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finnsbubblegum · 1 year

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Best First Date I’ve Ever Had (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel, rom-com, smut

Summary (Series): reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah.

Summary: Pov: You had an unforgettable first date with Joel Miller.

Words count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m trying to make this as a rom-com, hope you like my new series! This is part 10 of Where It All Starts. But it can also be read as a standalone. I'm so grateful for all of you! Thank you for your comments, reblogs, and likes ❤️ There are still more chapters for this series so stay tuned! Love you!

It’s been a while since I wrote smut. I hope you like it. Lol.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

“So when can I take you out for a date?” Joel asked you on a date as he chewed his dinner.

“Aren’t we always on a date?” You mumbled as you munched.

“Sarah’s always third wheeling.” He directed his eyes to his baby daughter.

“Oh..” You nodded.

What Joel meant was a real date with only the two of you. He loved spending time when there were the three of you. But he wanted to have a moment when he felt like there were only you and him in this world.

“I guess we’ll have to find a babysitter then?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Can you ask Flo?” He only trusted Flo to babysit his daughter.

“Ask her if she’s free on Friday night?” Joel added.

“I’ll ask her tomorrow.” You nodded.

The next day at the cafe, you asked Flo to babysit Sarah and she said yes. Flo was always willing to help you and she loved babies.

It was finally Friday and it was the day of your first real date with Joel since you dated him. You dressed up for him and he dressed up for you. Even though both of you had seen each other's morning faces, the two of you wanted to look good for each other. It was a special day and it was your first date after all.

You tidied your hair one more time and put on more lipstick before you knocked on Joel’s door. You inhaled and exhaled. Then you knocked on his door.

“Hi.” You waved your hand nervously.

“Hi-you-uh-” Joel was tongue tied.

You looked so beautiful and he ran out of words. His hand was still resting on the door, jaw dropped and froze in front of you. You raised your eyebrows and let out a chuckle.

“Sorry, I-uh-You look absolutely gorgeous.” His cheeks redden.

“Thank you, Joel. You look handsome, too.” You kissed his cheeks and it made his cheeks red even more.

“So, Flo isn’t here yet?” You walked in the house.

“Yep.” Joel answered as you heard a knock.

“That must be her.” You pointed at the door.

Joel went to open the door for Flo.

"Hi, am I late?" Flo was panting as she walked inside the house.

"Only 5 minutes. That's okay." Joel took her jacket and hung it to the coat hanger.

"Thank God. Where is she?" Flo washed her hand on the sink.

"She's sleeping in her room." You answered her.

"Okay. I got this. Don't worry. You two enjoy your date." Flo dried her hand with a towel.

"Go on." She shoo-ed the two of you.

"Okay. Call me if you need anything." You turned your head to her as you walked to the door.

"I will." Flo opened the door.

"Have fun. You know what I mean." Flo raised her eyebrows up and down as she whispered to your ear.

You gasped and slapped her upper arm.

"Ouch." She rubbed her upper arm.

"What's wrong?" Joel turned to look at you and Flo.

"Nothing. Come on, Joel. Let's go." You held his hand and walked to the car.

"Have a great night, you two!" Flo waved her hand goodbye from the porch.

At the restaurant

"Thank you." You sat as Joel pulled the chair for you.

"Okay. What do you want to eat?" Joel read the menu.

"I think I'll get the chef's menu." You closed the menu book.

"Okay." Joel closed the menu book on his hand too.

Joel and you both ordered the chef's menu for the night. It was a good choice. You liked the meal. It was delicious.

"Hmm. It's really delicious." You chuckled.

"Yeah, this is amazing." Joel nodded as he chewed.

"Oh!" You gasped as you dropped your fork to the floor.

"Nuh-uh. I'll get you new ones." Joel stopped you from reaching down the table to get your fork back.

"Excuse me, Miss." Joel raised his hand to get the server's attention.

One of the waitresses saw Joel and walked towards your table.

"What can I help you, sir?" The waitress asked.

"Can we get a fork, please?" Joel asked the waitress.

"Yes, of course." The waitress went to get you a new clean fork and brought it to your table.

"Thank you." You and Joel said it at the same time.

The dinner went amazing. You enjoyed the food, the vibe, and the place that Joel had reserved for your first date was beautiful. You appreciated him for choosing a beautiful restaurant. You offered to pay but he insisted that he paid for the dinner. Joel was a gentleman and he said "a gentleman pays on the first date.".

"Wanna take a walk?" Joel offered to take a walk as he opened the door for you.

"Yeah, I'm full. A walk sounds good." You rested your hand on your tummy.

You walked slowly side by side with him. Then Joel suddenly put his hand on your left upper arm, pushing you gently to the right so he could walk on the outside of the sidewalk. You felt butterflies in your stomach at his chivalrous gesture. Pouting a few times, holding yourself to smile every second.

The two of you talked as you walked but then you had a quiet moment. Your heart beat faster as your hand and his hand brushed on each other's as it swung when you walked. You had the urge to hold his hand but you were too nervous to make the first move. But before you knew it, Joel's hand was already on yours. Your fingers and his were now intertwined. You looked down and smiled. You didn't want Joel to see you blushing. Little did you know, he was blushing too. The two of you just walked on the pavement enjoying the night breeze under the street lights. No conversations, just fingers intertwined, swinging your hand, and smiling while looking in the opposite direction to hide your butterflies.

“I remember you told me you love ice cream.” Joel suddenly started a conversation and looked at you.

“Yeah, I love ice cream.” You smiled because he remembered what you liked.

“I know a good place around here. Want some?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Of course. I always have room for ice cream.” You chuckled. Joel chuckled.

You chose chocolate ice cream just like you always did. Your love towards chocolate was so big that you never chose any flavor beside chocolate. And Joel remembered that. The two of you spent an hour at the ice cream place and talked again. Even though you met Joel every day, there were always things to talk about. The connection between the two of you was so strong that you had never run out of topics and neither did Joel.

“Is this the last stop?” You asked Joel as you walked near to the car to open the door.

Joel smiled then he took your hand, spun you, and pulled you closer to him. You chuckled as you bumped into his chest.

“One more.” He kissed your forehead.

Then he let you go and opened the car door for you.

“Where are we going?” You put on your seatbelt.

“It’s a surprise.” He started the car.

“Okay, Mr. Miller. I trust you.”

After a few minutes of driving, you recognized the streets. You guessed he was bringing you to that hill with the beautiful view again.

“Joel Miller’s favorite place.” You smiled and shook your head.

“It is. You told me you’re in love with me at this place. How can I not like this place?” He chuckled.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded.

“Do you wanna go outside?” Joel took off his seatbelt, his hand on the car handle, ready to go out.

“Let’s just stay here for a while.” You held his wrist.

“Okay.” He let go of the car handle.

You closed your eyes, rested your head on the headrest, and took a deep breath in and out.

“I’m so happy, Joel. Thank you.”

“Me too. It’s all because of you. So, thank you.” He took your hand and rested it on his thigh.

“It’s because of you, too.” You opened your eyes and faced him.

Joel and you looked at each other with admiration, affection and love. Joel leaned in closer and so did you. Both of you smiled before you shared a deep kiss with him.

“You taste so sweet.” He sneaked in a compliment in between the kisses.

“It must be the ice cream.” You smiled and continued the kiss.

You were caught in the moment. And you started unbuttoning his shirt as you kissed him because you were so madly in love with him.

“Are you sure?” Joel stopped your hands from unbuttoning his shirt.

“Uh-huh. Isn’t this why you brought me here?” You smirked.

“What do you mean?” He didn’t catch up.

“I remember the last time we were here, you told me this “We’re not *peck* done yet.”.” You did the same thing he did to you the last time he brought you to the place for the first time.

“When did I do that?” He acted dumb.

“Don’t act like you forgot about it. I know you’re lying.” You booped his nose with your index finger and he blinked.

Joel chuckled in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to have sex with you by bringing you to the hill. But if you wanted to, of course he couldn’t refuse your offer. You were so beautiful and he had imagined a million times making love to you.

“Make love to me, Joel.” You whispered to his ear.

Joel got shivers from your whispering voice. Then he dragged your head closer to his. Kissing you so passionately like he was hungry to eat your lips. You kissed him back while your hands moved to unbutton his shirt. He threw his shirt to the back seat after you were done unbuttoning him. And you crawled to him on the driver’s seat. He helped lift you to sit on his lap facing him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this. Watchin’ you takin’ care of my daughter. Actin’ like her real mom. Actin’ like my wife under my roof. I couldn’t wait to make you feel good.” Joel cupped your cheeks.

“Me too, Joel. Tonight is your chance.” You put your arms around his neck.

Joel continued the kiss and his hand started to move around you. Caressing you, adoring every curve your body had. He suddenly lifted your dress to your waist and snaked his hand to cup your pussy.

“Already wet for me darlin’.” He mumbled in your mouth. You chuckled.

Joel’s hand now sliding inside your panties to find your clit and started rubbing it in circles. Slowly and passionately while he was still kissing you. You gasped at his touch on your sensitive spot.

“Do you like it slow or fast, baby?” Joel asked while his fingers were still inside your wet panties.

“Fast.” You answered while panting.

Joel listened to you and did what you liked. He wanted to make you feel good. Just like he had told you, he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. This was his chance. After he started to find his pace and a few moves, you felt you were reaching your orgasm. You moaned in his mouth and he swallowed it. Your fingers gripped the headrest behind his head and squeezed your eyes shut. You pulled away from his lips and rested your head beside his while you panted. You caught your breath and kissed his hairy jaw. Then you looked through his eyes and took his hand.

“Touch me.” You brought his hand to your breast and he cupped it.

The two of you kissed again, licking each other’s tongue and lips while his hand kneaded your breast. You were too aroused and you wanted him to touch you bare. So you pulled your dress up and took it off. You threw your dress away to the back seat while Joel helped you take off your bra and put it away.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Joel took a moment to admire your naked body before he buried his face to your chest. His hand held your breast and brought it to his mouth so he could suck your nipple. You moaned at the feeling as you put your hand behind his head and slightly pulled his hair. He moaned as he kept sucking, licking, and kissing your breast. You could feel his cock hardened under you so you started grinding on him. Feeling his hard cock under his jeans. He groaned at your tease.

“Let me ride you, Joel.”

You begged him as you took off your wet panties hurriedly while he undid his belt. You helped him pull his pants down and free his cock. Your jaw dropped when you looked down to see his cock poking out under you. He smirked and you cupped his jaw to kiss him. His hand moved his cock to your folds gathering your juices before he slowly slid himself inside you. You gasped as he stretched you wide.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight.” He buried his face on your shoulder.

You started to move your hips grinding on top of him with his cock inside you. Both of you moaned, feeling each other skin to skin. You rode him moving your hips in circles feeling him touching every inch of your walls.

“That feels so good.” You whispered in his ear again.

Joel moaned at your voice. He loved every part of you including your voice. So you were giving him an ear orgasm by whispering to him. Of course you didn’t know about that, but you felt like you hit the jackpot when you realized he enjoyed listening to your whispers. Joel wanted to make you feel good and you wanted to make him feel good too. You two loved each other so much.

You wanted more so you braced yourself holding on to the shoulder of the seat and started to bounce. Joel groaned at your sudden movement. He rested his hand on your waist adoring your bouncing tits. You leaned in closer to kiss him while you still bounced on him. Then he started to thrust into you too. The two of you moaned feeling one another but you swallowed each other’s moans. You gripped his hair and bounced faster.

“Fuck baby. I’m close.” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside me. It’s okay. I’m on birth control.”

“Fuck!” You kept bouncing on him and you felt close too.

You clenched your fist burying your nails on the headrest behind him. And Joel groaned, releasing his seed inside you painting your walls. Then he buried his face on your chest and you rested your chin on his head.

“You’re amazing.” Joel mumbled on your chest and kissed it before he looked at you.

“You’re amazing, too.” You caressed his hair.

“What time is it?” You remembered you promised Flo you would be back before midnight.

“2 am.” Joel looked at his watch.

“Shit.” You cursed as you pulled back and bumped to the steering wheel.

