was it a love affair? "
" i couldn't escape you "
" if it was a first kiss how come it felt like a snakebite? "
" i wish i would've seen it sooner "
" why did it take me ages to say it? "
" i'll leave you behind but that don't mean it's easy "
" nobody actually happy and healthy has ever felt so desperate to prove it "
" i feel like all of my exes have done that "
" it felt like a face slap "
" it keeps hurting "
" you're still there "
" you look better "
" what the fuck? "
" you still get to me "
" you got every single thing you want "
" you are pretentious "
" i gotta get my act together "
" i know that i should know better "
" i don't think i wanna get better "
" i just keep looking back at you "
" it sawed me right in half "
" now you're living the goddamn dream "
" you were it for me "
" i know i gave you all of myself "
" i'm watching you moving on "
" do you love her/him/them? "
" the worst way to love somebody is to watch them love somebody else "
" was I just an idea you liked? "
" i still can't make it make any sense "
" i thought it would be us for life "
" how's it feel to have made me cry? "
" will you tell me just one more lie? "
" loving you was easy, that's why it hurts now "
" i was treading water till the minute we met "
" i know it didn't last "
" i still want you back "
" maybe that's for the best "
" i am not allowed to want you any longer "
" i'd be yours again tomorrow if you wanted "
" i bet you've thrown away our photographs "
" you look like a superstar "
" it was letting go of everything but you "
" i hadn't thought of home twice "
" if we're living the dream, i hope we never wake up "
" i take in clowns like a one-woman circus "
" you're kinda awful, but you're not awful on purpose "
" oh, mr bruce wayne, where is that cape now? "
" don't you know that you're losing this? "
" don't you see what i'm giving up? "
" you can't even text "
" what did you expect? "
" i'm on a one-way trip to take over the world "
" you could've come, but your head's in the sand "
" you pushed me out quicker than it took me to put my jeans on "
" maybe you're lost and just can't see what you have but i'm not gonna wait "
" don't you see what what you're giving up? "
" i'm not holding my breath "
" i know how your tone works "
" i know you remember "
" i'm the best thing that almost happened to you "
" i'm the greatest love that you wasted "
" we could live off of magic and maybes "
" you're evasive on the phone "
" i'll still flinch at the sound of a door "
" i could love you and wait 'til you're ready "
" what happened here? "
" you swore a lot of things "
" i've been lied to before "
" i've heard some things that i will leave unrepeated "
" if a man says that he wants you in his life forever, run! "
" i wish i'd known "
" i wish i hadn't let go "
" when we said goodbye, i wish i hadn't let go "
" you were driving fast, i was holding back "
" i loved you, babe, but i bet you knew that "
" you said we're like your mom and dad "
" i was yours so fast, i was scared so bad "
" i loved you, did I tell you that? "
" but if I'm tricky, why'd you kiss me? "
" love's a verb and not a bandage "
" i'm good at pretending "
" i kept it in but it wrecked my organs "
" so pour the gin "
" i'm gonna throw you down the river "
" if you don't love me, what was april? "
" it broke me big time "
" i've been treated carelessly "
" in the bed of poison oak you were the remedy "
" i couldn't ask anymore "
" i know it's wrong "
" but now you're gone, i can't sleep "
" i'm just talking to your memory "
" you swore that you'd be there for me "
" now your touch will last for centuries "
" at least I had you for this long "
" you gave me the world "
" you gave me your word "
" it built me like a promise 'til it broke me like a curse "
" i knew loving you was letting you leave "
" i'm dating but just dating for sport "
" i'm doing better "
" i thought i gave you the best of me "
" i can finally breathe "
" the love we had was eating me whole "
" i don't need your light to be lit "
" i just should've known when to quit "
" now i'm over the worst of it "
" i tried to rewrite it, but i can't "
" i've pleaded with the powers and their plans "
" the men start wars yet troy hates helen "
" women's hearts are lethal weapons "
#rp meme#rp memes#rp prompts#ask meme#meme#memes#roleplay meme#ask memes#lyric meme#lyrics#maisie peters
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I sent an ask responding to the Izuku parts that I hope you got.(if not fml)
But I figured I should send a separate ask to talk about Miguel.
So like my thoughts have been centering on this scenario where you're his secretary or assistant because he is the CEO. He's a beta and you're an omega.
