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soulsforsales · 7 months

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Professor Steven Grant x Reader

Warning: This is my first fic (Idk if that should be a warning but I am scared lol), fluff, age gap, no use of Y/N, sorry for any grammatical mistakes

Summary: You always had a weak spot for nerds but Steven Grant might just be the man of your dreams.

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader (yes, we do have Marc and Jake in the next chapters!)

Thankyou @ivystoryweaver for your ideas and support <3

Chapter 1

It is a warm Tuesday afternoon in October. You are browsing the books in the "classics" section at the bookstore. Usually, you come to the bookstore on weekends but you've decided to meet a friend this week, so here you are.

Your eyes roam the bookshelf along with your hand in a straight line until you hit something. Someone. You step back, an apology already on your lips until you turn and see the man beside you and suddenly you are at a loss for words. You stare at him.

Normally, if you run into someone at the bookstore you would just turn away and apologize, which happened a lot since you were always lost searching for your book but it wasn't a rom-com movie where anyone you accidentally stumble upon turns out to be your soulmate - but, god, right now you wish it were.

Honestly, you have seen your fair share of good-looking men, but this guy was, you dare say it, gorgeous.

He had a defined, sharp jawline with dark brown eyes, and his hair was a mess of curls. He was wearing baggy clothes but it suited him just fine and a messenger bag slung on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry,' you hear him say and he gives an apologetic smile. O.K. If you thought he was good-looking a moment ago, his smile was absolutely beaming - and it wasn't even a real smile. 'You okay?' He asks, his fingers grazing your forearm for the slightest second, bringing you back to life. He is looking down at you, confused. Really? Could he not see what he was doing to you or did he not know how good-looking he was?

You nod, saying, 'I am fine. Sorry about that.' He waves his hand in front of his face, 'No worries,' he replies with a smile. He looks a bit older than you, thirteen years or some.

You are staring at him again. You can feel yourself getting red. So embarrassing.

'That's a nice book you've got there,' he says, pointing to the book in your hands that was now wrapped around your chest. The blush on your cheeks deepens, he doesn't notice.

"Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte" you trace your fingers over the cover of the book.

'Yeah,' you say, pushing the book closer to yourself, 'you too.' Alright, you do not know why you said that, but he was holding a book and it only felt right to return the compliment.

Or maybe you are just really bad when it comes to conversations with someone who's got you fawning.

He shows the book to you, "The Ennead" it reads. Suddenly, you are intrigued. Yes, you work for a textile company but History, especially Egyptian, has always been interesting to you. And before you know it, you are both somehow in a long, elaborated conversation about the Ennead, Egyptian history, and the pyramids.

He knew so much that it left you speechless. You could only admire him as he kept spitting engrossing Egyptian facts as if it were the weather report. He talked animatedly, with his hands moving and his eyes gleaming. His hands, wow, his perfect, sleek hands were totally distracting you from his stories.

He stopped abruptly when his phone rang. He was telling you something about Ammit, the sinister goddess of the Underworld but he had to stop and pick up the call.

He held the phone close to his chest, saying, 'Looks like I'll have to leave.' He looked like he was in a hurry but he glanced at you once more before walking out the place, as if he wanted to say more.

He disappeared soon as if he'd never even been here.

Your heart is beating fast and it feels almost as if, you have never had a conversation like this one before. Maybe it was the person more than the conversation itself.

You didn't even ask for his name, you wince at the realization. You should've totally asked for his name.

Maybe you'll see him again.

For some reason, you are sure you'll see him again.

•------🌙

You are a few feet away from the coffee shop's door when you notice your friend. She's sitting at the table with someone, you can't really see who, and is typing aggressively into her laptop.

Your friend is in the last year of her University, she's a year younger than you. You always knew that University was not your thing but you'd attended it anyway because your parents wanted you to and being exceedingly wealthy, they had proposed to pay your study loans for you.

So now you have a full-time job, a good paycheck, and an apartment of your own without any piles of loans above your head. While your friend, still in Uni was drowning in projects and assignments and you knew she needed to loosen up a bit, hence, the reason you two were meeting today.

You enter the shop with a smile, but it drops the moment you notice who your friend is with. You freeze a few feet away from the table. You couldn't be sure if it was him but the resemblance was there.

Your friend looks up from her laptop, noticing you. She waves at you, grinning, which makes, whoever it is, sitting in front of her turn to you.

You almost trip. He looks even better than the last time you'd seen him. He was still wearing baggy clothes, his hair tousled and curly but it looked purposely done. And he was wearing glasses, red colored glasses perched on the top of his nose. Adorable.

You always had a weak spot for nerds but he might just be the man of your dreams.

Your friend asks you to come over and have a seat and you do. You can tell that he remembers you. He's been staring at you ever since you walked in and you can't breathe. What's happening to you?

Your friend, however, is oblivious, she introduces you to the man, telling him your name and he introduces himself, 'Steven Grant,' he says, shaking your hand clumsily. You nod. His hand, oh god, the handshake sent tingles all over your skin.

'He was just helping me with a few assignments, thank you so much for this,' your friend adds and after telling her that it's no big deal Steven leaves the table to get his order.

You watch him go. Steven Grant. You had met him at the bookstore almost a week ago and yet, you couldn't stop thinking about him. It felt foolish but you'd never, in your life, daydreamed about a guy the way you'd daydreamed about Steven Grant.

'Stop drooling,' your friend says interrupting your rail of thoughts. A blush spreads on your cheeks. You aren't drooling... are you?

'How do you know him?' You ask her

Your friend grins, 'he's my history professor.'

Your jaw drops, 'he's a professor?' You repeat, placing your hands on your chest dramatically, 'he's like everything I've ever wanted.'

She chuckles, 'You should ask him out. He's exactly your type and I am sure he's single.'

Your eyes turn to Steven who's now getting his coffee, 'how's he still single?'

'Because he's the most awkward person you'll ever meet and the only friend he has is a goldfish named 'Gus', it is one-finned or something. He loves talking about it,' your friend tells

You smile to yourself but your heart's hammering against your chest and you know you'd never have the courage to ask him out.

'I could never,' you say, biting your lower lip. Before your friend can reply Steven comes back with a flask that the barista had filled for him.

Your friend smirks as she closes her laptop and leaves the table the next moment. You silently beg her to stay but it's too late.

Steven looks at you and you can't stop blushing. You are praying that your complexion doesn't give it away. 'Correct me if I'm wrong,' he speaks sweetly, 'but... have we met before?'

Your cheeks redden, 'yeah,' you say, 'Yes actually, at the bookstore... that day, I - I had no idea that you were, would be - what a coincidence, right?' You give yourself an imaginary facepalm. Someone must remind you how to form a coherent sentence again.