*car honked*

You let out a little scream as it startled you.

“Sorry.” You shrugged.

“Don’t worry. No one’s here.” Joel giggled at your clumsy actions.

“We need to go back.” You chuckled.

Joel chuckled as you moved back to the passenger seat. He saw his seed dripping out from you. Then he took some tissues and leaned in to clean your inner thigh.

“You made a mess.” You chuckled as he cleaned you.

“I did.” He chuckled and gave you a peck on the lips.

Then he extended his hand to the backseat to grab his shirt and yours.

“Here.” He passed you your clothes.

“Thank you.” You put on your clothes and tidied your hair.

After the two of you finished putting all of your clothes, Joel drove home.

“Thank you for tonight. You planned it so perfectly. I really appreciate it.” You rested your head on the head rest while facing him.

“Glad you enjoyed it because I did.” Joel took your hand and kissed it.

“This is the best first date I’ve ever had. I love you, Joel.” You kissed his hand back.

To be continued…

Taglist:

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dear-ao3 · 1 year

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how i met my boyfriend - the designer axe story

as promised, since we have both now graduated the statute of limitations has expired on this story and i can now share it all with you.

some notes: ra is resident assistant and this story occurred in august of 2021. i wrote this all out the day after it happened almost 2 years ago. we did not actually start dating until october 2021 after we both realized we were in love with eachother. yes, we are still together as of may 2023.

without any further ados, the much anticipated designer axe story.

so part of RA training is that we have to make door decorations and bulletin boards for our halls and buildings. i had finished my door decks at 1 am sunday morning and the bulletin boards weren't due until 9 am monday morning. so i had all of sunday to work on it.

my building has no less than seven bulletin boards per floor and an additional 4 on the entrance floor. i dont know who the hell built this building but we need to have a serious talk about when too many bulletin boards is too many fucking bulletin boards.

so i was in charge of three on my floor. one about me, one covid policies and one sloth (his name is sam and i love him). and i am a chronic procrastinator. so i finished my about me and got through about 95% of my covid one by like 9pm and had to go back to the res life office to cut out a few more letters and get some scrapbook paper.

at this point its probably important to know that the only people on campus at this point were the RAs, some students getting mentoring training, and a few random first years here for an early arrival program. plus some staff.

now, i need you all to understand that there are 42 RAs. all of us have the same deadline. all of us had between 2 and 5 bulletin boards to complete. plus door decks. and room condition reports. so we were all moving at literally 600 frames per second, 120 miles per hour, or about as fast as a child does when they are told there's cake.

which is to say, we were all frazzled and stressed out of our minds.

so i open the door to the res life office at around 9 pm to cut out the word "but" in orange construction paper and grab 2 sheets of purple scrapbooking paper. in the office are the four RAs that were on duty that night, plus a good 7 other people are running around asking about glue sticks and construction paper and keys.

i knew that i only had my sloth board left to complete so i decided to take my sweet ass time, knowing that i was in need of a good break (and also im just a procrastinator) so i cut my letters and grabbed my paper and stood at the desk for no less than an hour talking to everyone about things like the fact that i fell out of a suitcase when i was 2 and that tamper proof lids exist because of the chicago poison pill murders and the flagship l.l. bean store in maine. it was very productive.

so i finally slink back to my dorm at around 10pm, very confident that i would finish by midnight and could watch some netflix or something before i went to bed. if only i knew what was in store for me.

i enter my dorm building and walk to the elevators. and then. one of the RAs from the third floor was like "oh saph. [another RA in the building] is looking for you."

and me, of course, didnt bring my phone to the res life office so i didnt know this.

i go up to the second floor and see one of the RAs from the second floor and another from one of the other buildings working on a bulletin board. they say "oh saph. [the same RA in the building] is looking for you."

i run up to my dorm and discover that somehow we missed the bulletin board by the downstairs elevator. seriously there's too fucking many bulletin boards. and they were asking me to do it. because they wanted to put covid policies on it.

and i know i said this story was about axe body spray. and it is. we are getting there.

so panic sets in because its 10pm and i still have two whole bulletin boards to make now. one of which i have nothing planned for. so i threw some soup in the microwave (because i had forgotten that dinner existed) and opened my laptop.

thankfully, i could reuse some of the same stuff from my own covid policies board in my common room. i just had to print it. which meant, yep you guessed it, another trip back to the res life office!!

at this point i think i had taken a grand total of at least 7 trips to the res life office that day alone. its a good 5 minute walk. not terrible, but just annoying enough that you hate yourself a little more every time that you have to do it. and now its 10:30pm. i am starving. i have two boards to complete. it was crunch time.

i make it to the office and this time i had no time to sit around and debate how popular l.l. bean is. i had policies to print and letters to cut.

as im struggling with the printer (because those fucking things can smell fear), someone else in the office starts loudly discussing timothee chalamet.

and now, this is where you want to actually pay attention because this man would be the reason i ended up only getting 4.5 hours of sleep.

said man in question is quite the character. he's in my grade and im pretty sure he's a polisci major (and maybe creative writing? there's some kind of writing) and he plays lacrosse. i dont really know how to describe him other than the fact that the first interaction i ever had with him was two years ago at freshman orientation when he complained to me in the dining hall that there was no milk for his protein powder.

that interaction is in my top 10 favorite interactions ive had in college.

but the one we are about to unpack definitely takes all of the cake.

so here i am, struggling with the printer and my tiny knock off dongle. the other RA on my floor starts discussing timothee chalamet's outfits with the protein powder RA.

and so apparently the protein powder RA worked in some major fashion designer brand corporate something or other thing over the pandemic. he told me which one but i was so shot and only thinking in construction paper and glue and staples that i didnt process any of it. but it was a fancy one. the store that is.

and so here's what happened:

me: "timothee chalamet? isn't he like, 17?"

protein powder RA and the other RA on my floor: "nah he's like 25. ive checked."

yet another RA: "yeah i just googled it."

me, a wimbo: "oh im thinking of finn wolfhard. but i dont think he's 17 either."

listen before you slam me, remember it is like 11pm and i have to still do 2 bulletin boards and we have training at 9am the next morning.

so protein powder RA pulls up some photo of timothee chalamet and starts telling me about all the brands he's wearing and i literally said "i understand all of the words that you're saying separately."

and he said "exactly!! he's just so great that when you put it all together you can't understand it!! he's just too perfect!!"

and the i made a detrimental decision.

there is life before this decision and life after.

i said "well. bring your fashion designer knowledge into the lounge and help me decide what color to cut my letters."

and he said okay.

so after severely debating the different color purples that we had and listening to the finer points of the fashion industry, i noticed something important.

he smelled like axe body spray.

see i bet you thought i forgot the point of the story. i did not.

let it be known that we are juniors in college (that's 20-21 years old if you dont know). axe is very common in middle and high school boys locker rooms. i have vivid memories of avoiding that hallway so i wouldn't be choked.

so im trying not to inhale too deeply because the smell has permeated my mask as i cut my "covid safety" letters in the color this man has dubbed "light lilac" and half listening to him talk about the fashion industry.

but i finish quickly, somehow escape the smell of axe, and grab my laptop and print outs before tagging along with the same protein powder RA and the other lax player RA back to the dorms. its now 11:15 pm. i still have 2 bulletin boards to complete. my soup is sitting in my microwave in my dorm, almost forgotten about.

halfway back from the office i realize that i forgot my dongle. i say so out loud and protein power RA says that he will go back and look because he's just that guy who likes to help. i say okay fine. and i sprint to my dorm building, drop the print outs and letters downstairs for later, and start the sloth board.

several minutes later, my soup has been inhaled, my papers glued, a sloth cut out, and im sitting in a mess of construction paper and staples in the hallway when i get a text from protein powder RA that quite simply said:

"its not there. do you need help with your boards?"

and me, being me, because i am exhausted and in need of company, say "yeah sure."

by the time he finally shows up, he's changed his outfit.

as a side note, every time ive seen this man during the last 5 days of training, he's been wearing a different outfit. oh and he works for lulu lemon. forgot to mention that.

but alas, here he came, holding my papers and reeking of axe as he walked down the hall to me, who is failing to staple a sloth to my bulletin board.

so for the next two hours i did my boards and he sat and talked. he wasn't physically helping me, but he was helping me stay awake, cause this man is a ball of fucking energy, and that was very important.

i only remember about half of what he said but essentially he was talking about how he was trying to be a better person than the one that he was freshman year. which is admirable. but he does still reek of axe.

at around 1 am i finished my last board and went upstairs to clean up. he came with me and sat on the floor and continued to talk while i cleaned up my disaster of paper and staples and glue among other things. at this point i was so relieved that i had finished that i was actually able to engage in the conversation, which was surprisingly deep and interesting.

and then. its about 1:45 am. i am about to wash my dishes so i can shower and go to bed. because remember that i need to be at training at 9 am the next morning.

and he says something about trying to be a better person again. and me, in all my sleep deprived glory, says:

drum roll

"and yet you still wear axe body spray."

and all hell broke loose.

i would like to preface by saying that he freaked out in a very joking matter and was not actually mad at me. but he was definitely disappointed and in shock. the next hour pretty much consisted of:

"are you kidding me? this is prada something something cologne and all these celebrities wear it!! how dare- it could not POSSIBLY SMELL LIKE AXE!!! well i guess its a little dry and axe is kind of dry smelling...bUT I SPENT SO MUCH ON THIS BOTTLE and the lady sold me on the larger one and it was like 150 bucks and UGH i cannot smell like axe! you know i got four compliments on how i smelled today??! and you're telling me i smell like fucking- *sniffs shirt* no! there's no way!! well i mean... no i cannot. i cannot smell like designer axe. damnit saph! im gonna have to sell this whole bottle now cause i can't use it! BUT ITS PRADA!!"

for an hour.

but it was very entertaining.

eventually i dragged him to the common room cause i needed to do my dishes and sleep and he continued ranting about it there, going as far as to call his best friend (who was asleep) and another RA and ask them if he smelled like axe. i meanwhile was laughing my ass off and 12 kinds of tired but couldn't find it in myself to care.

eventually he decided he needed yet another opinion. so he went to find the other RA on my floor, which, if you remember, is the same one who was thirsting over timothee chalamet with him in the res life office all of those fateful hours before. but that RA was nowhere to be found. so he ran down to the common room below us and scared the shit out of three freshmen.

and he asked these freshmen if he smelled like axe.

the answer was yes.

after that he left because it was 2:30 in the morning, and all the while he was yelling about how he was going to come to training tomorrow with different shirts with all his different colognes on them and have me sniff them because he couldn't smell like designer axe.

and i did the only logical thing. went upstairs to my my dorm and made him a door deck that looked like a bottle of axe that had a post it on the front that said "designer."

and so. now you all know not to buy cologne because its expensive because there's a good chance it will just end up smelling like axe.

and i didn't get to smell his other colognes because i almost passed out in training and left to take a nap. but maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

we’ve been dating for a year and seven months and just graduated college :) and in a fun twist of events, prada no longer makes that cologne anymore.

#not a tag #from saph #designer axe #saph and brad origin #bless

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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WIBTA if I refuse to do anymore work on the group project we already missed the deadline for, but can still submit?

I am extremely tired of being walked over and doing all the work. I'm a 3rd year uni student and multiple times I've been the main person doing group project work. The latest example is what prompted this ask. Our task was to do a discussion and then write an essay based on it, the group consists of 4 people including me. We talked for 10 minutes at the end of last week and a little bit yesterday. We did the majority of the work yesterday as well.

There are 14 points/questions we need to cover. Multiple people not only are advised to, but must cover the same questions so there's substance to be worked with. While the rest of the group covered some, it's insufficient and I did the majority of the work on the first half of the questions and all of the second half. A worked on 4/14 questions (pretty short answers), B also did 4/14 questions (one longer answer, three pretty short answers), C wrote 2.5/14 questions (2 medium length answers, one single sentence answer) and D, me, did 11/14 (mainly long answers with a couple of shorter ones).