You guys have a purely professional relationship, tbh half the time he doesnt even realize you got you're heat and just finds out you called in when you dont respond. Really the only thing he cares about is you doing your work, getting it done on time, and not half-assing it.
But then he gets the spider DNA and everything goes to shit. Not only does the spider DNA give him extra abilities and enhanced senses, but it also gives him some alpha traits/tendencies.
He goes in to work thinking it'll help distract him and get him back in the rhythm of everything only to just get fucking hit in the face with your scent. Queue him rushing past because it takes everything in him not to just pounce on you.
But as I said, he only got a few alpha traits. He didnt actually become an alpha. So while he's out here wanting to just pin you to his or your desk, knot and claim you....he's completely incapable. His body is completely incapable of performing those actions and it only leans into his yandere behavior and tendencies.
I've also been think like(depending on how one writes abo), sometimes betas dont have a sent or if they do its extremely faint. Yandere beta miguel who cant even smother you in his scent because he basically doesn't have one, meanwhile you dont even realize he's changed at all because you cant smell it.
Though because he doesnt have a scent he would absolutely sneak into your house/appartment. Its basically the only upside in his eyes.
Also anytime you go into heat and have to miss work? He is immediately taking your seat from your desk and huffing it while he touches himself. Then at night as spiderman will come just close enough to be able to smell you but still not lose control of himself, absolutely getting off on your scent and sounds of pleasure from you using a toy.
God this shits been living in my brain rent free for like the last week and wont go away 😭
I got the Izuku ask :) trust me when I say I am simply dogshit awful at getting back to people and being consistent
Picture if Reader is actually a really competent employee of his at Alchemax but Miguel like BARELY pays any mind to you because, you know, he's got all sorts of shit constantly stressing him out and occupying his mind on top of migraine, and suddenly you're going into work and bringing him his preferred coffee as usual when, he tries to make small talk? You've worked for this man for like at least a year, basically only speaking when necessary, and one day you lean over to put a coffee or some papers on his desk and that brings you just close enough for him to take in a breath of your scent which instantly helps alleviate his headaches
You're basically done giving him what he needs and you're literally about to leave the room when he suddenly calls out (almost in a "wait I need to catch you before you leave" kind of urgency) and you pause and look at him with those big eyes of yours he suddenly can't stop staring into when Romeo hits you with "so .... how are you?"
And you're just kind of stunned for a few moments because this is a man who basically doesn't speak to you unless he needs something, even when you go to him to pass along a message or something or other about his schedule and your secretarial duties it's typically just a sort of "got it, thank you" sort of response and you're sent on your way again, or given another task, so in ao forth. You basically can't get a good read on the man's personality because he simply doesn't talk to you enough or at least about anything other than work
He officially enters the Goo Goo Eyes Zone where when you like someone almost everything about them is so cute and had more meaning than it actually does and is basically finally seeing you for the first time. He FINALLY notices what kinds of perfumes/body mists you like to use to smell nice even if it's something you've worn for ages, the ways you prefer to style yourself, which little accessories or rings or whatever may be your favorite, little mannerisms you may have like clicking pens or singing little songs when you think you're along, like when you're doing something and it's you're just like occasionally singing, like he finds you washing a coffee cup in the break room all "--and its doooOooone!"
The need to learn more about you escalates because suddenly he's like "wait I've known them for all this time and never noticed all these things, what ELSE don't I know?" And it really is an obsessive infatuation. You live in a high rise where you don't really have to worry about closing your blinds or anything which is perfect for Miguel "don't you know i have enhanced senses" O'Hara to watch you from the roof of the next building over. You never lock your windows because, what's the point? He starts learning your schedule and meticulously taking all kinds of notes until it's the level of him outright entering your apartment to snoop through all of your things and potentially plant bugs and cameras
One day you're opening your window and kind of poke your head out to look at the city and you notice weird sorts of, almost gouges in the wall outside? What are those from? (Well sweetie, turns out, when you were going to town on yourself last night to relieve a little stress, he was the equivalent of like 10 feet away, clinging to your building, listening to and potentially recording every little gasp and finger flick)
But he gets SO frustrated when you're, you know polite, but, not exactly as receptive as he's hoped? When in reality he's still being awkward as fuck and you're still kind of adjusting to him paying attention to you, and it probably feels good to have him seemingly recognizing your efforts but like, you don't wanna. date him??? At least not so suddenly or anything, so he's trying to court you, but, it's becoming harder and harder to be around you at all, let alone when your heats start coming up. He could never tell before that your scent starts changing when That Time is coming around, gradually shifting and becoming something he finds differently hypnotic, something that makes him want to bury his nose in your neck while also, being buried in you period
He'll grow the balls to be more direct with you eventually, but he justifies everything by telling himself he just wants to get to know more about you, and that the stalking is just him trying to get to know you a little more, so when he sees you face to face he can win you over and make you his mate treat you better, obviously! He'll... he'll ask you out to dinner next week, he promises! But for now, he's just gonna, stay right here perched under your window, seeing and hearing and smelling everything
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Quick update on seating:
Grey chair (aka Recliner Support System from Special Tomato) didn't work for me. It was good in a few ways, but still not enough support for my body. And actually caused me a lot of pain. We tried it many different ways with several adjustments. But it was always painful.