'You're at University too?' He asks

You shake your head, 'Oh no, not anymore.'

Steven smiles in reply and you two fall into an awkward silence. You want to say something - you know you should say something but he hasn't stopped smiling since you arrived and you can't think straight when he's looking at you with those deep, soft, brown eyes.

Maybe you should ask him something about his job - anything would be better than staring at him like an idiot.

You open your mouth to speak but Steven cuts you off, 'that day when we met,' he says, taking his glasses off, 'I wanted to ask you something, actually...' he pauses to take a good look at your face, you can swear you are as red as a tomato by now. 'I was wondering if - if you would want to - maybe - uh, have dinner with me sometime? I was just thinking if...' You don't hear the rest of the sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he asking you out? Was Steven Grant, the man you had been reeling after - asking you out on a date? This felt unreal.

'I'm sorry,' his voice reaches your ear, interrupting your thoughts, 'I think I might be reading too much into it. I understand if you're not interested.'

Your eyes visibly widen at his words. It wasn't that at all.

'No.' You almost yell, 'I - I am interested. I want to, I mean. I would love to go on a date with you.' You are smiling hard and you can feel the butterflies rummaging in your stomach. 'If - if that's what you are implying.' You add.

This is bad.

Steven lets out a small laugh, his cheeks turning pink, 'Yes. Yes, th - that's what I meant.'

You grin, not because you want to but because you can't help it. He's so nice and so absolutely beautiful.

Steven fiddles with his sleeves nervously, saying, 'Well, there's this really nice restaurant down the street. They have all kinds of food options. I - I was thinking maybe we could, you know, check it out.'

You nod, still smiling. Still feeling the butterflies in your stomach. He looked ten times better when he smiled.

'Yeah,' you say, 'yeah, sounds great.'

'I'll see you tomorrow then? If - if that's okay with you. I get off work at 5'

'Tomorrow's good.'

'Yeah?' He's smiling with his eyes now, crinkles appearing around them and oh, you could just die.

Steven's expression softens as he starts to get up, 'I am terribly sorry, love,' he says, with a weak smile, 'I would really like to stay but I have to leave now - I have a meeting at work. I could, uh, text you the details, though?'

You tell him that it's alright and exchange phone numbers.

'See you tomorrow, then?' He asks, sliding his messenger bag down his shoulder, his curls toss as he fixes the strap and you fight the urge to push your fingers through them. You really wanted to.

'It's a date then,' you say, biting your lower lip. It was hard to contain your giddiness.

'I'll call you.' He says, passing you a little smile before finally walking out the shop.

Oh my god. It happened! You are going out on a date with Steven Grant. You are acting like a teenager getting asked out for the first time but you're too happy to care. You are happy - excited even - for a date, you haven't felt this like this in a long time.

Your friend finally comes back to the table, holding a sandwich in one hand and a coffee cup in another.

'You were ages.' You say, adding Steven's phone number into your contacts

'Was I?' Your friend replies, slurping her drink, 'well, the barista was super cute - not really my fault, besides, what were you chatting with Mr. Grant about?'

You smile. Your cheeks hurt from smiling now but you can't help it, 'I am going on a date.' You tell her, 'With your professor.'

Tagging: @wittyjasontodd (I didn't know if you'd wanted to be tagged since this is not DC related but here it is!), @fandxmslxt69 (bcs I was inspired by your math professor lol >.<)

Anyone who wants to be tagged, just lmk!

#fic #fic writing #moon knight #moon knight fic #steven grant #steven grant x reader #professor steven grant #steven grant x you #i did it y'all

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after-witch · 24 days

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If I had a nickel for every time I read a book where an otherworldly entity left specific books on a shelf for a girl he's holding captive in some way, and said books are clearly meant to hint at their situation, I'd have two nickels...

(Vague My Throat An Open Grave spoilers!!)

Empty Smiles, the books the smiling man put on Ollie's bookshelf when she's being held on the train car:

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

Coraline by Neil Gaiman

Beauty by Robin McKinley.

My Throat an Open Grave, the books on a shelf where the main character must stay after her brother has been taken by the Lord of the Wood & she journeys to get him back:

Alice in Wonderland

Tales of the Brothers Grimm

Wuthering Heights

#smiling man #book thoughts #the Beauty one though... 'I cannot behave prettily even for you' or whatever it was from that book #applies to the smiling man in Empty Smiles very well

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daydreamingleclerc · 1 year

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‘tis the damn season - pierre gasly

in which, on coming back home for the holiday season you bump into an old flame and it reignites.

warnings: angsty… exes to lovers, swearing, alcohol, driving over the limit (do not do that it is illegal), charles being an agony aunt, unprotected sex, oral (m,f), fingering, i think that’s it. not been proofread, switches between 1st and 3rd person. she is a LONG one so grab a snack & buckle up.

based on the song ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift

there was a little cafe in your hometown that you visited frequently when you returned. it was warm and cosy in the winter, with a little fireplace in the back corner and a huge bookshelf for a wall that had everything from brontë to shakespeare to harry potter. they seemed to be the favored books judging by the spines.

it was all decked out in christmas decorations this time, with tinsel hanging from every possible surface, jolly notes on all of the mirrors, christmas music playing from the speakers across the floor and the smell of gingerbread wafting through the cafe constantly. there was even a christmas tree in the back corner where people could place presents for people less fortunate than them; it was a kind gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

Y/N was hasten to admit that she spent most of her time here when she was back at home. she only came back for the occasional birthday and the holidays — after living here for almost twenty one years of her life, she didn’t want to spend more time here than she had to.

she was always working, writing out the next chapter of her book, or she read when she needed an escape from her own fantasies. thriller books were an endless supply of exciting when she read them throughout her life, but writing them seemed to be a little bit more difficult.

everything was spread out on the small table in front of her, and as the world moved around her — kids with that excited christmas buzz, parents who couldn’t wait for school to re-start, the elderly who just needed company over the christmas period — she tucked her legs under her bum and continued reading.

“wuthering heights always used to be one of your favorites.”

she paused momentarily, her eyes lifting from the pages of the book only slightly, not enough to take in the stature of the man standing opposite her. she tried not to let the look on her face change, she tried to act like she couldn’t tell who it was just by the breath that left his mouth, but it was too late.

“what copy is that one now? probably the fifth, sixth, even.”

“what’re you doing here, pierre?”

she didn’t mean to come off as brash, or snappy, but those things happened when she thought about him. that was the first time she’d looked at him since leaving, and she was stunned by the way he’d matured. his hair was neat, dark brunette now compared to the long, messy blonde it was when she last saw him. his eyes were still blue, cheekbones still defined. the facial hair really stood out to her, she’d never seen him so rugged before.