After I made a Google Doc to make communication easier, they submitted their answers and basically ghosted me. I asked multiple times for help but was met with silence or jokes about checking the grammar and typos later for me. Again, we don't have enough substances to work with, the essay CANNOT be completed with what we have so far.

And here's where the issues get deeper. I asked for someone to at least look at what I've written down so far multiple times, proofread it if you will. Silence. I know for a fact A and C were FREE and could've continued working on the project, while B might or might not have been at work. Finally C said they'll do it. We were left with less than an hour to wrap it up and submit it before the deadline at this point.

2 minutes after saying that they'll read it, they sent me a "it's great" message. They shameless lied to my face.

I was inside the Doc the whole time and no other users were shown to be viewing the page, let alone reading 3 lengthy paragraphs in 2 minutes.

At some point during the day I was so desperate, I was ready to delete all I've written, comments, intro and first few paragraphs of the essay, everything and beg to join a different group. But a friend managed to calm me down and I didn't go that route.

I can't write to the professor and explain the situation to him, it's just not an option, that's not a practice in my country when the subject only consists of lectures and the professor has to look after 100+ students. My last hope is tomorrow morning those 3 will see the newest messages of me asking for help to finish it and will help me. If that doesn't happen, well...

What I can do is say fuck it and give them the same treatment they've given me – ghost them, don't do additional work on the questions and essay and take all of us down for not finishing and submitting the final project. I don't really want to do it and fuck up our grades (we have no idea how important this homework is for the final grade) but I genuinely see no other way. So WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

56 notes · View notes

neewtmas · 6 months

Text

12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 10

Hello everyone! It's the second-to-last post for this advent calendar, and today, it's time for my personal favourite. I wanted to include an x reader fic for every member of the agency, and after Lucy (day 2) and Lockwood (day 6), it's finally time for George! Seeing as this is a certified George-Fanblog™️ of course his fic is gonna be the grand finale.

But the best thing about today's post is that it is actually a collaboration! I wrote this together with the wonderful and insanely talented Eden (@givemea-dam-break) who understood my vision for this so well and I am so proud of what we created together. Thank you so much for doing this with me Eden, it was so much fun!!! love you🫂🫶🏻

make sure you don't miss out and go check out Eden's other writing here: masterlist

Brother Knows Best

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 6.3k

short summary: George's brother shows up at 35 Portland Row and shakes things up between George and reader

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

my masterlist

day 1 day 2 day 3 day 4 day 5 day 6 day 7 day 8 day 9

It was a beautiful day in the middle of winter when (name) realised she was in love with George Karim.

The two of them were walking side by side, their breaths forming little puffs of white in the freezing air. It had snowed the night before, but all that was left were some dirty grey piles on patches of grass by the road. She’d had her hands buried in the warm pockets of her coat the whole walk, but still, her fingers felt stiff as she pushed open the gate in front of 35 Portland Row. George followed closely behind, carrying a bag full of books and newspapers they’d borrowed from the Archives.

(name) bounced up the stairs like she always did, not considering what the puddle of melted snow on the steps that had wet her shoes this morning would turn into over the course of the cold day. The worn sole of her boot slid over the patch of ice, and she lost balance, trying to grip the railing to prevent a fall.

But that wasn't necessary. George was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her and steadying her until she found her footing again.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded, finding herself unable to speak.

He released her from his grasp, taking a slow step back. (name) could do nothing but stand still for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart. She had no idea if it came from the adrenaline of almost falling or the shock of having George be so close to her so suddenly. She watched as he picked up the bag he had dropped on the ground in his rush to catch her, and then searched his coat pockets for the house key. His fingers trembled slightly, probably from the cold, as he pulled it out and turned it in the lock, keychains jingling.

Inside, the kitchen was deserted, but the kettle was still warm so (name) just had to choose two mugs and quickly reboil it while George laid out the books they had gotten. At this time of year, the warm, cosy kitchen of Portland Row was so much more inviting than the somewhat chilly archives. They could turn the heating up as much as they wanted here, which was why they had opted for just a short trip over to gather some books and then return to the warmth of their home.

(name) brought the two steaming mugs over to the table and made herself comfortable on the chair beside George. He had already grabbed one of the books and was intently skimming the table of contents.

“You can get started on the newspapers," he said without looking up, flicking through the book to find a specific page. “We’ve got a few to work through.”

She knew that, of course, because she had been the one to go on an hour-long hunt for all the ones he claimed they needed. Silently, she pulled the heap of newspapers over and started with the one on top, dating back 15 years.

George took a sip from his tea and grimaced. "You forgot the sugar."

That wasn’t like her. She always remembered the sugar. What was up with her?

George leaned over and reached past her for the sugar, and (name)'s breath hitched in her throat at the proximity. She could faintly smell his shampoo and was near enough that she could see the little scar on his temple, barely visible, from a case they’d taken on a month or two ago. Wordlessly, and seemingly oblivious to the thundering of her heart, he poured some sugar into his cup and stirred, all the while focusing back on what he was reading.

(name) tried to do the same, she really did, but the fact that George was now so close that their legs were touching made the simple task everything but. How was she supposed to focus when all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears; hearing him muttering quiet words under his breath as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from her lungs?

It was when she looked at him then, a picture of serenity in the winter sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, that she felt it in her heart. Some urging sense of need, of want. A desire to do this for the rest of her life - to sit beside him, whether it be to research something or remember to put sugar in his tea or God knows what. To spend an eternity pressed up to his side, feeling this thrum of her heart. To feel the thrill of his fingers brushing hers as he reached over to peek at something in the newspaper she was reading.

There was no guarantee he would feel the same, she knew that. She didn’t expect him to, not when his life revolved around uncovering the root of the Problem. But she was grateful for what she got: the time he spared for her; the books he would gift her after visiting a bookshop on his way home from the Archives; the tea he’d make in the morning, served with some partially burnt toast he’d forgotten he’d put in the toaster until the moment it popped out.

And that was okay. Truly, it was.

—

35 Portland Row was in chaos.

George was in the middle of a cleaning spree, rushing around in a flowery apron and blue rubber gloves, scrubbing at every crack and crevice to be found - and, well, there were many of those. Lockwood was straightening the pillows in the living room, something he would seldom be found doing, and it was likely that he was stuffing things under said pillows to save having to find space for them in the cluttered house. Lucy, bless her soul, was making tea quicker than her hands could move and had spilt boiling water on her toes. Many curse words ensued.

This chaos, however, did not extend to (name).

Standing by the living room window, staring out onto the street beyond, she felt an odd sense of calm mixed with a hint of excitement.

Why? What incredible company could they be having that had the ability to send the members of Lockwood and Co. into such a frenzy?

Issam Karim.

She had been set on guard duty, ordered by the younger Karim brother to shout out when she saw him approaching. In all honesty, she wasn’t entirely sure why George was making such a fuss about it. He had four older brothers, Issam, or Sam as he preferred, being the youngest of them and, according to Lockwood, the one most similar to George. So it wasn’t like he had anything to worry about.

Even still, when (name) saw a familiar mop of dark curls, she called out to the others and hurried over to the front door.

The knock came soon after; two slow taps followed by silence. George was there, staring at the door over her shoulder, tugging his rubber gloves off. And there was Lucy and Lockwood, peering from the end of the hallway like overly interested parents meeting their child’s friend for the first time.

(name) swung the door open.

Seeing Sam was like looking into George’s reflection, minus the glasses and with slightly neater hair. He was a little taller, broader, and, well, more adult-looking, she supposed. But he was most definitely a Karim.

And, god, did he smile like George, too.

It was the same kind of smile that George showed when he was proud of something - full of teeth and elation, with a sparkle of dark eyes to top it off. If it had been George smiling at her like that, her knees would’ve buckled and her heart would’ve threatened to beat out of her chest, but there was something different about Sam’s variation of the smile. Something extremely fraternal.

George ushered his brother in, scooting past (name) with barely any room thanks to the narrow hallway. Her heart lurched at the feeling of his arm brushing against hers as she hurried to move out of the way.

“Oh, Georgie,” Sam said, smiling at the decorations covering the walls, “you’ve been holding out on me. If I knew you stayed in a house like this…”

He plucked the nearest mask off the wall, scrutinizing it, and Lockwood looked as if he wanted to tell him off, but he refrained after the warning look George gave him.

(name) could understand that. He wanted to impress his brother, especially after years of feeling excluded from his family simply for pursuing a life revolving around ghosts rather than engineering.

She just hoped that he knew he impressed her regardless.

The five of them sat down in the living room, the coffee table laden with mugs of steaming tea and plates stacked high with biscuits and doughnuts. Sam plucked a Hobnob from one of the plates and chewed on it carefully, glancing around the room like a child at a theme park. He had a look of wonder in his eyes that (name) so often saw and admired in George’s.

“You’ve met Lockwood before,” George said from beside his brother. “But this is Lucy, and that’s (name). They’ve both been here a year and a half now.”

“Oh. This is the infamous (name)?” Sam’s smile was dazzling despite the scathing look George gave him. “Wonderful to meet you.”

(name) and Lucy shared a look. Lucy looked like she was trying not to smile as she caught Lockwood’s eye. It seemed like the two of them knew something that (name) didn’t, and it had her feeling a little uneasy.

“Nice to finally meet you, Sam,” she said, offering up a smile.

The conversation went well enough thanks to Lockwood, who started asking Sam about his university life and how classes were going. Most of what he said, however, was just confusing to them. As agents, they hadn’t gotten the chance to experience much of a school life, so all this talk of complicated maths and big, fancy words went straight over their heads. Sam didn’t seem to mind. It appeared that he just liked having people he could sound incredibly intelligent to.

Definitely related to George. Although George was much more willing to simplify what he was saying so that the others understood.

Not that (name) minded. She could listen to George speak in his overly-complicated way for the rest of their lives and she’d be grateful.

An elbow dug into her side. “You’re staring,” Lucy murmured, leaning close.

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring. At George. Hard.”

(name) blinked. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No! Look, over his shoulder, there’s a tear in the sofa cover. That’s what I was looking at.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, with lovey-dovey eyes, huh? You can’t even give a half-decent fib.”

(name)’s face felt awfully hot, and she couldn’t even get herself to look in George’s general direction. She hadn’t been staring at him, right? She had just looked for a moment, finding herself particularly fond of how his hair flopped over his forehead in soft curls; how his fingers fiddled with the loose threads from a rip in his jeans, and -

With a silent curse, she realised that, yes, maybe she had been staring.

At least it was Lucy who had noticed and not George. Although, she likely would have to deal with incessant questions at night when she was trying to sleep.

The conversation carried on for a while longer before Sam sat his empty teacup on the table and rose from his seat on the sofa.

"Alright, that was lovely, but I’m going to head off for a bit. I have some friends in the city that I haven't seen in a while", he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Lockwood stood up as well, brushing some imaginary dust off his trousers as he so often did. "Will you be back for dinner?"

"(name) is cooking", Lucy added.

Sam turned to (name) and shot her a smile. "Well, in that case, I'll make sure I'll be back. Wouldn't want to miss that."

(name) lowered her head, embarrassed at the attention that was on her now. "I'm not even that good,” she mumbled.

"I think you're great", George blurted out, though if the slight pink tinge to his cheeks was anything to go by, he hadn’t meant to say it.

(name) was sure she was blushing now. She knew George appreciated her cooking, but considering his cooking skills, she sometimes wasn't sure if he didn't just say so to make her feel better.

Sam left the house a few minutes later, and any indescribable tension that had built up dissipated. Lockwood and George started up a conversation while Lucy and (name) grabbed the dirty mugs and took them through to the kitchen.

"So… What do you think of him?" Lucy asked as she dumped the dishes into the sink.

"He's nice", (name) replied, adding the dishes she was holding to the pile in the sink, though much more carefully than Lucy. She frowned at a chip in the top of one of the mugs. "But I didn't expect anything else. After everything George has said about him, you know, I half expected the sun to shine out of his ass."

Lucy snorted, leaning back against the counter. "George seems a little on edge, though, don't you think?"

(name) wasn't sure where Lucy was going with this. "He's probably nervous if we'll like him. He's family after all."