We tried with and without backrest: with = too much painful pressure on my stick-out bones, without = too much gap at lower back and not enough lateral (side) support to stop from sliding/slouching/slumping to the side. The seat part felt comfortable, but there was nothing to stop my legs from splaying out, so my hips were still not quite right (and definitely other joints of my legs are NOT aligned properly).
The harness was not as good as I thought it might be. It didn't really hold me securely like I hoped, it just either created more painful pressure on parts of my back, or didn't do anything at all (depending on how tight it was). The headrest just put my neck at weird angles and made it stiff and sore for days afterwards.
In fact, I was stiff and sore ALL OVER for days and days afterwards (and I tried it several different days, several different ways - every time just stiff in a slightly different place).
I am disappointed and upset that it doesn't work. I feel like I am running out of options, and my pain is just increasing.
I actually have a lot of concern about my back. I have known for a long time that my back is weird and wrong. It hurts all the time. My ribs on my right side (at the back) stick up, and my right shoulder blade is more prominent compared to the left. Both my shoulders are rounded, but more on the right (which doesn't make sense to me because the left side is weaker). And my neck is always bent forwards - when I tilt it back it makes my head be looking up, like my neck is "stuck" tilted down??
I don't know exactly why my back is like this, I just know that it has been like this for a long time and seems worse now (??). Mum says it is just my posture and due to hypotonia (low muscle tone) and left side weakness. That is definitely a BIG factor - it effects everything about my body.
But I am so confused why my back won't go flat and straighten out when I stretch, or press it flat. It just hurts more in those stick-out areas.
And I won't even go into detail about how hypotonia and hypermobility and left side weakness affects the muscles - how my body tries to compensate, etc. And how some muscles get short and tight, and others get lengthened and loose. Everything is fucked, basically.
I just want to be comfortable and not in pain. My bed is the only option (other than swing) that I have to sit, and it is not supporting my body well at all. In fact, it causes more pain long term, because it is keeping me in awful posture. And at this point, even leaning back on pillows still hurts the right side of my back!!! I need to re-teach my body to be in a correct posture.
It is just so difficult to do when I cannot tolerate an upright position at all, need to be very reclined majority of the time, cannot hold myself up, cannot cope with the pain from pressure on so many parts of my body.
Mum says she will try and get a seating assessment for me through rehab physio people, but I don't have high hopes.
I am so frustrated. And sore. And angry.
#words from my head#hypotonia#low muscle tone#physical disability#physically disabled#hypermobile#hypermobility#muscle weakness#swearing
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Unfiltered Thoughts While Reading: Fourth Wing
⚠️⚠️⚠️BEWARE OF A BEVY OF SPOILERS ⚠️⚠️⚠️
Chapter 1
I really like Mira so far - not too sure about their mom yet lol
Is Brennan REALLY dead? Lol Could be a page pulled from Red Queen
Their mom might have been Manon in an alternate universe
“Decide, Violet. Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?’”
I love the relationship between the two sisters
“He's the most exquisite man I've ever seen.”
I mean, Xaden does sound pretty hot. I’m a sucker for dark hair and dark eyes lol
“Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot.”