“the same as you,” he replied, “back for the holidays.”

“your parents don’t live down this end of town,” you scrunched your up your nose and folded the page down on the book.

“they moved,” he stated plainly, “they live next to charles’ mom now.”

you nodded, the tension among you was painfully awkward, and you found yourself wishing pierre would just leave. he rocked back and forth on his heels gently as he waited patiently for his order to be made; he’d drifted away from the counter and so he knew they’d have to shout it over to him eventually.

“that’s nice,” you replied, filling the silence with words you thought fitting. kids ran past the table with crayons and colouring sheets as they sang along to the song on the speakers, their christmas buzz effortlessly innocent. a drastic difference to the pair of you.

“my mom said she saw your books out in the local bookshop, apparently they were the front window display,” he said, unsure if he should pull up a chair or stay standing; safe to say he chose the latter. you’d been cold with him for almost two years now, he couldn’t blame you. “she said she almost bought one, but she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.”

a little flicker of a smile rose on your face, but it quickly faded when someone walked past with a tray of drinks. it was as if you didn’t want to be seen talking to him; which once again, he couldn’t blame you for.

“of course she’s allowed, my problem’s not with your mom,” you realised quickly that the sentence didn’t quite land the way it was supposed to. you placed the book down on the counter. “shit, that’s, uh.. i didn’t mean it like that.”

pierre shook his head sternly, as if telling her to forget about it. he looked down at the table in front of you and saw proofs of what looked like a new manuscript, with jots and doodles labeled all along the margins.

“are you writing a new one?”

“mhm,” was all you managed to say, and you looked up at him for a short second, “murder mystery.”

the fireplace beside you crackled and that was the first time pierre noticed it was even burning, “my favourite,” he chuckled dryly, choking back his adam’s apple as he thought desperately of things to say.

“you probably can’t say what it’s about, can you?”

“i don’t really think—”

“—pumpkin spice cappuccino with an extra shot and a chocolate hazelnut croissant to go?” the barista shouted pierre’s order, and he turned around and waved. it was frantic, and you weren’t really sure why or how you lurched out to spoke to him; it just happened like clockwork.

“it’s about a woman called estelle who goes missing, if there’s no body there’s no crime,” pierre smiled as you spoke, and for a fleeting second it felt like you were teenagers again. he took the drink and the small paper bag from the barista and looked over at you once more, “and this is my sixth copy of wuthering heights.”

charles’ mom’s annual christmas get together was the last place she wanted to be. y/n wanted to be tucked up in bed with a hot chocolate, surrounded by yet more proofs of her next chapter which she would undoubtedly be editing until the early hours.

yet, there she was. in charles’ mom’s front room, surrounded by the people she grew up with; including pierre.

he glanced at her with a watchful eye all evening, sipping at his red wine until the glass emptied and the process repeated. she’d hardly noticed she’d drank almost two bottles of white to herself, until she went to pour herself another glass only to find that it was dripping out into the glass after about 50ml poured out.

“Y/N, i’ve not seen you drink this much in years,” charles nudged his friend, sitting back, “what’s up?”

she glanced back over at pierre, who’s gaze averted hers almost immediately after she looked over. “i saw him today for the first time in… i don’t know? however long it’s been since i left, and i just…” she took a minute to compose herself, placing the glass on the floor so she didn’t spill whatever was in there, “it just brought everything back about everything that happened between us and it reminded me why i left in the first place.”

charles’ arm wrapped around her shoulders, his drunken state seemed to dim in the airing of Y/N’s feelings. she felt bad bringing up old wounds, especially about bitching to charles over a relationship that spanned four years and ended almost three years ago.

“i’m not expecting you to take sides, charles,” you patted his leg, “i know he’s your best friend and i know you’re racing together now, it’s unfair of me to offload on you but—”

“—i always said what he did to you was fucking stupid, Y/N,” charles rested his back against his mothers sofa and Y/N followed suite. “and if truth be told i’ve never let him live it down, you have every right to feel how you feel, and you have every right to vent out how you feel, but have you told him?”

Y/N looked between charles and pierre. her ex-boyfriend scowled over at the pair, an irritated knot between his eyebrows. she knew he was trying to decipher what they were talking about, whispers of his name could be seen tumbling out of their lips and it made his ears stand to attention. charles had that soft, doe-eyed look on his face, the one that begged Y/N to be his friend all those years ago when they were at school together.

“of course i haven’t, i can barely look at him charles,” she muttered, fiddling with the hem of her skirt, “i’m pretty pissed off that he’s still hot, he could’ve gone back to the haircut he had when we started dating, maybe then i wouldn’t be so mad.”

she thought about their first date at the movies, with pierre’s stupid long, justin bieber-esque hair with blonde tips. it was so stupid, and he cut it off soon after they started to date.

“i’m sure he’s just as pissed off as you are,” charles’ eyebrows furrowed as he fumbled for the words to say, “i mean… because, well… leaving this town was… it did great things for you.”

“that was really hard for you, wasn’t it?”

pierre’s eyes got thinner when he caught the pair of you laughing. he was jealous, he wanted you all to himself even though he had no right to be jealous.

“i just mean that going away really changed you in the best way,” he nudged you again, “i think you ought to tell him.”

charles was right. Y/N knew he was right and she knew she should tell pierre, at least if not for herself so she could move on with her life. the réalisation suddenly dawned on her that she’d hardly dated in the last two years, and as a twenty four year old woman, that was embarrassing.

“okay fine,” she huffed. “but first, let’s get drunk.”

several hours passed, and Y/N’s vision was going blotchy. she didn’t intend to drink as much as she did in such a short amount of time, but every time she thought about opening up to pierre, she ended up with another drink in her hand.

pascale’s liquor cupboard was almost completely raided, but she didn’t mind. she insisted that ‘this is exactly what her parties were for!’ and so, Y/N used that to her advantage. even arthur struggled to keep up with her, and he was the youngest out of the bunch.

“no, charles, it’s late,” Y/N’s words were slurred as she fumbled with her jacket in order to get ready to leave, “you already have half the party staying with you. my car isn’t far away.”

“no, no way, Y/N, you’re not driving.”

“charles, i’m fine,” she whined, but her breath said otherwise. his face twisted at the smell of her alcoholic breath, “please let me go home.”

“i’ll call you a taxi,” he snatched her car keys from her hand.