Lucy looked at her for a moment with an unreadable expression. "That must be it,” she finally said, before leaving the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the dishes that were still waiting in the living room.

----

(name) was quietly humming to herself as she sliced some tomatoes, periodically checking if the water in the pot on the stove next to her was boiling already. The house was still and quiet, just how she liked it. Sam was out with his friends, Lucy and Lockwood were out doing whatever - they had been gone since lunch - and were, in all honesty, probably fawning over each other in that way they so often did, albeit obliviously. George had buried himself in the library since Sam had left, mumbling something about 'important research and experiments'. (name) had the sneaking suspicion that that meant he was doing something with the skull, but what exactly, she didn't really want to know. Based on the faces the skull always pulled after a day like this, his expression more horrid than ever, it couldn't be anything good.

The evening sun was shining right through the kitchen window in front of her, and in her peripheral vision, she saw movement in the garden. She looked up and spotted a small red squirrel running through the high grass before racing up the tree. She smiled at the sight of the animal and its simple joy in the winter garden, but a sharp pain tore her from her stupor, and she couldn't help the yelp that slipped past her lips.

Immediately, her gaze fell to her hand, where a deep cut on her finger was bleeding heavily. Shit, there was blood all over the cutting board. Without thinking, she hurried over to the sink and held her finger under the water, cursing at how cold it was. The water faded to red after running over her finger, and she could already feel herself starting to get lightheaded. The shock of the cut was wearing off, and the pain was intensifying.

It was stupid, really, that she was in such a fuss over a small slice. Nevertheless, she yelled for George in what was probably a futile attempt. If he was deep in his experiments, there would be no tearing his attention away. Lockwood had tried many things in an attempt to get his attention, so she didn’t hold out much hope.

But just a few seconds later there he was, suddenly in the kitchen doorway. His eyebrows were raised, lips parted in a silent question as his eyes found her finger in the tapstream, leaking a seemingly endless amount of blood.

"Oh shit, (name), what happened?"

“Thought I’d add a bit of my finger to dinner." She spoke through gritted teeth, joking in an attempt to ease herself, or even George. It didn’t work that well.

She’d never had any problems with blood, and she’d cared for many injuries her teammates had sustained over the last year, but her blood - that was an entirely different story. George was next to her in an instant, rummaging around in the medical cupboard for a plaster of the right size. She almost laughed upon hearing him complain that they needed to reorganise the whole thing as he tore a long strip from a box and cut it with a pair of scissors.

"Can you turn off the water?"

(name) did what he asked. Before she knew it, one of his hands was gently holding her wrist, bringing her hand closer to inspect the cut. It wasn’t as deep as it had appeared at first glance, just long and thin, but it was still oozing blood. Most of the issue had been the sheer shock of it and the throbbing pain that filled her whole finger.

It was easier, though, to forget about the pain when his skin was touching hers. He held her so softly, dabbing blood away with such care that her heart swelled as she watched him, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to avoid the cut itself. He pressed slightly too hard, and her breath caught.

"Sorry, I'll try and be gentle,” he promised.

He led her over to the kitchen table, where she could rest her arm atop the scribbled-on cloth as he worked away. He was quiet as he took the plaster off the paper, slathering on antiseptic cream before wrapping it carefully around her finger. Something in his cheek twitched.

She watched as the concentration moulded his face into some softer version of a frown, the kind of one he often donned when working away in the Archives on a more complex case. Delicately, he stuck the remaining side of the plaster down before relaxing a little. His hand rested on hers, enveloping it in comfortable warmth, and she had to question if the lightheadedness she felt was still from the blood or just from the way he smiled at her.

For a wonderful moment, neither of them moved. His hand squeezed around hers ever so slightly, and his eyes found hers; his gaze encapsulating her very soul. She couldn’t look away, trapped in eyes that no artist could ever replicate, and found a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She could’ve stayed like that forever, would’ve given anything for this moment to last just a little longer, but it didn’t.

George cleared his throat, pulling his hand back and tearing his gaze from hers as he stood. (name) looked down at her finger, wrapped snugly in its waterproof plaster, and hoped he couldn’t see the blush that was staining her cheeks.

"I'm going to take over dinner", George said, shuffling awkwardly. "There is no way I'll let you cook with your hand like this.”

“But -”

“Research can wait before you say anything.”

And that was that.

(name) reluctantly did what he said and stayed in her seat, watching as he washed off the cutting board and then continued where she had left off. It was frustrating how much neater he sliced tomatoes than she did.

The pain that had momentarily subsided had come back worse, and her whole finger was pulsating with waves of dull pain. She tried her best to keep up a conversation with George, and not let on how she was feeling. No need to make him more worried than he already was. But it was clear that he was still concerned, what with his short glances back every two minutes. She had to fight back a little smile at that.

A bang sounded, signalling that somebody had just come in the front door, and she turned to look through the kitchen doorway to see who it was.

Sam, upon seeing the kitchen door open, made his way down the steps after taking off his jacket, smiling as he entered.

"Man, that was exhausting", he said, making himself comfortable on one of the seats - Lockwood’s. He wouldn’t be happy about that. “Forgot how big London is.”

"Do you want something to drink?" (name) asked.

"That would be great."

She squeezed past George, half-annoyed at the small walking space in the kitchen and half-grateful that she had another excuse to be closer to him, and reached up into one of the cupboards for a glass.

"What happened to your finger?" Sam asked, gaze fixed on the plaster as she filled the glass with water.

"Just a little cut", she said, plastering on some semblance of a smile. The pain was worse now after bashing it on one of the shelves. “Nothing much.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in a way that looked so much like George. "That doesn't seem like just a little cut", he said. "Can I check it?”

(name) didn't know what to do. She looked over to George, who was busy stirring the contents of the pot, seemingly not listening to their conversation.

“Oh, no, George has already patched me up. I’ll be fine.”

“George is about as good at first aid as our dad, which is to say shit. I insist. It’ll be quick.”

With one more glance at George, she sat back down, setting the glass in front of Sam. No harm in letting him check, she supposed.

He shuffled his chair around, sitting so that her legs slotted in between his, then took her hand and inspected the plaster. A shadow of blood was already peeking through.

"I'm going to take this off and see how bad the cut is, alright?"

(name) nodded in agreement, already dreading the pain this was surely going to cause.

George had turned down the heat of the stove and now leaned against the counter to watch them, his arms crossed. There was something in his expression, a sliver of unfamiliar emotion hidden in his eyes and the slight downturn of his lips.

"Is that really necessary, Sam?" he asked, his voice unusually sharp.

Sam moved closer to (name), slowly peeling the plaster off and revealing the cream-covered, blood-stained finger that had her feeling lightheaded again.

"Oh, it’s necessary. After that one time you tried to patch me up when we were younger, I wouldn’t trust you with a paper cut.”

George huffed. “I was eight. It’s not like I was going to be an expert. Besides, you’re an engineer, not a doctor.”

Sam only hummed, glancing at his younger brother for less than a second. A shadow of a smile haunted his lips.

(name) shuffled uncomfortably, gaze flickering between the two. Tension was rising for some reason unknown to her, and she had a feeling that she was the root of it. But why? She’d only cut her finger. That shouldn’t have been a cause for anything.

“Just as well I’ve checked,” Sam murmured. “That’s definitely more than a little cut.”

“It barely hurts now,” (name) lied. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

And it was. It had been. She had liked it when George had held her hand so tenderly, making sure not to hurt her. Sam doing the same wasn’t necessarily bad, but it felt wrong. Especially with that look on George’s face. He looked ready to kill.

That look alone had a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. Did it mean he felt the same as she did, even just a little bit?

No, she told herself. This was George. George loved his books and scribbling insults on the thinking cloth for Lockwood to find later and reading away in the Archives. There wasn’t enough room for her to fit in his heart. Surely.

Sam was quick to put a new plaster on, this one more neatly cut than the one George had rushed to tear, though there had been an essence of care in it. In reality, she preferred his jagged edges over Sam’s cleaner ones.

She wasn’t entirely sure if she was thinking about plasters now.

“Thanks,” she said, taking her hand back out of Sam’s grip. “Uh, George, how’s dinner coming?”

For a moment, there was no reply. Then George seemed to remember that there was a world beyond the little bubble that had encased the three of them and hurriedly glanced back at the boiling pan of vegetables.

“Fine,” he said eventually.

“Hope you’re better at cooking than you are at first aid, Georgie,” Sam jested.

It was clear he meant it to be a joke, but whatever had soured George’s mood had twisted it into something different. He all but scoffed as he turned back to the pan, stirring methodically.

“George is the best,” (name) said. “If we didn’t have him, we’d be living off of Lockwood’s toast and jam.”

George’s shoulders eased slightly at that. “Either that or spag-bol every night. There’s only so much of it I can eat.”

(name) laughed and so did George, albeit breathy and quiet. Even still, it had the pressure building in her chest ease off a little and had her heart aching to hear more.

Sam’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Dead silence. There it was again - that suffocating tension. (name)'s heart felt like it had stopped in her chest entirely, and George had ceased every movement. The wooden spoon in his hand hovered over the simmering water, dripping and dripping and dripping until the sound became unbearable and, somehow, too loud.

Did she mind someone assuming she was in a relationship with George? No, of course not. She couldn't imagine anything better for herself. But the hesitation in his movements, the way he looked back at Sam with what could only be described as acute disbelief, had her lunch making its way back up her throat. That tiny sliver of hope she’d felt earlier? Gone.

“No! We’re not - ” George stammered helplessly, eyes wide.

“Oh, my mistake,” Sam said nonchalantly. There was a glint in those dark eyes of his. Mischief. “Just from what I’ve seen today, and how much George talks about you, (name), I kind of assumed…”

“Sam!”

Sam closed his mouth, apparently unwilling to be further berated by his brother, but there was a hint of satisfaction in his smile.

- - - -

Dinner, to begin with, went as smoothly as it could after the bomb Sam had dropped. Lockwood and Lucy returned from their escapades, rosy-cheeked and laughing, but their demeanours soon shifted upon feeling the tension filling the kitchen. With nothing more than a look, Lucy seemed to gauge the situation and began talking about some of the strange stuff she and Lockwood had encountered on the streets of London.

Well, to her and (name) it was strange. To the native Londoners, it was an everyday thing. But truth be told, (name) was much more concerned about George… it was strange seeing him behave like he did.

George was often quiet, unless he was talking about a topic he was particularly enthusiastic about or insulting Lockwood or the Fittes team they’d dubbed their rivals. Yet there had always been a sense of peace in those silences, a comfort that allowed (name) to know that he was okay, either just listening or pondering away in his own little world.

Now, though… This silence was new and different and she knew that it was caused by the implication that they were acting like a couple. (name) tried to think over everything they’d ever done to make it seem that way - the lingering touches and long-held gazes, the time spent together and the happiness they always seemed to feel around each other - and she could see why. And if Sam had been telling the truth, George had talked about her to him in what she had to assume was a positive way.

So why was he reacting like this? Why did he seem so distressed by the thought of her?

It was halfway through dinner when she decided she couldn’t bear it anymore. He wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t answer her questions on how his research was going. Wouldn’t listen to Lockwood droning on about heaven knows what.

She stood from her chair and moved away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”

That seemed to perk everyone up.

Lockwood frowned. “You all right?”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said. “It’s stuffy in here.”

Sam shifted in his chair, making to stand. “I’ll come along. I know some good places to clear your head -”

“No, it’s fine,” (name) insisted, and her voice came out rather firm. “I’ll not be long. Just a walk around the block.”

And then she was gone, fighting not to look back to see if George was concerned or unbothered.

Why did she care so much if he was? He had practically ignored her throughout the whole of dinner, despite her effort to have a conversation, all because his brother had assumed they were a thing. Was she truly so inadequate? Was the mere prospect of being with her so terrible?

It didn’t matter. She’d be just fine on her own. She’d managed it all of these years, and she’d do just the same regardless. What did it matter whether or not he liked her?

But, as she strolled through the wintery streets, it became abundantly clear that no matter how hard she tried, it would always be important to her.