🤣🤣🤣
Nooooo! I had a feeling Dylan wouldn’t make it 😭
Chapter 2
Jack Barlowe - even his name sounds like a dick
Chapter 3
So there are four wings, with 3 sections in each wing, and 3 squads in each section making it 4 wings, 12 sections, and 36 squads total
“I will not die today”
Chapter 5
so Violets mom opposed General Melgren about the rebel children - wonder if they have animosity
Lol well Violets plan of getting Ri to ask her questions didn’t work 🤣
Damn, does her mom hate her? Why would she send Violet to do this??? Lol
Chapter 6
Aw, I really hope Brennan isnt actually dead and it’s a plot twist because he seems like a character I’d love
Chapter 7
It’s so strange that the people with the most motivation for revenge (rebel children) are put in such high power by training to become riders WITH MAGIC AND DRAGONS
Oh and look, a bunch of them are gathering to scheme even though it’s illegal for more than three to be seen together lol
Violet hanging out in a tree while passing judgement on this group is hilarious
“‘Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you?’”
Alright, I admit that I love their dynamic lol
Chapter 8
I’m surprised Dain didn’t see her rendezvous with Xaden since they touched and he can see memories
I wonder if the decrease in the number of dragons willing to bond speaks to the fact that the dragons’ don’t align with humans like before
Omggggg I hope Violet gets the black one! If dragons bond with humans like them, it would make sense because she’s so smart
Omg was the one and only rider of the black dragon Brennan?! The last time he was seen was five years ago which is when Brennan “died” and the teacher looked at Violet when he told the story of how the rider died
Oh I got it wrong, Brennan was the rider that was trying to be resurrected
Omg i totally thought it was Jack volunteering to spar Violet. I’m glad it’s Xaden instead hahaha
Chapter 9
Violence? I love the nickname haha
“Beautiful. Fucking. Asshole.”
🤣🤣🤣
Am I the only one getting hot and bothered by this death match? Lollll
“Defenseless women have never been my type.”
Okay sir 👀🥵
Man, I get Dain is her bestie but he is trying way too hard to get her out of the rider squadrant - just believe in her
Chapter 10
Theory time: the rider who died trying to save Brennan was his lover. He didn’t do it for fame, he did it because he loved Brennan. The black dragon is going to take Violet as his rider because of the special bond his rider had with her brother. BOOM
I already liked Ridoc before because I resonate with cracking jokes through hard times but now I like him even more and respect him
Violets squad: Sawyer, Pryor, Trina, Tynan, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Violet, Aurelie, and Luca
I hope everyone on this squad stays alive because I like them and their dynamic. I also hope Sawyer gets a dragon this year 😭
As I read the Gauntlet practice scenes, I just picture the final challenge on Wipe Out 🤣
Aurelie 😭😭😭
“Do not make me ask three times.”
👀 or what Zaddy?
“What makes you a rider is what you do after people die.”
Things I like about this book so far:
Female lead is not annoying. She’s very logical and the writer SHOWS that she’s smart instead of telling
The pacing is great. What a page turner! And the chapters aren’t impossibly long. The book is long but it doesn’t FEEL like it
The romance between the main ship is not cringe! They’re dynamic is hot. He’s hot. She’s hot. It’s all hot
There is more than one badass female characters! It’s giving Throne of Glass series (Aelin, Manon, Lysandra, etc)
Chapter 11
Does that mean someone will be punished for not burning Brennans things? Or does it not matter because Brennan is ALIVE?!
okay, so there’s a lot of representation in this book and I’m loving it (people of color, gay, they/them pronouns, etc)
I mean if Dain REALLY cared about her survival, he’d help more! He would have watched her practices and given her ideas on how to make it - not continue to try to get her to quit!
Violet is a fucking badass. LETSGOOOO
I also love how shameless her mind is when describing how sexy Xaden is lol
Also, I notice that Dain isn’t mentioned AT ALL during this whole thing about her making it through the gauntlet. Shouldnt he have been there also defending her win???? Sus
Chapter 12
Ahhh there’s a Feathertail? Maybe THATS the one that she bonds with since they abhore violence and are smart (sounds like Violet)
OR the Feathertail will report back to the black dragon about Violet and he comes during the Threshing 👀
Damn these dragons are heartless! Poor Pryor. But also, humans are heartless - Tynan and Luca can jump off a cliff
I hope that the awesome conversation Violet and Rhi are having throughout this walk means they’ll get awesome dragons
OMG finally someone I dislike diess LOL freaking Luca. Bye Felicia
Chapter 13
Hmmm, if Violet hasn’t felt a connection with the feather one so far then I don’t think they’ll bond. Maybe she hasn’t felt a connection because the black dragon wasn’t on the walk and Tynan will bond with that gold one to teach him a lesson about strength?