“no need, i can drive her home.”

pierre’s voice came into earshot, and Y/N grumbled. she wanted another drink. charles turned to face his friend, a raised eyebrow. “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“charles, i had two glasses of red wine three hours ago, i’m fine.”

charles shook his head and pulled pierre over to one side, “no, i mean… are you sure it’s a good idea driving Y/N home?”

pierre looked over at Y/N, and he couldn’t leave her to get a taxi or walk home on her own, and he was the only person leaving the party at the same time; everyone else was crashing.

“charles, i’m sorry but i’m not leaving her, she’s not safe on her own.”

“can you two girls stop gossiping and tell me what’s going on?”

charles snickered and pierre smirked softly. your sarcasm when drunk was one of their favourite things about you.

“pierre’s gonna drive you home,” charles handed the keys to pierre, and much to Y/N’s disgust, she didn’t have another option. “he’ll make sure you get there safely. you know that.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around charles’ shoulders and gave him a cuddle, before stumbling out of his front door into the chilly december air. pierre caught up to her, keeping an eye on her stumbling as she walked in her suede boots, trying to make sure she didn’t trip over and break her ankle.

“how far away is your car, Y/N?”

“parked it between the methodist church and the high school,” she said, slurring her words even more now she was out in the cold air. “it’s not that far of a walk.”

“slow down,” pierre reached out for Y/N, wrapping his hand around her clothed arm as she walked. she immediately slowed, and they walked side by side now. “you’re gonna break a bone or something silly and christmas will be ruined.”

she let out a little laugh. “sorry, this was the last way i intended to spend my evening, no offense.”

“none taken,” he held up his free hand. he could see the road between the church and the school, and the sparse row of cars lining it, “i just couldn’t let you get in a taxi on your own… and i also didn’t want you to get arrested for drunk driving.”

“how romantic,” Y/N replied sarcastically. they crossed the road and she patted the boot of her car to let pierre know it was hers. he realised then that being an author paid rather well, seeing as the car was almost brand new. “i’d appreciate it if you stopped drooling over my rear plates and take me home.”

“Y/N Y/L/N drinking all night and not asking for a pitstop at mcdonald’s?” he questioned, unlocking the car doors with the press of a button and slipping inside, “maybe you really have changed.”

“shut up, pierre,” Y/N grumbled, trying not to show the look of amusement on her face, “just take me home.”

he helped Y/N buckle in her seatbelt and made sure she was safely strapped in before hitting the road. he wasn’t as much of a reckless driver as she remembered; but he got a kick out of driving stupidly thanks to his day job now.

as he continued to drive, Y/N began to rummage around the globe compartments. “are you looking for something?”

“thirsty,” she muttered, “i had a bottle of water in here earlier but i don’t know where i — ow!”

as Y/N rose from her curved back position only to hit her head on the sun visor and trapped her finger in the glove compartment.

“are you okay?”

“fine,” she muttered, soothing her sore finger and throbbing head. “just want some water.”

despite being less than five minutes from Y/N’s house, pierre pulled over at the nearest petrol station. he could’ve waited, drove her home and got her water when she was there, but he knew how she got when she was drunk. she would break every glass in that cupboard to find the one she wanted.

“stay there, Y/N.” he said, unstrapping himself and locking the door behind him. Y/N sighed to herself, alternating between sucking on her finger now and rubbing her head. she couldn’t nurse both minor injuries at once or else she got nauseous and overstimulated.

“here, drink this,” he handed her a cold bottle of water and she took it in her hands, the temperature sending tingles up her arms. as pierre strapped in, he threw some things into the back seat. “got you some food and painkillers, too.”

Y/N smiled at him, a genuine smile that warmed his body from the bottom to the top. “thank you.”

“don’t mention it,” he smiled back at her, and the two were lost in a moment before he snapped out of it and reignited the engine. “right, let’s get you home.”

they pulled up in Y/N’s parents driveway, and pierre grabbed the snacks from the back seat and got Y/N to hook her arm through his so she didn’t stumble off and break anything. he fumbled with the keys as she told him which was the one for her parents house, until eventually the door swung open.

pierre was unsure where to go from here. he didn’t want to leave her, she needed to sober up a bit before he felt safe to leave, but he’d done what he said he was going to do; and there was almost no way he expected to stay.

“come in, then,” she whispered, “you’re letting the cold in and my parents’ll be pissed off.”

“i don’t know if that’s a good idea, Y/N,” pierre took a step back. “i’ll just hand you your things and i’ll walk back to my mom’s.”

“no,” she grabbed out for his arm and squeezed the flesh, “please, stay. i, uh… it’s almost two in the morning and i would really appreciate the help in preventing an awful hangover.”

he entered the house, the scent familiar, a part of his history he’d kept locked away in the back of his mind for so long. the place hadn’t changed since he last saw it, and for that he was relieved.

pierre helped Y/N up the stairs and to her bedroom, easing her bum down on the mattress and she sighed in content. “how’s your finger?”

“sore,” she said, allowing him to hold it in his hands and inspect the flesh. “do you think it’s broken?”

“no, probably just bruised.” he deciphered.

the two sat in silence for a minute, the only sounds filling the room being their heartbeats and breathing. pierre wasn’t sure where to go next, he didn’t want to bring up ancient history and upset Y/N, but he also didn’t want to act as if it was never there. she felt the same.

“i was speaking to charles at the party,” she hummed, realizing that tonight was probably the only chance she was ever going to get to speak to him about what happened, and she had to use it to her advantages. “i was airing out my frustrations over you, and he said the only way i was going to get over them is if i expressed them to you.”

“ah.”

“i don’t think i need to state the obvious and say that what you did really hurt me,” she continued, “but for what it’s worth it did, but i’m sure you of all people know that. i just need to do this so i get closure, so i can move on from that situation without it hanging over my head like a bad omen. does that make sense?”

pierre nodded his head. Y/N had been more articulate and spoken more to him in the last 90 seconds than she had in the last two years.

“completely,” he gave her a soft smile, “i’m sorry. i want you to know that. it was the stupidest, most immature thing i’ve ever done and charles still hasn’t let me forget it.”

“it’s nice to know that he keeps you in check.”

the pair of you shared a laugh, and after finishing the bottle of water and knocking back a few preemptive painkillers, you felt so much better.

“i should get ready for bed.” you hummed. pierre nodded and shot up from the bed, walking to the door.

“right, yeah, i’ll uh… i’ll get some blankets and a pillow, sleep on the sofa.”

Y/N wasn’t sure where it came from, in fact, she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. they just did.