(name) loved George more than anything she had before. She would give him the world if she could. And part of her wanted to believe that, even if he didn’t feel the same, she would always hold on to those feelings.

But that sentiment was just for the romantic movies and sappy novels she spent her free time reading. In reality, she didn’t have it in her to give and give and give and get nothing in return.

The cold air bit at her cheeks, and she crossed her arms as she walked, trying to preserve any warmth that she could. Maybe she should’ve grabbed a thicker jacket on her way out, or changed from her trainers into the pair of boots she’d left out because, god, the frost was seeping through the canvas material.

She almost jumped out of her skin when something wrapped around her neck.

In a burst of fear, she whirled around and stumbled backwards before realising that the thing was soft, and it was warm. And the person who had wrapped it around her was someone extremely familiar.

“George?” she asked, frowning. Her hand reached up to the thing he’d wrapped around her, nails catching on the knitted fabric. “You brought me… a scarf?”

George, who looked mildly shocked by his actions, nodded. “Uh, yeah - yes. You, um, you left without it. I didn’t want you - didn’t want you getting cold, you know?”

“Uh, thanks.”

And for a moment, she lingered, waiting for him to say something. George stood still before her, looking at her in a way she was sure he had never before - slightly wide-eyed, awe-like - but he tore his gaze from her and looked at the ground.

It was then that the feelings she’d been consumed by just moments ago began to creep back again. Why was she still standing here? So what if he'd brought her a scarf? He hadn’t even been able to stomach speaking to her after Sam assumed they were together.

The thought was enough to convince her. With a tight, thin-lipped and awkward smile in his general direction, she turned to continue on her walk. She’d come out to clear her head, and although she was grateful for the scarf, George was jumbling her thoughts again, just as he always did. And, well, if he wasn’t going to say anything, then she was just going to continue her stroll.

“(name), wait.”

She was half-tempted to keep walking, but the tone of George’s voice was enough to stop her feet from moving. He was nervous. Yes, sure, she had seen him nervous many, many times, but this was different. With the slight tremor in his voice, so very subtle, he had all the power at that moment to stop her.

Slowly, she turned to face him again, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Yeah?”

There was a look in his eyes, unlike anything she had ever seen before. They had softened considerably from when he had been talking to Sam, and there was a crease between his eyebrows that showed a hint of worry she would usually have to search for in his movements. Never did he show his anxiousness as clearly as he did now.

“I -” His voice caught, and he tore his eyes from her face, instead looking at his muddy trainers. “I’m sorry. About how I’ve been acting today.”

She shrugged. “I get it. Your brother’s here. You want us to like him, but he’s getting on your nerves. It’s what siblings do. None of us mind, George. Sam’s nice.”

“That’s not…” It wasn’t what he had meant, and it was clear that he knew she was trying to avoid the topic. “Sam is a lot of things, you know. He’s annoying and insanely smart and kind and -”

“I’ve met him,” (name) said, not unkindly. “I know.”

George ran a hand over his face. “I know, but what I mean to say is that he isn’t a liar.”

Usually, George Karim was not someone to beat around the bush. It was one of the things that (name) admired about him. If there was something he wanted to say, then he would say it, straight and upfront. But to see him now, fumbling over himself and avoiding the point…

“You’re making no sense,” she said.

“What he’s been saying about me… me talking about you a lot.” There was a brief pause. “He’s not wrong. I do talk about you a lot. I think my mum knows more about you than about me.”

A smile tried to fight its way onto her lips, but she held it back. If this was going where she so desperately hoped it would, it wouldn’t hurt to have him say it directly.

“I suppose that’s what friends are like,” she said. “Growing up, my dad knew every detail there was to know about my best friend.”

If one were to describe George Karim, bold would not be a word they would use. Smart, of course. Sarcastic, yes. Awkward, yes again. Bold? Absolutely not.

But there was no other way to describe his actions at that moment. The certainty he stepped forward with, the soft yet assured feel of his hands wrapping around hers. God, he was so close now that she could feel his warm breath ruffling her hair. And his eyes, lord, his eyes. Despite the slow-creeping darkness in the evening sky, his eyes only seemed to grow brighter. She could see the anxiety creeping beneath the surface, whether it be for the actions that may follow or her possible reaction.

“I don’t want to just be your friend,” he said. His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she could hear the words as clearly as she would if he had shouted them.

She had known the words had been coming or had hoped, but hearing them was an entirely new thing. She could feel her heart swell with joy and relief, feel the smile that had so badly wanted to break free rise onto her lips. Her hands shifted carefully, cautiously, until her fingers could fit in between his.

“I’m sorry again about how I’ve been acting.” His words were beginning to rush out the way they did when he had too much to say. “I hadn’t felt ready to tell you, and Sam kept pushing and pushing. I thought if I ignored him I could sort my feelings out, but then I got too nervous and couldn’t even speak to you. God, you make me nervous. Did you know that?”

Her face scrunched with delight. “Georgie?”

He looked a little out of breath. “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Judging from the look of pure shock on his face, he had not expected such a straightforward request. He didn’t speak, but he nodded.

(name) grinned, slowly pulling one of her hands from his grip to push his glasses up his nose before placing it on his shoulder and leaning forward.

As a child, she had not liked to watch the kissing scenes in movies. They had always felt awkward and, at the time, she had never been able to imagine sharing an intimate moment like that with anybody, nevertheless enjoy it.

But here she was, kissing her best friend, and loving it.

It was a little stiff to begin with but after a moment, they relaxed into it - into the feeling of fireworks and butterflies and warm lips. George’s hand squeezed hers, and his free hand slipped around to her back, pulling her a little closer.

The kiss didn’t last long, no more than a few seconds, but (name) found herself unable to compare the breathtaking moment to anything she had ever experienced. And, well, the look on George’s face told her that he felt much the same.

“I don’t want to just be friends either,” she said, finding herself feeling somewhat shy after such an uncharacteristic moment of confidence. “If that’s okay with you.”

George nodded with such vigour it was a wonder his head was still attached to his neck. “Okay with me.”

thank you for reading!

#lockwood and co advent calendar #george karim x reader #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood and co x reader

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dariaslookalike · 4 months

Text

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt I

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: No Beta readers for any of my fics, so apologies for spelling mistakes. I wrote this originally on AO3, and it's still a work in progress. As with my other fics, I'll be uploading here and there when I get inspo

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 2

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

Your mind trails off to the strangest of things when you’re nervous. You’re staring out the window pane, and there’s a small robin, hopping from branch to branch. It’s entrancing in a way. Do robins have little bird interviews for their little bird jobs? Or does everyone simply know what their role is, without having to apply for it? Collect the sticks, eat some bugs, and raise the young. Simple little bird jobs for simple little birds.

But then the woman in front of you clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Lisa Cuddy stares at you, but it’s not coldly like some interviewers may have. She smiles and you are flashed with her rows of perfect, white and straight teeth. Across from her, you feel underdressed, and not only in the literal sense. Some light makeup, to hide the fact that you hadn’t slept the previous night due to nerves, form-fitting but very obviously last-season pants, and a coat that you had quickly folded onto the chair beside you, to hide the tea stain down its front. But outside of that, she held a certain properness and professionalism you hadn’t mastered yet.

Despite that, she had beamed across your resume, congratulated you on your achievements, and told you that the job was almost ‘as good as yours’. She did, however, warn you. You would have another, more unofficial, interview to complete with your team leader before you began work. With the infamous Gregory House.

She inhaled, and it whistled through her nose. “Now, can I trust you to give you the very blunt run down of House, without you screaming and running for the hills? Because I think you need to know, while this job is incredibly hard and taxing…You may find he’s the worst part of it.”

You laughed politely. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. I once had a boss who had me make him coffee and lunch for three weeks straight after I had completed my PhD. He said it was a ‘chance for me to relax’,” You gesture air quotes, “before I got into serious work.”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. As condescending as that is, House is worse than that.”

She must have seen your eyes widen because she quickly waves her hands in front of herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, and, don’t pass this on to him, one of the best doctors you will ever work with. But…He can be rude. Egotistical. Infuriating. There are some days when he will make you feel pathetic and exhausted and other days when he will make you feel like you’ve discovered the secret to medicine. I’m not saying this to scare you, but rather I think you need to know that the people who are able to manage House and manage to work under him, do so with a lot of patience, humour, and resilience.”

You nod your head, and your brow furrows in seriousness. “I understand. Regardless of how he treats me, this is honestly an opportunity that I can’t pass up. I’m not going to let someone else ruin that for me.”

She beams at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smile back at her, and she begins to shuffle papers on her desk and sort them into a stack. When they’re ordered into a neat pile, she looks back to you. “Rather than an interview, House will see this as a test. He will try to push your buttons. Make you nervous; worried. Don’t let him. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re smart,” You find yourself flushing at the honesty she seems to hold in her words. Cuddy was genuine and seemed like someone you could trust. That would be important if House was as bad as she made him out to be. “And he will try to make you all the more miserable for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “At least I’ll have time to prepare myself. What day would you like me to come in next?”

She winces and hands you the stack of papers (perhaps some miscellaneous files and formalities that you’ll investigate later, in private). “There won’t be another day, I’m afraid. He’ll be expecting you by his office following this.”

You breathe out, but afraid to seem well…Afraid, in front of Cuddy, you grit out a smile. “That’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s better to rip the bandaid off sooner, rather than later. Can you please direct me to his office?”

—--------

You feel your stomach plummet when you leave the elevator and begin walking down the hallway, clutching at your files as you do so.

Your short heels still manage to clack against the tiled floor as you walk. You pause and peer into a glass office. Sure enough, beside the door is a small plaque reading Dr G.House. Your hands reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked and you can’t push through. You peer into the office and see an empty desk, among other things.

It appeared the G.House was not home. So much for Cuddy’s warning that he would be waiting for you.

You breathe in deeply and scan around you. There are four or so chairs across from you, lining the side of the hallway, and sprawled across one of them is a man, staring right at you. You smile, half out of politeness and half out of awkwardness, and move to sit on the furthest seat. You settle down your papers, but when you look back, the man is turned and still staring. He has cropped, greying hair and steely blue eyes, and you quickly skim over him. Worn out jeans. A shirt with some sort of stain on it. A scuffed, dark cane resting beside him. Ratty trainers. At least he didn’t have the professionalism or poise that Cuddy carried around.

You realise you’ve stared a second past the respectful amount and you smile, fully out of awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting for Dr House too?”

“Me?,” He raises an eyebrow, “Noo, I just like to wait outside his office as a pastime. See if I can conjure him through my psychic powers alone.”

You snort and raise your hands to your face quickly. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

The man clicks his tongue. “Not at all. He doesn’t seem to care at all for punctuality, especially for…Who are you? A new hire?”

You tilt your head at him. “How’d you guess?”

He mimics you, tilting his head in the same direction. “You don’t look sick enough to be a patient, or tired enough to be a worker. Then there’s only the patient's family, new hire, or hooker to choose from. And no offence,” He trails his eyes down your form. “You don’t dress the part for the last option.”

You bark out a laugh at his incredulous words, shocked. “God. I’d hate to see the new hire who does.”

You’re happy to turn from the man and count the minutes until the infamous House appears, but the man draws your attention back to him with a question. “Why do you want to work with him?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want to know? Weren’t you the one to say that sitting here means you’re sick, a worker, a new hire, or a hooker?”

He nods, and his eyes appear calculating for a second. But then they’re masked and replaced with a forced smile “Yes, I did. As you can tell from my wicked cane, I’m a cripple hooker. I charge $200 for the hour, by the way. $300 and I’ll bring out the wheelchair.”

You can’t help but smile. Its funny, in a very twisted way. But you breathe deeply and try to compose yourself. You had never met someone as strange or bold as this man, but you supposed hospitals were the perfect place to find such specimens. The perfect mix of medicine, death and life, and you were produced with nutjobs.

“I’ve heard he’s a brilliant doctor-”

“And incredibly rude. I saw him the other week for the pain in my leg, and he just shoved a Vicodin bottle in my hand and called me an addict.”