I wish Tynan also got burned to a crisp during presentation
Threshing is giving me “Manon and the Thirteen must fight others for Wyverns” vibes
Okay, maybe the gold dragon IS her dragon lol
I’m proud of Violet for coming to the Gold dragons defense but I’m relieved that Xaden was there with his dragon hahaha
Chapter 14
I FUCKING KNEW IT! It’s the black dragon! Here to claim Violet!!! Fuck yes!!
This fucking dragon is hilarious. I love him already
“"My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line."
Tairn, this dragon is so sassy hahahaha
SHE FALLS OFF?!
Chapter 15
“You’re making us look bad. Stop it.”
I’m ded hahahah this dragon 🤣 He reminds me of Venom in the Venom movie with Tom Hardy lol
“Was everyone’s dragon a curmudgeon? Or just mine?”
💀💀💀💀
“"You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning. You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength.”
❤️❤️❤️
SHE FUCKING BONDED WITH BOTH?!
What. A. Legend.
Chapter 16
Damn, even the head dragon isn’t a huge fan of this? Now I’m concerned because General Melgren is obviously a bad guy lol
I’m so glad Sawyer got bonded this time around! And Rhi and Ridoc are bonded!!! Yay!
Poor Trina
Tairn told you to stay with Xaden and you’re not LISTENING!
Oh I didn’t see the dragons bond coming!!!
Damn Dain, that’s cold. But I knew it - he’s no real ride or die bestie!!!
I really do like Violet but her undying faith in Dain is pissing me off
Strange how Dain kisses her after all this time only because she has TWO bonded dragons 😒
Chapter 17
But if you really think about it, Violet didn’t take any available dragons away from others - Tairn hasn’t been seen in five years and Goldie was unwanted and a surprise at presentation
“Your puny gods”
lol I love Tairn
Chapter 18
Yes! Finally Violet sticks it to Dain. I’m tired of his shit too
Omggggg poor Jeremiah. That was brutal
the golden dragon can freeze time?! What a badass power!
chapter 19
Dang, Xadens rejection to Violet had ME in my feelings - what do you mean you wouldn’t sleep with her to keep her safe?!
Omg Andarna is adorable - she better not die EVER
Ohhhhh, a Feathertail is a baby dragon?
I bet it was Imogen who opened the door for those people to kill Violet
Chapter 20
Based on the intro of this chapter, now I’m thinking it was Amber because she’s the only female wing leader I can recall
Yep, it was Amber!
Also, I love their squads banter and camaraderie lol
Fucking Dain - you’re the worst
I’m glad they were able to show undeniable truth since SOMEONE refused to believe her 😒
Chapter 21
I love that there’s even more representation in here with the hearing impaired scribe
Liam sounds hot lol
Something sus is happening with this war
Chapter 22
I’d be staring too 👀
So our boy Jack is allergic to oranges hmmm? Funny how a guy that talks so much shit can be killed by produce. Just saying
Okay now I’ve reached the “when will they get it on?!” Point lol
Xaden is just giving out hot compliments left and right 🥵
FINALLY! It only took two dragons fucking for Violet and Xaden to finally give in lol
Nooooooo! Damn Xaden for thinking straight lol
Chapter 23
I see what Rhiannon is hinting at - that Xaden is only the most powerful rider in their generation for NOW because it was before Violet got here lol Gotta love that bestie support!
Man Dain really needs to step up - he’s giving Tamlin vibes right now
I knew Jack was allergic to oranges! I hope he’s dead!
Chapter 24
Damn, still alive
A guy burned himself alive with his own power?! Man, this squadrant is insane and brutal
Violet’s mom is cold as ice
Chapter 25
the most valuable thing would be intel! They should think like a Scribe, like Violet
Liam and I are on the same page!
Break into the Commander’s office?! This could go horribly wrong! What if they see stuff they’re not supposed to?!
“‘Scribes freak me out. Quiet little know-it-alls, acting like they can make or break someone by writing something down.’”