“pierre, wait.” the man did as she asked, halting just by the knob of the door and turning to face her. what she did next was something not even he expected.

she shrugged off her jacket and slowly began to one by one undo the buttons on her blouse, her eyes never leaving pierre’s face as she did so. “stay, just for a little longer.”

pierre knew better than to be enticed. he knew better than to get lured into this wicked game, than to give into the devilish temptation that would undoubtedly split open a can of worms and create more harm than good. but then again…

his feet had a mind of their own and walked towards her, lips finding hers in the most effortless of ways. he pushed the blouse off of her shoulders, the warmth of her skin against his was a sensation he’d missed dearly.

her hands wrapped around his neck and tugged at the tufts of hair along the back. she seemed unable to break away from the kiss, fighting her urges to pull away for air until she absolutely had to. pierre’s hands were chilly on her waist, igniting goosebumps on the warm flesh. there was no need for words, and so they didn’t fill the air with useless breath.

Y/N’s hands trailed underneath the cotton of pierre’s white shirt, the heat of his abdomen leaving little to her imagination. pierre’s lips dropped down to Y/N’s neck as his hands moved up to the clasp on her bra, and he admired her chest for a moment before working his way down towards it.

“god, i was so fuckin’ stupid,” one of his lips attached to a nipple, and you stood there with a half open mouth, attempting to push off his shirt as he worked against them.

“mhm,” you breathed. “so stupid.”

his fingers curled into the waistband of your skirt and tights, and carefully he pushed them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles, the only thing covering you from him now was just your underwear.

you successfully managed to push his shirt off of him, and he got you to lay back across your bed, and slung your legs up over his shoulders.

your underwear was lace, and so as he ripped a the stitches one by one until it eventually broke apart, and you were left unable to complain because the feeling of his tongue roaming your pussy was simply too good.

you’d missed feeling his tongue all over you, and oh god, had he gotten better. his mouth worked on your clit relentlessly, and with every flick of the sensitive bud you cried out, desperate to keep quiet so your parents didn’t wake up.

y/n’s hands found pierre‘s hair and she tugged on it exactly like she used to all those years ago whenever they found themselves in this position. her mouth fell open into an O, and she found herself lost for breath and moaning pierre’s name over again.

“ssh,” he whispered, pulling his lips away from her clit momentarily, “we don’t wanna wake the house, do we?”

she shook her head and he continued to work on her clit, using new and old techniques alike to bring her to a mind-numbing, leg shaking orgasm.

she bit down on her lip so hard that she drew blood, a moan of pierre’s name leaving her lips. he pulled away, and instead of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he leaned down and kissed you, just the way you used to love it.

“fucking hell,” she breathed, and when his fingers curled inside her, the breath that was half out caught at the back of her throat. “your fingers… they feel so…”

Y/N couldn’t finish the sentence, too caught up in the way pierre’s fingers worked at her g-spot, alternating between hitting it and his thumb circling the clit. her legs were still thrown over his shoulders, and as he inched further and further up, the angle got deeper and deeper.

“oh… fuck, pierre,” she whined, “please… please don’t… fuck, don’t stop.”

“i won’t, babe,” he kissed along her thighs, “you’re doing so well for me, hm? gonna cum for me again?”

she nodded, breathless and squirming as pierre’s fingers sped up, the alternation of his fingers becoming shorter and faster. she gripped at the sheets with one hand and tugged at his hair with the other, unable to hold back a string of moans and profanities as her second orgasm washed over her.

“need you,” was all she could say. her voice was feeble and embarrassing; she was well aware that she’d spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to get over pierre, and she’d spend so long avoiding it that what she really needed now was to feel him buried inside of her once again.

“i know baby, i know,” he cooed, unbuckling his belt and ridding himself of the clothing covering his bottom half. your face flushed when you saw him naked, as if you’d never seen him like that before. “do you have anything?”

Y/N froze in that moment — of course she didn’t. this is not how she intended to spend her christmas holiday. “shit,” her head fell to her hands, “i don’t have anything, do you?”

pierre shook his head.

“i’m on the pill,” she said after a moment of silence. “it’ll be fine, p.”

his mouth turned up at the name she always used to say to him. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to, no pressure.”

“i want to.”

she was sure, affirmative. pierre nodded, leaning over her and pressing a long, hot kiss to her lips. he made sure she was comfortable, placing her legs up so her knees were facing the ceiling and her feet were planted firmly on the ground.

it felt like a dream when he slipped inside of her, to both of them. she was the perfect mixture of stimulated that he found it easy to drag along her walls, and she was also clenching around him like a vice. he was the perfect potion of slow and needy, as if he desperately wanted to feel her encapsulating around him, but he knew his limits.

pierre’s breathing fell ragged, and he was left with a hitch in his throat. his forehead fell against hers and already she could feel the beads of sweat lining it as his eyes fluttered open and shut in a repeat cycle.

“oh, you’re so tight,” he groaned, lips nipping at her chin before coming to lock around hers, “so warm.”

she nodded, too caught up in the feeling of it all to even speak. she let her legs drop, her feet turning inwards and her knees poking out to the sides, leaving the angle wider so pierre could hit deeper.

she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and arched up her back, “oh my… oh…” was all she said, small moans tumbling from her lips in sweet moments of bliss.

“you are so beautiful,” he whispered, admiring the way her eyes rolled back as he outstretched one of her legs, “do you know that?”

“mhm,” was all she could say, a blush creeping it’s way up her cheeks.

pierre changed his angle slightly and soon enough his pace quickened, leaving Y/N on the brink of her third orgasm. it wouldn’t be long, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was moaning and clenching around him as if her life depended on it; pierre probably knew too, but he wanted to watch her unfold while he fucked her.

his lips found her neck, sucking on the soft flesh until a red mark blossomed. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back. “pierre, i’m gonna cum,” she fought back a cry as her back arched again. he fucked her through the orgasm, lips finding hers as she moaned and cried into his mouth to muffle the sound.

her orgasm left him teetering on the edge, but he knew better than to allow himself to cum inside her when there was no barrier between them, and so, he pulled out. Y/N poured at the lack of fullness inside of her, but she soon got onto her shaking hands and knees to help pierre out.

he laid flat down on the bed, head almost dangling off the edge, while she situated herself between his legs. hers were awfully shaky, and she knew she needed to hold onto him for stability while she got him off. he didn’t mind.

her lips wrapped around his head instinctively, and she used her free hand for what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. pierre desperately tried to fight off moans and groans, allowing the odd one to slip through his lips as he stroked at her hair.

she was better than he had remembered her to be, but after that long apart he should’ve expected it to be better. Y/N’s head bobbed and her tongue twirled and flicked at his head, until pierre could feel the knot in his stomach.

he sat up, arising to his knees while she made sure to stay level with his cock, tongue splayed out underneath it. his hand tugged at the flesh until he came, hot white cum spraying over her face.

he came with a groan, allowing himself to enjoy the moment as much as he could while it lasted.

he helped Y/N clean her face with paper towels, and when the pair were done, she lay down with her head in the pillows while he stayed in a sitting position.