You sighed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. While I’m sorry to hear of his bedside manner, there are certain things I’m willing to go without in trade for working with him. I’ll deal with any rudeness or arrogance if it means I’m able to learn from him and contribute to his team.”

Now it’s the man who snorts out a laugh. “You’ll deal with being disrespected and abused just so you can be the ‘teacher's pet’ of medicine?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No! Obviously, I’m going to stand up for myself and my own morals. But I think to some degree, people are set in their ways; if he is, I’ll learn to work around it, rather than break through it.” You huff, “And I won’t be a ‘teacher’s pet’. Been there, done that; it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

The man says nothing, and you turn to him, waiting for a witty reply or another snarky hooker joke, but then another man strolls up to the two of you. He has tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a strikingly white lab coat. House.

You stand up quickly and offer your hand. He shakes it, and you introduce yourself.

He smiles at you, with a sincereness that nearly startles you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re the new hire? I’m James Wilson, head of Oncology here.”

Oh. So not House.

You stutter for a moment but compose yourself. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were Dr House. Let me know if this is completely out of your ballpark then, but we’ve,” You gesture over your shoulder to the man still sitting down, “been waiting here for Dr House. Could you please point me in the right direction? He wasn’t in his office.”

The man raises his eyebrows at you, and you’re worried you said something to offend him -not like you made a hooker comment about him- but then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way Cuddy did. “House, would you like to introduce yourself to your new hire?”

Your eyebrows narrow. “I’m sorry, what?” Who was he talking to?

But then there’s the slight tap of a cane against the floor, and the man beside you rises to his full height.

You turn to him, perplexed, and he mockingly widens his eyes and raises his free hand to his mouth in faux shock. “Whoops! I forgot I transferred from being a Cripple Hooker to being a doctor. Don’t worry, I still charge the same rate.”

He shuffles past you, limping, and into his office. Wilson remains beside you, and he shakes his head, eyes cast upwards. “You’ll get used to him. Just don’t let him hassle you too much or he’ll get used to that.”

You turn to thank him for the warning, but House clears his throat loudly from within his office, and sits down at the wooden desk as if to say ‘well hurry up then’. Meekly, you gather your notes, tell Dr Wilson it was nice to meet him, and walk into the office to sit across from House

He stares at you, the same way he stared at you out in the hallway, and you find yourself prompted to speak first. “So, Dr House. While it’s nice to formally meet you, I’m wondering if it wasn’t for Dr Wilson, were we just going to sit outside and trade hooker jokes for the next few hours?”

His eyebrows narrow. “You don’t need to lie.”

“What?”

“It’s not nice to meet me.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve met me before. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He runs his hands down his worn face and continues to speak. “I have your resume. Your, quite frankly, startling long list of academic achievements and medical mumbo jumbo. I could give less of a hoot about those things; they won’t help you here. Awards and experience and acting like you give a shit is Cuddy’s forte, not mine.”

You find yourself puzzled about how to reply, but he saves you the effort and continues speaking, first drawing out your last name in a long drawl. “You seem intelligent and as if you lack a backbone. Both are necessary things for my team. But,” He stares intently at you, “Why do you want to work here? With me? On this team?”

You suck in air. “Well, as I said earlier, you’re brilliant. I know your cases and I know the work you’ve done. To put it blatantly, you’ve saved lives where others would have prepped the morgue. I want to know how to do that, and how to become the best doctor I can be.”

He laughs. “Being a suck-up isn’t a requirement for being a good doctor.”

“Neither is being an arsehole, but you seem to have that covered.”

Shit. Shit. Did you really just say that? To your boss? God, he was infuriating yes, and rude and-Oh. This was what Cuddy was warning you about. Losing your cool in face of his taunts and remarks. Well, low and behold, you lost your cool.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward to rest his head on his steepled hands. “Do you usually call people names during interviews or just the ones where you don’t want the job?”

You huff, exasperated. “I want this job. Hell, I need this job.”

“Everyone needs a job. Everyone has bills. But you’re avoiding the question.”

Your jaw clenches. “Well, not everyone has tenure. And, to answer your question, I only call people names during interviews because you made an incorrect assumption about me; I do have a backbone.”

He leans back in his chair and studies you. “Snarkiness isn’t a backbone. It’s a defence mechanism, sure, but a backbone would be walking out of here and knowing that your worth as a doctor means you shouldn’t be disrespected like that.”

Staring into his icy eyes, you speak. “You’ve got to ask me question after question. Am I a hooker? Why do I want to work with you? Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Why are we doing this?”

“Well sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this amazing thing, but there’s an interview you have before you start a job to see if you’re suited to-”

“No. I mean why are you ‘interviewing’ me if you’ve already made up your mind?”

At that, he stays silent. Confirmation. You get the sense that if he hadn’t made his decision even before you saw him, he made it the second you sat down outside. Maybe it was the way you walked, or the awkward smile you passed to him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give less of a shit about your credentials; or you.

You nod and gather your things again. “Thank you for your time, Dr House. Please pass my regards to Cuddy.”

You reach the door before he speaks again. “You didn’t ask me what my decision was.”

You huff. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“You’re hired.”

Oh.

#gregory house #gregory house x reader #gregory house fic #house md #house md x reader #house md fic #house md fanfiction #greg house #greg house x f!reader

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writerscafehub · 1 month

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀: 𝐋𝐢𝐳

@avengers-resident-idiot

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

About a 3 I think, I hav𖤓 liz 𖤓en’t written anything in a while because I’ve been busy with work and school. I struggle with actually finishing anything, I swear my drafts is a graveyard of WIPs. Once I get done with my finals I plan to actually try and sit down and actually write a fic or at the very least headcanons

2. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I feel like my writing is very self indulgent, I fantasize for literal days or weeks about what I personally would want to happen and imagine myself as the reader in the fic and just run with it. I have tried a few times to write an idea that a friend gives me and I just struggle cause I get stuck in my own head wondering if I’m writing it how they personally would want it.

3. Are there any writers that inspire you?

Literally everybody in the server, the fact that y'all are so imaginative and are so motivated to write fics on a consistent basis never fails to amaze me, I am on my knees begging for a crumb of the kind of motivation y’all got.

4. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

Honestly probably the very first fic I ever wrote, which was a Zayn Malik fanfiction (I was a HUGE One Direction fan…honestly I still am). It was terrible, and so ridiculously cringey but to middle school me, I was the next Shakespeare and was just proud that I actually wrote something and put it on the internet for the world to see and I regret nothing.

5. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write?

The easiest is probably Peter Parker cause he’s such a sassy little shit and I love him. The hardest is probably Dr. Spencer Reid, I’ve tried before and I just can’t get his mannerisms right.

6. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

I feel like my most of my wips are friends to lovers with misunderstandings galore

7. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

I’ve been planning this fic out in my head for the past month, idk for sure what I’m gonna call it, but it’s gonna be an Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader fic, I’m considering adding Eddie Diaz into the mix cause honestly it’s what we deserve. Basically the reader is going to open up a bakery across from the fire station and our lovely firefighters can’t resist the smell of warm bread and coffee in the morning so they go and meet Reader (considering giving her a nickname) who is dancing to 80’s music and may or may not be covered in flour, and from there hijinks, first dates, and love confessions ensue.

8. First fandom you ever wrote for?

One Direction and I regret nothing

9. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

Ooo misunderstandings that can be easily resolved if they JUST TALK, found family tropes almost always make me cry, fake dating never fails to make me laugh because the characters never think it through and I love that for them with that being said idiots to lovers is another big one, especially if they share exactly one brain cell.

10. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

Probably anything dark, nothing wrong with dark fics, I just don’t think I’d ever be able to write a dark fic well enough where it was actually understandable or good for that matter.

11. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

Another One Direction fanfiction, but this time Liam Payne, it's since been deleted but basically gang leader!Liam and the reader were highschool sweethearts and broke up cause Liam betrayed her, if i remember right he gets her brother arrested? Years later she comes back to town and is part of an all girls gang and Liam's gang (One Direction) start fighting over territory, there were drunken confessions, a secret child, and attempted kidnappings and literally every other chapter one of them almost died. Middle school me was very proud of it.

12. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

Steve Rogers x innocent!reader, knight!Bucky x princess!Reader, Evan “Buck” Buckley x reader

13. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Yes, I have so many playlists, everytime I get an idea for a fic I run to Spotify and immediately create a new one and add songs that fit the vibe I’m going for, doesn’t matter what genre or language so long as I think it fits it gets added to the playlist.

14. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

Definitely both, I am not picky whatsoever.

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Omg yes, I honestly think this is part of the reason it’s so hard for me to finish writing anything. The second I get a new idea for a fic I start imagining all sorts of different scenarios I could put them in like trips to the zoo, grocery shopping or like the same scenes from the fic, but from another character's point of view. Even if it’s not going to be part of the fic I imagine what the proposal would be like, what their vows would be, or how they'd react to their first child being born. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute when I get a new idea, but the second I sit down to write it out poof all the ideas are gone.

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Honestly smut. There are so many talented writers out there who do a great job at writing smut, but whenever I try it just comes out to stiff and doesn’t sound write, so I always end up deleting it

17. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I was once told I was very good at descriptions, they said they could picture the night sky in their mind and it was like they were there.

18. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Eh not really, I usually stick to fluff, humor and slight angst, I want to try step out of my comfort zone by writing smut, but it’ll be a while before I post anything

19. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Oh my gosh how could I possibly choose, most of the time it just depends what kind of mood I’m in but lately it’s been tooth-rotting fluffy with a tiny bit of angst mixed in

20. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

At this point in time I do not have any oc’s, but I’m considering creating one for my Evan “Buck” Buckley fic.

21. If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

Probably my WIP Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader because who wouldn’t want to be protected by an extremely handsome Bucky who acts like you're a nuisance, but would do anything to protect you no questions asked if ever necessary?? And also I just love the idea of running down a castle hallway at night wearing a floor length ball gown.

22. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

Just that my process involves creating the perfect playlist for that specific fic and tons of daydreaming, and while it may take me a long time to finally finish writing, I’m always excited to share it and get feedback!

23. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

This is from my knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!reader wip

“Do you think I am inadequate because I am a female, my Lord? Is that what you’re saying? You think that I am unfit to rule because I'm a little emotional right now? Well you’re right, I am a little emotional right now. From the moment I was born, it was known that I, and I alone, would be next in line to assume the throne. My entire life was spent preparing for the moment that my reign would begin and I intend to use all the knowledge my father, may God rest his soul, taught me. Just two weeks ago I watched as they lowered my father’s cold, dead body into the ground and not a week later a crown was placed atop my head…. a crown I thought my father would be giving me. I am emotional because right now at this very moment there are rebels out there, only God knows where, hatching plans to storm this castle! This castle has stood here for 300 hundred years and I intend for it to stand for many more. I refuse to let the rebels take my country and everything that my family has worked for. Now, we have much more pressing matters to deal with than your fragile egos, don’t you think my Lords?”

24. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Have fun with writing! Don’t worry about whether or not the idea you want to write has been written before because it most definitely has been, but it’s never been written by you!

I’m excited to finally be done with my classes and I hope to to write more and post my fics throughout the summer!

#𖤓 liz 𖤓

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ilikereadings · 9 months

Text

Nighttime Comfort

Summary: Bradley wakes up in a sweat after a nightmare about Mav getting shot down and you comfort him

Warnings: nightmares/flashbacks, crying, angst(?), fluff, use of Y/N

Words: 1460

❗️I wrote this all myself please don’t repost❗️

——————————————————————————-

The dagger squad got back from the uranium enrichment mission just over a month ago. Bradley was back at work only a week after he got back home. During these 4 weeks, Bradley has been having dreadful nightmares and flashbacks about the mission. You’ve only woken up to one of them, and he told you everything was okay and it was just a weird dream. You believed him and haven’t noticed anything weird since. Not until the other morning, when you came upstairs with his cup of coffee.