🤣🤣🤣
Alright, pretty badass plan
Chapter 26
Mira!!! I’m so glad they got to see each other and that Rhi got to see her family 🥰
Omg mated dragons can only be a part for three days?!
It’s strange that earlier in the book they made it seem like Tairn hasn’t been seen for five years but if he’s mates to the blue dragon, wouldn’t he be seen wherever Xaden is?
Chapter 28
I love how intense and dangerous Tairn is one minute and super cheeky the next haha
FINALLY JACK IS DEAD! Fuck that guy!
And yessssss, Lightening Wielder sounds badass!
Chapter 29
I swear if Andarna dies in this series, I’m going to RIOT. She’s so pure and wonderful 🥹
“Get the fuck away from her with that nonsense.”
Xaden does not mince words and I love it haha
Xaden and Tairn’s pep talk to Violet is way better than Dain’s
I mean she has a point about her powers. They’re badass but yeah, pretty destructive lol
Chapter 30
Well this escalated quickly 👀🥵
Pretty awesome that dudes take contraception lol
Xaden is responsible for all the rebel children?! Omg I bet it was her mom that gave him those scars! That’s what he meant when they ran into the commander previously
I’m not a fan of when the male lead says “Don’t fall for me” like bro, it’s too late - I’m invested haha
This training session with Carr is hilarious lol
I think I like professor Carr more now
Chapter 31
I’m pleasantly surprised she comes right out and says “yeah I’m probably going to fall for you if we keep this up” lollll most characters in this position stay in denial until it backfires lol
“He really does have an incredible body, but he doesn't get to dictate what I do with my heart.”
Preach girl
I’m living for all of page 393 - you go Violet!
Damn, I really like Violet lol
Chapter 32
🔥🔥🔥
Cheaper 33
Phew, thank goodness it was a fake drill!
Hmmmm, something tells me this fake war is about to get real
Omg why is Andarna so adorable?! Tairn will carry her like a human dad carrying his baby in a bjorn lol
Idk that “I’ll miss you, Violet.” from Dain was a little SUS. He was way too quick to make amends with her decision. Something fishy is going on
Xaden and the other rebel kids in the fourth wing are also acting sus. Like they know more about this scenario than they’re letting on. Why are they all so tense if it’s just a game? Why did Dain’s dad give Xaden a weird look?
Chapter 34
did the Gryphons start attacking after unification because Navarre took something from them and made it harder for the Gryphons to get it back after unifying nations?
Ah! I had a feeling the Gryphons and their riders weren’t so savage as the Navarre historians and leaders want people to believe!
Chapter 35
Okay, we can recover from this Violet! Sure everyone including your two bonded dragons and the love of your life lied to you over and over BUT it must have been for a good reason. I’d give them the benefit of the doubt over Dain and the others any day
Okay Violet really believing Dain would break rules to save people is ludicrous. I like Violet but her thinking on this is stupid
Theory time - Violets mom killed their dad because he was in the know about venin and ready to go public
Another theory - Dain and his dad have known about venin this whole time. Dain’s being used to help continue to cover it up. He’s also been lying to her technically as much as Xaden has been
I fucking knew it! Dain has been reading her memories this whole time! Duh girl!!!
The real question is if more than just Dain and his dad concocted this plan to kill Xaden
If Xaden dies, there’s a chance Violet would die because of their dragon bond so wouldn’t her mom know that? But would she even care? Or mayb her mom is like The Hound from the crescent city series
Chapter 36
“We’re riders. We defend the defenseless. It’s what we do.”
Damn, so General Melgren can’t see the fate of people with rebellion relics? Good
The level of stress I have reading these last 80ish pages is HIGH
I don’t want anyone in this riot to die! Or the Gryphons and their riders!
maybe her mom knew she’d survive because of what general Melgren can see? Which might explain why she was fine with making Violet become a rider
Whyyyy would you say “we actually might survive this”?!?! Now people will die!
“It’s been. My honor.”
I am unwell
😭😭😭 Liam
Chapter 37
So many emotions rn fucking hell
Chapter 38
Omg if they are going where I think they’re going I’m going to be shooketh ARE THEY TAKING HER TO BRENNAN?!