“this was nice,” she hummed, “amazing, actually.”

“i know it was babe,” he kissed her cheek, pushing the hair from her face. he paused momentarily to check the time on the clock behind Y/N on her bedside table; 3:04. “i should really get going.”

Y/N’s eyes trailed to the clock where she checked the time too, and her hand outstretched into pierre’s. “no, it’s late,” she smiled softly, “please, stay.”

“right,” he nodded, half expecting her to shun him out at the first chance she got. “i’ll go and get some blankets, sleep on the floor.”

“no,” she said, grabbing his hand again. “you can sleep in here — in bed, i mean — with me, if you want.”

pierre smiled.

“sure.”

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly one shot #pierre gasly blurb #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #emi’s christmas masterlist

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hypersonic04 · 8 months

Note

Teacher!ross and reader moving in together and organizing Ross’ books to her bookshelf but realizing they’ll need more room for it all, add fluffy stuff, talking about their book collection etc

This is so sweet. You’re both big readers, maybe you a bit more so than him with the nature of your subject, so when you move in together, the book situation is definitely interesting.

One of the things that attracted both of you to the new house was the HUGE bookcase in the office - it’s one of those where it’s fitted into the wall, floor to ceiling shelves, and there’s no way Ross could walk away from it when he saw the way your eyes lit up. So now, about 4 months later, he’s looking at you stood with your arms folded, middle of the office, his t-shirt on, the cogs turning in your brain as you try to think of a way to get all 7 boxes of books onto the bookshelf. He comes up to you presses a kiss to the side of your head, ‘what’s going on in that head of yours, hm?’, arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.

You decide to just make a start - he hands you a book at a time, starting with his history books, and you can’t help but read the blurb of each one, asking him questions, where he bought it, what it’s about, etc. He loves it, explaining everything to you and watching as you take it all in. This does, however, mean that the job takes twice the amount of time it should on paper lol.

The two of you end up sat on the floor on the office, you in between his legs and your back resting against his chest, having conversations about the books you’re pulling out of the boxes. It’s dark outside and neither of you could be bothered to get up and turn the light on, so it’s just the landing light casting through the doorway. His voice is close to your ear, every so often pressing a kiss to the space between your hair and ear when he particularly likes one of your observations. I think you get to some of the last boxes (eventually, it’s definitely past midnight), and you’re both kind of just like where are we going to put the rest of them lol. Because he’s so unbelievably whipped, he decides that he’s going to build you a bookshelf in the living room ‘because you need more room to display all of the books I’m going to buy you’. He sticks to his word, and a few weeks later he buys you a special edition of Wuthering Heights, your favourite, writing in the front page of it: To my beautiful y/n. My Catherine to my Heathcliff. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are most definitely the same. You cry a little bit I think, because he is so very right <3.

#ross macdonald #the 1975 #1975 band #fanfic #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #asks #matty the 1975 #teacher ross #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fluff

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brokenjere · 2 years

Text

seventeen going under (ch. 21) (j.f)

seventeen going under (j.f)

a/n: guys its here - the final chapter. love you all so much for reading and supporting the story, it means so much to me. this will not be the end of my storytelling and i hope to be able to continue their story one day - lmk what you think :)

catch up here

Tangible proof. Those words kept ringing in my ear. Jeremiah had written an entire book of tangible proof that he loved me and all I had given him was a summer of lies. Just listen my mom said. Just listen. Just listen. Just listen.

I rummaged through my room to find any tangible proof hidden in these walls. Something I may have forgotten about or deemed less important. I grabbed notebooks that I stashed from school, flipping through them to find notes written back and forth between us but all I found were niceties written by Conrad in between the margins of my Math and English notes. “You’re gonna kill this test!” “Don’t forget to hang the 1.” “This note was so important.” He would take my notebooks when I told him I was struggling and he’d make notes on the sidelines making sure I got everything I needed to get out of it. When I saw them over the next few days in class, I’d smile to myself. I always felt taken care of.

On my bookshelf was a book. The spine read The Outsiders by S.E Hinton. I grabbed it, the only copy I owed of it that had a broken spine and was well loved. It was the same copy I had in middle school that carried me to now. It was the only copy I read religiously. Next to it was a newer copy with the spine still intact and I grabbed that one, too. We all were forced to read it in middle school but it had quickly become my favorite book of all time. I scribbled down annotations in the margins and between the lines over so many years it was barely legible anymore. The new copy was from Conrad. He gave it to me one night while we sat in the basement alone. Jeremiah went to get more snacks and Conrad pulled it out of the couch cushion. “I annotated it with my thoughts. I don’t know, I thought you’d like it,” he said. I read it that night. This was his tangible proof, I thought. All the notes in the margins of my notebooks and this novel - that was his way of telling me he has loved me all these years, too.

Conrad once gave me a copy of Wuthering Heights. It sat on the top shelf, untouched, but he said it was one of his favorites and he hoped I would read it some day. I never did because classics weren’t always my favorite but I grabbed it off the shelf and opened up to page 1 with a pen tucked behind my ear and a highlighter in the spine of the pages. I wrote in the margins and highlighted what I liked and wrote sad faces next to the stuff I didn’t. I only got halfway through before the sun went down and my eyelids felt heavy. Mom went to Susannah’s without me. No one texted.

The next morning I woke up so early the sun wasn’t fully up yet. There was a dark glow to the Earth and the clouds looked pink. I grabbed the book off the nightstand and I finished it. On the very last page, I wrote a letter. My brain hurt. My heart hurt. My hand hurt. But I signed my name at the bottom with a kiss and then shut the book. My tangible proof.

There was a knock on my door. “Are you awake?” Mom.

“Yeah,” I called back as I got up to open the door. She was in her pajamas, her hair in a messy bun, and bags under her eyes. “You look good,” I teased.

She pushed herself into the room with a fake laugh and sat herself down at my desk. It was a disaster between me digging out every ancient artifact in the drawers and all the new supplies we got a few days ago but she poked at it all anyway. “What’s with the mess?” She asked, holding up a notebook from the 7th grade.

“I was just trying to find something.” She cocked an eyebrow up. “What? It’s true.”

“Find what?” I crossed my arms and shuffled on my two feet feeling uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. Proof I love Jeremiah, I guess.” When I said it out loud, it sounded stupid. Why should I need proof when I know it in my heart? My atoms were split from his atoms. I shouldn’t need a piece of paper to prove that, yet, here I was searching. Her face said everything I knew: I was stalling. I was looking for a way out.