——————————————————————————-

Every Saturday morning since Bradley got back from his mission, you have made breakfast in bed for the two of you. This morning was no different. When you went downstairs to get the mugs of coffee, Bradley was slowly waking up but wasn’t fully awake. You had given him a kiss on the head before heading down. But when you came back up, you found him curled up on his side, wide awake but looking terrified as ever. You quickly put the mugs down on his side table and knelt down on the floor by his side of the bed. His fist was tightly gripping the duvet, and he was very tense.

"Bradley?!" Bradley, are you okay? What's wrong, baby? Talk to me, please." You frantically ask him.

He blinks a few times before loosening his grip on the duvet. You can see his muscles relax as he takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. You sat in silence for a minute. During that time, you reached your hand over to hold his, intertwining your fingers.

"I, uh.." he began, clearing his throat. "I didn’t want to scare you or make you worry. I’m sorry, Y/N." Bradley continued.

He sounded so sad and guilty. You weren’t sure why, though.

“Baby, what do you mean?" You asked.

"Ever since the mission.. I, I’ve been having some, uh, nightmares and flashbacks."

He paused.

"Specifically when Mav got shot down." Looking down at where your hands meet, not wanting to meet your sorrowful eyes.

"So.. when I woke up the other night and you said it was a weird dream.. it was a nightmare?"

You felt a little hurt that he hadn’t told you, but you also fully understood why he wouldn’t want you to know. When you said that, Bradley looked into your eyes, giving you a slight nod.

"Oh Bradley.. baby.. I love you so much. I need to know these things so I can help you. It makes me feel sick that you’ve been trying to deal with this alone.. I.. I want to help Bradley."

——————————————————————————-

Ever since that morning, you’ve been more attentive during the night. Bradley has had nightmares just about every night since, and you’ve woken up to help him every time. You can tell they’re starting to get less intense as well, which is a positive sign that he’s getting better. Bradley has been more open with you, which you really appreciated.

Everything seemed to be getting better until last night. Last night was Bradley’s worst nightmare.

—————————————————————————-

Time, 11:42 PM. Bradley was having trouble falling asleep, and even though you were asleep, you knew he wasn’t. You were trying to be more aware of things like this at night ever since Bradley told you about his nightmares.

Time, 12:31 AM. Bradley had finally fallen asleep.

Time: 2:28 AM. You woke up after hearing some whimpering. As you open your eyes and look around, you see Bradley slightly shaking, his face all scrunched up like he’s stressed out about something. He whimpered more; you were able to make out some words, like "no" and "Mav", You even thought you heard a "help" mumbled in there. You didn’t know what to do or how to help him yet, so you decided to gently place your hand on his. At first he jerked his hand away, but about 30 seconds later he woke up and sat up straight so fast that you thought it would give him whiplash. He starts looking around the room, breathing heavily and eyebrows furrowed. When his eyes finally catch sight of you, he locks eyes with you, and his eyes start to water.

—————————————————————————-

ROOSTERS DREAM

There’s a missile coming right for me. I released my flares to stop it. Success. But there’s another one coming for me. I try my flares, but they’re all out. Shit. I’m going to die. What is he doing? Mav was now flying over me and releasing his flares to stop the missile. Holy shit! He did it! He sav- Mav got shot down.

"MAV!" I screamed. “Mav, do you copy?!" I tried over the radio. No response. "We have to help him! Please!"

"Rooster. He’s gone." I heard Bob say to me.

"No.." I mumble to myself.

Then I felt something on my hand.. and I’m awake, back in my bed, in my room, in my house. I look around, and my eyes land on you.

—————————————————————————-

"Bradley? Bradley, look at me. Are you okay, baby?" You ask him as calmly as you could.

Next thing you know, Bradley breaks out into a sob. You felt so sorry for him, immediately wrapping your arms around him and hugging him close to you.

"Oh baby.. shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here, I’ve got you." You whisper to him as his sobs continue.

Bradley’s arms are curled up in between the two of you, holding onto the collar of the shirt you’re wearing. You rest your cheek on his head, taking one of your hands and slowly rubbing his back.

"I-I’m so sorry." Bradley chokes out in between sobs.

“Baby, it’s not your fault.. it’s okay." You calmly replied.

After a few minutes, Bradley manages to calm down enough that he can now breathe normally. You were still rubbing his back when he spoke up.

"That was the worst one yet." He said softly as another tear rolled down his cheek.

Bradley pulled back to sit and pulled his knees into his arms, dropping his head a little.

"If you think you can.. do you wanna talk about it?" You ask carefully, not wanting to scare him.

"It was just so realistic. It was exactly what happened that day.. I-.." emphasizing the ‘exactly’. He released a big sigh before continuing, "Y/N, he almost died. I almost lost Maverick. I’ve already lost my father and my mother, I don’t know what I would do if I lost Mav too. I mean, I pushed him out of my life for years, and I really regret it. But if I lost him right after we made up.. I don’t think I would ever be able to forgive myself."

At this point, you had a tear rolling down your cheek. When Bradley noticed this, he immediately started apologizing for making you cry, putting his hand on your cheek and wiping your tear away. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch and let out a breathy laugh.

You honestly didn’t know how to reply to such a sad and truthful confession from Bradley. You leaned in closer to rest your head on his shoulder and give him a big hug. Bradley loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, dropping his head onto your shoulder. You could feel the shoulder of your shirt becoming wet from his still-falling tears.

"Bradley I love you so much, I don’t think you even know. I am so grateful that both you and Maverick are back and safe.” Because if you died, I would kill you." You say the last part with a teasing tone.

You feel Bradley’s body shake in your arms as he laughs at your joke. You release Bradley from your hug and give him a sweet kiss on the lips. Your hand softly holds the back of his head as his hands rest gently on the small of your back. You pull back and rest your forehead against his, looking into his eyes.

"So.. you better now, baby?" You ask Bradley.

"Almost.. I think I’ll feel even better if you kiss me again." Bradley says while looking at your lips and back up to your eyes, pouting his lip a little and giving you puppy dog eyes. You lean your head back and laugh at his expression, but ultimately end up giving him another kiss to the lips.

When you both lay down again to go to sleep, Bradley wraps his arms around your waist and nestles his head into your shoulder.

"I love you, Bradley." You say barley above a whisper, not sure if he even heard it.

"I love you too, Y/N, thank you, my love." He replied.

Needless to say, you both ended up falling asleep with a smile on your faces.

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ninadove · 11 months

Note

watching character ai lukadrien create the most heart wrenching debilitatingly angsty love story to ever love story ever

Hey, I can tell there’s no malice behind your ask, but — don’t do that.

I write fanfiction myself, and a lot goes into it:

1. Unreasonable amounts of ✨ Time and Effort ✨

Just the other day, my WIP kept me up until 2 AM, because I wanted it to be neatly polished before even sending it to my beta readers (@paracosmicfawn and @dragongutsixofficial). The first thing I did the following morning was re-read it again, to correct any typos and inconsistencies my tired brain might have missed the night prior.

2. Research and analysis

For a cute little Lukadrien scene I wrote with my ✨ awesome girlfriend ✨ — something that was never even going to be published — I went through a dozen different sources trying to get a better understanding of what meditation actually is and to capture the philosophy behind it accurately. This does not make me special — all authors do it out of dedication and love for their craft, but it’s energy that could be spent doing literally anything else, especially when you consider how horrifyingly lonely the writing process can be (see point 1).

Also, there’s a reason I spend so much time making analysis posts on Silly Little Blorbos who do not exist! It gets my brain running and allows me to sharpen my understanding of the characters, so I can write them properly in my works.

3. A unique perspective on the characters, the source media, and life in general

Which gives all the flavour to my favourite AO3 works out there.

Like, yes, that extract you sent in your follow-up ask is cute, I guess, but it’s also incredibly generic:

When actual living breathing human (or Senti) beings share their work with you, they’re inviting you to a special part of their brain that they’ve decorated with their own experiences, references and visuals — things that they love and passed onto their favourite characters, so they can hopefully reach you. For instance, Character AI would never have had the genius idea to compare Felix’s eyes to an aurora borealis; this could have only sparked from @wackus-bonkus-maximus’ brain. Similarly, my version of Felix will often reference works of art and literature that left a strong impact on me as a child — an impact I’m sure can also be sensed in my approach to storytelling and even in the way I structure sentences and paragraphs.

Which leads me to my final and most important point:

4. EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE™

Because let’s be real — there’s a reason our brains latch onto certain characters, and said reasons aren’t always sunshine and rainbows. I’ve cried more writing about the Senticousins than over the loss of certain people or relationships in my own life. Long before that, I latched onto Clive and gave him everything I felt was missing from my life as a teenager, so I could live vicariously through him. And of course, I always make my characters some flavour of queer, because for a long time this was the only outlet I got for my own feelings and identity.

It takes a lot of vulnerability to put all of this on the Internet for others to read and judge, and it’s very disheartening to see that people would rather ask a machine to spit out some easily digestible but impersonal interactions than give your work a chance.

I can guarantee there are beautiful pieces of fanwork out there that will cater to your tastes and haunt you for years in a way Character AI or Chat GPT never could. And the good news is — if you don’t find anything, it means it’s time to write it yourself!

And of course, I cannot end this post without encouraging everyone to read about the writers’ and actors’ strike currently unfolding in the US.

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #luka couffaine #lukadrien #felix graham de vanily #senticousins #kagami tsurugi #feligami #professor layton #clive dove #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writers’ strike #actors’ strike #anon asks #random ramblings

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ariluvsusm · 2 years

Note

Connection was so cute! I am actually so obsessed!!

Could I request an Azriel piece where him and the reader have been together for a while but the Inner circle doesn’t know Az is dating anyone. Finally he takes her to meet them and they all get to see this very sweet and doting side of Azriel

I just want a very sweet Azriel and an Inncer circle that is losing their ever-loving minds because of it

IMPORTANT- I REWROTE THIS!! the version i wrote and posted last night sucked ass!! PLEASE READ (OR REREAD) AND GIVE ME FEEDBACK :) a/n: oh my gosh thank you so much!! i literally wrote it at 4 am and when i woke up that morning i had to correct like 30 grammar mistakes and added more dialogue to make it less… to the point? i just felt like it should’ve been longer seeing as being mates is a huuuge deal. anyway, thank you so much for the feedback and thank you for being my first ask!!! such a cute idea!!!

warnings: female y/n, none other!! just a few sexual implications :) and a sickeningly adorable az!!

ALSO- i didn’t include feyre. i am SO bad at writing feyre for some reason 😭 i’m trying to get better i swear!! im sorry if you wanted to see feyre, but it turned out so horrible i just decided to delete her dialogue and it made the rest of the fic better LMAOOOO

wordcount- 3.1k

————————————————————————

you’re laying in bed with your boyfriend, azriel. early morning light streams in through the windows, and his shadows dance across your bare skin. azriel is holding your hand in one of his, his other rubbing soothing circles on your back. you can tell he’s deep in thought.

“tonight.” he says quietly, turning his head to look at you affectionately.

“tonight… what?”

“i want you to meet my friends tonight.” he says to you, moving one of his hands to brush hair out of your face. “if you would like to, that is.”

you stay silent, hoping he changes his mind. his friends are so intimidating- the high lord, really?

“it’s- it’s just that… you’re such a big part of my life, y/n. and they are too. it feels weird, like i’m hiding you or something. i want everyone to know that we’re together.” he says hesitantly.

“i don’t know, az. i don’t know if they’d like me. i’m not some… i’m not like the rest of you. i’m just a healer, a scholar at that. i only came here last year, as a refugee. I’m barely squeaking by. i’m not on the court, i’m not rich or special.” you say, the last sentence barely a whisper.

“would you like to be?”

“what?”

“would you like to be on rhys’ court? i could train you to become a spy. we don’t have any female spies, it could be useful. or- or you could be our ambassador. you’re kind, and funny, lovable-“

“az,” you say softly. “it’s not that. it’s just that all of your friends are so much more powerful than me. what if they don’t like me.”

“they’re going to love you. y/n, you make me the happiest male in prythian. they will love you, because they love me, and they want to see me happy. that, and you are the most wonderful female i have ever met. you’re charming, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent. they will love you.”

“okay…” you whisper.