Another theory - the reason why the number of dragons willing to bond is decreasing, is because more dragons are bonding with the rebels and not the Navarre military
Violet is annoying me with her thoughts about Xaden right now though. Girl, you saw and fought that evil and you still mad that Xaden didn’t bring you in sooner?! Get over it and live lol
The person Xaden is asking to save her HAS to be Brennan - he was a mender
Chapter 39
we’re getting a Xaden chapter?! Is this the end?!
Something doesn’t feel right - did she lose her memories? Why is she being so nice to Xaden right away? Sus
Oh good her memory is back! I was about to be pissed if all of book 2 was her trying to recall book 1 lol
What happened to Xaden’s mom?! Sounds like another storyline 👀
Andaran became full grown?! Can wait to hear what she looks like and her special power
BRENNAN I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!!
Well if Violet didnt trust Xaden before, she definitely won’t now! Keep a dead brother secret seems pretty big lol
I wonder what Tairn thinks of Brennan since his rider died saving him
also, I’d be low key pissed at my sibling! I wonder if Mira knows about Brennan. I assume not - maybe he thinks she’s too much like their mom?
Me after finishing the final page:
#fourth wing#rebecca yarros#violet sorrengail#xaden riorson#dain aetos#bookish#book review#bookish thoughts#rhiannon#ridoc fourth wing#fourth wing review
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Text
differences from then and now / george weasley
pairing: george weasley x fem!reader
warnings: smoking cigarettes, swearing
summary: you and george were friends, but apparently friends don’t do what you do.
a/n: i’ve been gone for 2 months but i am here. where’s the applause? KIDDING. i started this like last night and spedran it so i hope it’s up to par even though my writing’s a lil rusty!
⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗
“Nice night, isn’t it?” George says, cutting through the gloom of silence with a voice that’s sweeter than treacle.
To be honest, you don’t know him all that well anymore. Him talking to you is already a pleasant surprise.
And it’s not that you had a dramatic falling out. It’s not that one of you became an awful person all of a sudden, causing your friendship to crumble. No, it was a slow drift that aging could be blamed for.
“It is.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Maybe he’s not trying to rekindle something, maybe he just had a bit to drink and you were… around.
You swallow, not wanting the conversation to end. “You, uh, you gonna get back inside?”
“You want me to?” he replies.
“No! I mean, no. I just thought… I don’t know, they’re doing shots in there.”
He takes a drag out of his cigarette, a habit he never had while you knew him. “Soon. Just went out for a smoke.”
You already know it’d be prying, but anything for more conversation material. “That stuff’ll kill you, you know.”
“Or maybe you will,” he mumbles, turning his head away.
This puzzles you. It puzzles you a lot. What does that mean?
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was something,” you say, unconvinced.
George shoots a frustrated look at the sky as a low, almost inaudible groan escapes him. “It’s just that you look pretty in your dress. When’d you even get that?”
So he’s also paying attention to your differences from then and now. Who knew.
“Why does it matter? We’re not… friends anymore, George.”
“Were we ever? Is that what we were before? Just friends?”
Your heart skips a beat. A misunderstanding.
It all makes sense now. He’d distanced himself from you when you’d started chatting with another boy in class. God, he’d thought you were more.
“I thought we were just friends.”
He grunts. “How could you think that? Friends don’t look at each other the way we do. Friends don’t act the way we do.”
It’s the angriest you’ve ever seen him, and his cigarette’s been put out and his hands are in his hair.
“I’m sorry,” is all you can manage. You feel bad for not saying more, but what’s there to say?
“No! I’m fucking sorry for not telling you how much I wanted to fucking kiss you on all those nights we were alone and laughing. I’m fucking sorry for not telling you how much I wanted to fucking murder Field when he flirted with you. I’m fucking sorry for not telling you how much I fucking love you.”
“Do you still want to?”
“What?”
“Kiss me?”
It takes one flicker to your lips before he grabs your face, tasting and smelling awfully like smoke, a scent you usually hate but can’t help but adore as of right now.
And god, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel criminally right to be kissing on Lee Jordan’s porch at a party where anyone could walk out and see.
You pull away to catch your breath. Though your lips being pressed against his feels infinitely better, you decide.
“I’ve missed you,” you say.
You figure out that he has too. A lot.
#🎞 by.ivy#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter imagine#hp imagine#harry potter oneshot#harry potter#george weasley x reader#george weasley imagine#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley
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