Her eyes softened and she sighed, setting down the notebook. “You know when you were younger you used to beg me to buy Jeremiah cards for every occasion.” I nodded because I knew this. I remembered it vaguely but I didn’t know where she was going with her story, so I let her continue. “Easter, Christmas, birthdays. If there was a card for it, you wanted Jeremiah to have one. And even if there wasn’t, you’d want a blank one so you could make one yourself. Do you know how many cards he probably has?” I shook my head. “Hundreds, I bet.”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

She smiled. “My point is that you signed every single one, ‘I love you”. He has heard it a million times. He has it written down a million times from the moment you could write. I used to have to spell it out for you, that’s how young you were.” She was shaking her head as she was talking as if this was obvious. As if I should have already known. As if she has known from the moment I was born I was destined for Jeremiah Fisher. “I’m pretty sure you came out of the womb loving that boy. Don’t go looking for reasons why you don’t.” She flipped open one of the new notebooks. The page was stark white and empty. “But if you need something tangible then write it down.”

When she left the room, I took her spot at the desk. The page in front of me was so full of promise. So full of all the words I’ve been wanting to say. I took a pen and did what my mom said. I wrote down all my feelings. All the good and all the bad and when I was finished, I had my tangible proof. It was the only thing that sealed the whole thing shut. I stuffed it in an envelope and sealed it with a kiss.

Susannah answered the front door when I rang the bell. I’m not sure what I was expecting but her looks took me off guard. She was perfectly put together and she was smiling. “You’re here!” She exclaimed, pulling me into the foyer for a hug. “Your mom said you weren’t feeling well. How are you?” She smoothed down my hair and kissed my temple before holding me at arms length to look at me.

“I’m good,” I told her, trying to muster my best smile. I felt the need to apologize for the debutante ball but the words didn’t come. I think she saw them in my eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry about everything that’s happened, alright? The boys are okay for now. I will start treatment in a few weeks and all will be well, okay?” She didn’t sound too convinced. “Want me to get him for you?” I didn’t know who she was referring to but I nodded. Both the boys came tumbling down the stairs a few moments later.

They stood in front of me, both effortlessly handsome but in their own ways. Conrad’s hoodie was falling off his shoulders and his hair was messy and pushed out of his face. Jeremiah was put together but I knew it wasn’t intentional. His curls were perfectly placed on his head and they both stared at me with hopeful admiration. “Can I talk to you?” I asked, looking over at Conrad.

The room felt thick. I could feel Jeremiah’s shock and confusion even though I wasn’t looking at him. Conrad cleared his throat and he nodded and stumbled over his words, “yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head so I would follow him up to his room. I avoided eye contact with Jeremiah as I passed him.

Conrad let me in the room first. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He kept his hands behind his back and I pictured his white knuckles gripping the doorknob. His eyes were soft. Wanting. Hoping.

I took the book out of my bag and handed it to him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” He did, careful not to crack the spine. I can still see my handwriting scribbled across the first few pages. He flipped through them, his eyes scanning over the highlighted parts and reading my commentary on the side. “I figured it was time I repaid you.”

He smiled and shut the book, closing the gap between us. He dropped the book on his bed. His arms wrapped around my waist. It was just instinct for me to wrap mine around his neck and let him spin me around. When my feet landed, he cupped my cheeks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I liked the book.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I was too scared to speak. “I wrote you something in the back. A note.” He went to grab the book but I grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “But before you read it I need you to know that it’s Jeremiah. It’s always been Jeremiah.” He didn’t react. His body didn’t stiffen and he didn’t move. He just looked at me and blinked. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” He straightened himself out and was no longer aching to touch the book. “I’m happy for you. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You’re my best friend but I was stupid to think that I stood a chance next to him. No one compares, right?” He half chuckled and my heart snapped in half. I shook my head and sat down on the bed. Everything felt too heavy.

“You’re not stupid. That wasn’t a stupid thought. I’m sorry. I wish I loved you that way. I wish I didn’t make you feel this way. No one is comparing you two. He’s not better than you, he's just Jeremiah.” I breathed out the last word like it was something I had been holding in for my entire life. A weight lifted off my shoulders and they slumped down. Conrad moved my hair out of my face and tucked a piece of it behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I wish it could have been me but you’ll take care of each other. Promise me, he’ll take care of you?” The request felt odd coming from his lips but I think I knew what he meant. I nodded and Conrad kissed my forehead. “Go to him. He’s probably freaking out. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“I couldn’t talk to him without talking to you first.” Conrad grabbed my hand and stood me up. He pulled me in for a hug and he held me for a few moments. The world felt so quiet I couldn’t even hear the birds chirping. When he pulled away, everything came back to life. life. Conrad kissed my temple before releasing me completely and I searched the house for Jeremiah. He wasn’t in his room, although his clothes from our summer in Cousins were thrown all around the room haphazardly. The cleaning I did the other day was barely noticeable but it smelled like him.

I found him in the basement laying on the giant Love Sac. It was well-loved and over used, with small holes ripping at the seams that Susannah had patched numerous times before already. His ankles were crossed and his arm was thrown over his eyes to block out the light. He didn’t hear me come down so I looked at him for a few moments as I stood at the bottom of the stairs. My eyes couldn’t drink in enough of him and I could look at him forever but instead, I started to walk toward him. He sat up, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light and to me. He smiled gently almost like he didn’t want to really be happy to see me but how could he help it? The corners of his mouth turned up anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered. I gave him a small wave. The letter was itching in my back pocket. “About time you showed up,” he teased. My cheeks flushed and he reached for me. He pleaded, “please don’t tell me you love him.”

I shook my head slightly and his eyes softened. “Jere,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he said. I stuck my hand out loosely and he grabbed it. I wish his life vest in this hurricane of a summer. I was keeping him afloat and drowning him all at once.

“I love you, too,” I said.

“I’m glad you finally agree.” I laugh. I actually laugh. “I love your smile. God, is it the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Jeremiah,” I tried again, eager to spit out exactly what I need to say. He cupped my cheek and his palm felt hot against my skin. His thumb caressed my face and then my bottom lip, pulling it down gently. I placed a kiss on the pad of his finger.

“Just kiss me, okay? Don’t say anything, just kiss me and be mine.” How could I resist his request? I couldn’t. I let him kiss me and he kissed me like the world was crashing around us and the last thing he would ever remember was the feeling of my lips and I kissed him back as the Earth fell away in giant chunks. His curls wrapped around my fingers and his fingers wrapped around the base of my neck. He was inhaling every part of me, drinking me in with an eagerness I had never expected from Jeremiah Fisher. He wasn’t intense or needy. Never in his life. He was soft and carefree and reminded me of the color of the sky when it’s really early and the sun had just woken up making the sky so clear it almost looked white. Right now, he reminded me of crimson. There was a fire in him that I could not put out.