“good.” he says, leaning forward for a kiss. your lips meet, and then you get out of bed, putting on a simple dress, the healers uniform, and turning around to see azriel watching. you walk back towards him and peck his lips.

“i’m gonna go to my class, do a shift at the camp, and then i’ll buy a new dress. i’ll be back before 2 at the latest. maybe we can pick up some coffee or something before dinner?”

azriel nods, sitting up in bed and stretching. his body tanned and toned. while he stretches, you slip on a pair of tights and flats.

“actually, i want to come with you to pick out your dress.” he turns towards you, pulling his shirt over his head.

“in… public?” you ask. you guys have been discreet, trying to keep your relationship a secret. for both privacy and safety reasons.

“y/n… i am all in. i want everyone to know. everyone.”

“okay,” you let out a breath, “me too. meet me on the bridge at noon?”

you kiss him once more before leaving your apartment and making your way to the school of medicine, taking your early morning class, and then arriving at the healers camp, where you diagnose a group of children with a new virus that’s been going around, and performing the proper magic in order to heal them.

—————————————— > azriel & rhys

azriel knocks on rhys’ office door, nervously for some reason. he knows that his brother will be supportive no matter what.

“come in,” a deep voice says from inside. azriel opens the door, walking inside the familiar room and sitting down. rhysand looks up. “hey, az. what are you doing here? i thought you were working on that tactic research in the library.”

“it’s about that…” the shadowsinger says, “there is no tactic research. i’ve been seeing someone.”

rhys does a double take. “seeing someone? why didn’t you tell me? research is boring anyway. females are much more interesting.”

“well… i just didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed. you guys are like… a gang of mother hens. but i came here to ask you if it would be okay if she comes here to dinner and meets everyone. she-“ he takes a breath, “she was so nervous to meet you all. she thinks she’s too low-class or low-level or something. but she’s the most amazing female i know. she’s- i-i think she’s the one, rhys…”

“az, that’s amazing! of course!” rhys beams. “finally, you bring a female home to mom!”

az groans. “see this, right here? this is why you didn’t meet her for the first year. one more word and i might just make it two.”

“a year?! gods above azriel, are you planning a wedding without your dear family aswell?” rhys clutches at his heart, feigning heartbreak.

—————————————————— > you after your 4 hour shift, you travel to where you and azriel agreed to meet. he’s already standing there, leaning onto the railing of the bridge and looking over into the water. his shadows wrap around his chest and neck, up to his ear, probably informing him of your arrival as he turns around and smiles at you.

“you wanna grab some coffee first?” he asks you before you can speak. you simply nod, and he grabs your hand. he smiles down at you, a warm, affectionate smile. his shadows wrap around where your bodies connect, dancing on your arms. then the two of you begin your walk to the small shop, passing by multiple gaping people on the way. some looks of jealousy, some of pure shock.

when you arrive, he greets the barista and orders your favorite drink for you. you sit down at a small table near the front, with a view to the sea, and you even hold hands over the table like a normal couple. and you couldn’t be happier.

———————————————————- timeskip

the dress [modest version :)] you end up with is perfect. it’s elegant, floorlength, and silk. yet, it’s cute and youthful, slightly revealing, and fashionable, in a beautiful shade of deep red to compliment the tie you bought azriel. although he went a bit red, he agreed to wear it with little complaint. soon, you are applying kohl to your eyes and matching red lipstick to your lips. you put your hair in a half up, half down hairstyle and slip on your heels. you give yourself a once over in the mirror, and leave.

you’d had a lot of discourse over what to wear- azriel tried to assure you it was perfect, but you were still nervous. on one hand, it’s your boyfriend’s family. on the other, it’s a group of the most legendary warriors and powerful leaders in history. either way it’s hard.

azriel flies you to the peak where the house of wind sits- a breathtakingly beautiful view of the city and sea sits beyond the mansion. he grips your hand and squeezes once as you walk up the front steps. you stand in front of the huge, fancy, looming front doors.

“are you ready?” he asks you.

“not really.” you reply.

“they’re going to love you, y/n. you’re the most brilliant and hardworking female i know. and you make me the happiest-“ basically repeating his speech from that morning.

“i know, i know. let’s go.” you cut him off. and then he reaches for the doorknob and you’re standing inside of the fancy foyer.

“that must be az! get your shadowy ass in here, we were about to start without you!” a high female voice yells from the dining room. the morrigan. you can tell because she guest spoke in a self defense class you attended. he takes off your coat, placing it on a giant coatrack, and then grabs your hand and leads you through a hallway. to the dining room, where 4 pairs of eyes immediately land on you. you know all of their names. amren. the morrigan. cassian. and rhysand- the high lord- who gives you a grim smile.

after a few moments of silence that lasted a lifetime, cassian says:

“it would appear azriel has brought us a female.”

azriel makes to move forward, but you are glued to the spot- stiffly standing there. the morrigan stands up.

“im mor,” she says, placing a comforting hand on your back and coaxing you out of your spot, “im sorry about them. they were all raised in a barn, it seems.”

“im y/n.” you say, trying your best to give her a smile. azriel protectively places an arm around you and leads you to two spots on the other side of the table.

“im cassian.” cassian says, “and that’s amren. she can be grumpy.” you love over at amren, and she’s sniffing the air- as if she can smell you and your soul. it sends a chill down your spine.

“so this is the female,” the high lord says, “i can see why you kept her to yourself for a year.”

the table breaks out into an outrage. cries of ‘a year?’, ‘azriel!’, and numerous other scoldings litter the table. even amren looks mad.

“you kept her from us for a year?!” cassian says, gaping. azriel places a hand on your thigh and looks at you, his eyes seeming to say are you alright?

the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the table. regardless, you give him a slight nod and turn towards them.

“well, seeing all of your reactions, it seems i was correct to do so. i should’ve kept her from you longer.”

“im right here, you know.” you smile at the two ridiculously buff men.

rhys adds with a smirk, “yes, in case you would like to speak to her and not about her.”

“finally, someone who makes our sweet azzy happy.” cassian sighs mockingly, alcohol beginning to take effect.

“the happiest male in prythian.” azriel turns to look at you, making eye contact. you look back up at him and smile.

“gods, you two are so cute. i never thought i’d see the day azriel finds the sunlight to his shadows.” mor says, looking at you approvingly. azriels shadows wrap round your arm and leg closest to him, which doesn’t go unnoticed by cassian. or the rest of the table, apparently.

“i never thought i’d see the day where azriel’s shadows like someone other than azriel.” cassian adds to mors comment. azriels shadows wrap around your torso.

“so, y/n, what do you do?” mor asks you. you wish she hadn’t; your cheeks burn in shame.

“i’m- i’m a student. i’m a refugee from fall court. i n-never got the chance to study at home.” azriels grip tightens on your thigh, and you look down. this is where they change their minds about you.

but mor- and the rest of the table- doesn’t look at you in disappointment or disapproval. she just nods, still ever-smiling.

“she’s studying medicine. she’s going to become a healer- she’s got the gift.” azriel says proudly, looking at you with admiration behind his eyes. you blush. cassian and the high lord exchange a look, as if to say, oh, man, he’s in love. amren smirks at mor, nodding at whatever thought is conveyed by her facial expression.

unexpectedly, the high lord says “that’s wonderful. i wish we could give sanctuary to more, save more. and we need healers. those who are blessed with the gift are sacred.”

“it’s an honor, high lord.” you reply. azriel looks at you in amusement at your use of honorifics, and you suppose that rhysand doesn’t use his title here.

“oh, gods, y/n, just rhys. or rhysand. please.” he says, waving it off and smiling.

cassian gasps, “but i still have to call you most great and all powerful high lord rhysand?!”

the table breaks out in laughter.

soon, you are enveloped in a conversation with mor and cassian about training. they want you to come train with them- learn how to defend yourself and others- and you agree. it could be very useful. azriel butts in whenever he can, boasting about your accomplishments and achievements. they congratulate you, trying not to let their jaws hit the floor at how soft azriel is with you, laughing and smiling at azriels enthusiasm about you. even amren smiles a little- and offers to show you how to properly use the huge library to research and study what you want. she offers to teach you how to harvest your magic- something you never used in fall court. the group looks very surprised, gaping at her. to which amren replies:

“what? if she’s to live with us, and appear at our dinners and in our lives, i should like to get to know her past basic dinner small talk.”

after dinner, you’re all stuffed and sitting around in the living area with glasses of wine. you and azriel sit on a loveseat- mor and amren are in armchairs, rhys and cassian on the main couch. you guys share stories; they ask you stories of fall court, let you talk and talk of your home.

azriel protectively places his arm around you, pushing you in closer to him. you two are basically cuddling.

“a little closer,” cassian says, quite drunkenly, “and she may have to take a pregnancy tonic.”

this elicits a growl from azriel, shocking you so much that you jump. you look at him with an incredulous expression upon your face- mor and rhys and howling with laughter. cassian just downs another glass.

“did you know she got the highest marks in her class last year despite only joining the class in the last half?” azriel says, again bragging about your academics. your face warms up.

“she became an apprentice even though she only attended half the classes! and now she works directly under the head healer!” he states, looking down at you and smiling warmly. you can’t help but smile back.

“stop gloating about my grades!” you playfully smack him on the arm.

“but you did so good!” he objects.

“im just saying, i agree with azriel.” mor says, “it makes feel safe knowing someone in our group can heal, and is knowledgeable.”

our group our group our group our group

her words swim around in your head and you can’t help but smile. azriel squeezes you, like he knows what you’re thinking about.

mor gets up and stretches. “y/n, you should come train with us tomorrow. we train from 8, after breakfast, to 11, right before lunch.” she glances quickly at a clock. “oh, shit, it’s 2:30 guys! you guys should just stay here, it’s too late for you to be up and about.” rhys nodded and stood up, stretching too.

“yes, all of you sleep in your rooms here tonight. it’s too late for you all to leave.”

then, cassian gets up.

“azriel, try to be quiet when you bed y/n tonight. we share a wall and i want to sleep.” you look down, blushing, and if looks could kill cassian would be six feet under because of the one azriel shot him. but cassian tips his head back and roars in laughter.

“it was so good to meet you, y/n. you’re the most amazing female for azriel. and im glad he decided to finally take you out of the safety and comfort of his dungeon.” rhys says to you, all of you now standing.

“hey, it was a mutual decision to hide it.”

“oh, yeah,” cassian mocks, “wouldn’t want her to get mobbed in the street by all of your other potential suitresses, brother.”

“well… i’m glad you guys deemed us worthy enough of y/n’s presence.”

azriel groans.

after 5 minutes of goodbye and goodnight and see you tomorrow, finally, you and azriel make your way through the mansion to what you suppose is azriel’s room. after bathing, you put on one of his shirts and undershirts and climb into bed with him. you lay your upper body on his chest, and he wraps his arms around you

“it wasn’t that bad, right?” he asks you, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“no, no. they were great. i’m excited to train with you guys. and study with amren.” you say, tracing circles on his toned chest.

“well…” he drawls, “let’s just say that you might be seeing a lot of them.”

“what?” you ask, changing your position to look up at him. “what do you mean?”

“rhys told me- hinted- that he’s going to ask you to be on his court.”

“oh- hinted”

“y/n, while you and mor were discussing healing, he said ‘you know, i have a position on my court open. one that happens to be whatever position y/n would want on my court’.”

you gasp. “azriel! holy gods.”

“I told you they would love you! you’re basically already part of the family!” he says.

“well…im glad you introduced them to me.” you say, laying back down while he wraps his wings around you. tendrils of shadow run up and down your bare skin, curling and trailing and slithering.

“i’m glad you enjoyed dining with them. and that they weren’t too bad.” he jokes.

you smile into his skin. and that’s how you fall asleep; moonlight and shadows entwined on your skin, his wings and arms wrapped around you, and you curled into him. you can’t help but feel at home here. with him- and with them.

—————————————————————————

(a/n)- UGH i struggled with this lowkey 😭 all week this week i’ve been writing bits and pieces. i’ve been super busy, so if it’s kinda horrible and breaky upy that’s why. i rewrote a lot of it since it annoyed me so bad 😭

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