When he pulled away, our breathing was heavy but it was in sync. We were perfectly in tune. His breath had become my breath and his saliva was now swimming in my body. He was him and I was me and we were one. “Do you know how long I have loved you?” He asked. This admission had struck me right in the gut. He was so desperate for me to love him and it was because he didn’t know I had been loving him all this time.

“Almost as long as I have loved you, I assume.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the folded up piece of paper. I probably could have presented it a little nicer but the words just poured out of my body and I was too impatient to wait so I folded it up haphazardly and threw it in my back pocket before I lost the courage. “I wrote this for you, but I’m sure it’s not the first love letter I’ve written for you. According to my mom, you should look through all the cards I’ve given you.” I half-laughed as he took the letter from me, his finger slowly unfurling the paper but I put my hand on top of him. “Don’t open it yet.”

“Why not?” He questioned. I folded my hand over his and he used his other hand, the one not holding my letter, and grabbed my waist pulling me closer to him.

“Read it when you’re alone.” Truthfully, I was embarrased to watch him read it. “And then you can call me in tears because you’re so consumed with love for me there’s no other way to express it other than tears,” I teased, kissing his pouting lips gently as if we had been doing it our whole lives. He smiled into my lips.

“I can think of some other ways to express my love for you,” he mumbled. He shoved the letter in his back pocket and grabbed my waist completely, holding me to his body. I giggled - giggled - like a little girl and kissed him with everything I had inside of me. Kissing him, loving him, was like coming up for fresh air. We collapsed into a pile of limbs on the LoveSac, laughing into eachother’s mouths. I rolled over on top of him and looked down at him. My hair fell in front of my face and he tucked it behind my ear. “Finally,” he whispered.

“You know this is insane, right? Us. Together.”

“Why do you think that?” He sounded genuinely curious but also disinterested. He disagreed and nothing I said would change his mind. I didn’t want to change his mind. I smiled so he knew.

“All we’ve ever been is friends. How are we going to navigate this? Won’t things be different?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “It won’t be different because nothing that I feel is different and I don’t think anything you feel is different. But now, we kiss.” He kissed me and then said, “Us, together, is not inside. It’s right.”

XXX

Later that night, after Jeremiah had read my letter, he snuck through my window. He told me, I love you, thank you, and then he kissed me. He kissed my lips and my jawline and the nape of my neck. We rolled around in my bed, stifling each other’s laughs so my parent’s would not be woken up. It was late and dark and the crickets were alive outside, singing for us.

He asked me how could you have waited so long for this? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I asked him the same thing and he flushed so red it went all the way down his neck. I didn’t notice the backpack that he was wearing when he came inside but now that was reaching for it, I saw it on the floor under the window. He pulled out the notebook that I had already saw, but I pretended to be confused. “I’ve been writing in this since I was a kid.” He handed it to me and I flipped through the pages I arleady saw.

“What is this?” I asked. Jeremiah was shy and he shrugged his shoulders and he kissed my cheek.

“All the ways I’ve loved you.”

That night, we kissed and we talked. We talked about his mom and he cried on my shoulder and then I started to cry as I apologized for lying to him all summer. I never should have done that, I admitted. It’s okay, he told me as he kissed all over my face. He kissed all my tears away until I could no longer tell why my face was wet. He said he could forgive me for anything. He would forgive me until the day that we die and then I told him I hoped he wouldn’t have to do that. I asked him about Conrad. He stiffened but said he was okay. He was happy for us. He was his brother again.

Jeremiah and I had never been given boundaries from our parents. We never needed them because we were just friends, despite everything everyone thought. But now, he was no longer allowed in my room with the door closed except when he snuck in really late at night without anyone knowing. Susannah was less concerned about what we were doing behind closed doors because she said she just wanted to see her son happy. She just wanted him to wake up with a smile on his face. She told me she wished she could see us get married and I told her I wished that, too. She got a photo of us at the ball framed. We were walking down the stage and he was looking at me like I was holding up the universe and I loved him more after seeing that. If that was possible.

Falling into a routine with him was easier than I anticipated. I thought we would mow over speed bumps with a hesitation that would surely doom us but we didn’t. I didn’t notice any speed bumps. He kissed me when he saw me and he kissed me when he left and he held my hand whenever he could. We did what we always did, be friends, but we kissed. Just like he said. And the kissing was good.

We kissed in the pouring rain one fall night. We were in his living room and the rain was pounding hard on the roof and he grabbed my hand and dragged me outside. I was laughing in shock, mostly, but I was still laughing. Jeremiah was laughing. He was dancing with me in the rain and kissing me as the cold water seeped through all my clothes and he screamed that he loved me over the rain hitting the cement. It wasn’t the first time it was said, of course, but it was the first time it was said since he was my boyfriend. He never had to say it. He said it when he told me to text him when I was home safely even though I was just going next door. He said it when he made sure I was drinking water every day. He said it when he brought me my favorite snacks every day. He said it when he stroked my hair until I fell asleep.

I screamed it back and he kissed me again and then I said, “can we go back inside?” He nodded and we warmed up in hot towels and he waited for me on his bed as I got out of a shower.

“You look good in my clothes,” he told me and then I said I could take them off if he wanted me to and then we made love quietly as the rain bled out of the sky. The birds sang us awake and he moved the hair out my face and tucked it behind my ear and told me, “I love you.” He never could say it enough. I could never hear it enough. It sounded new every single time and I prayed that I would never get sick of it.

“Do you think we were meant for each other?” I asked him one night. We were sitting in my bed. My feet were on his lap and he was stroking my ankle as I read a book for English class. Conrad had notes written in the margins because it was his copy from his own senior year. He went off to college when the leaves turned orange and we hadn’t seen him since but he calls pretty often. He’s doing well, he said. He’s happy.

Jeremiah looked at me. “Of course I think that.”

“Why?” I asked him again. Jeremiah chuckled and he grabbed my ankles, manuvering my legs so they sat on either side of him and then he gracefully pulled onto his lap. He traced my bottom lip with his finger and he searched my face for his answer.

“I have never been more sure of something in my entire life, don’t you feel that too?” I nodded. I felt it, too. I felt it so deeply it filled my lungs and made me feel like I was drowning sometimes but loving him made me feel like I was coming up for fresh air.

taglist: @things-that-make-sa-happy@marajillana@calpurnia2002@revemixer@harrysswhore@liltimmyst@chickunn-nuggett@rottenstyx@queenofthehellfireclub@lilbazzi@drikawinchester @gillybear17 @shamelessbluebirdsong

#tsitp #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher #tsitp imagine #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher fan fic #conrad fisher imagine #belly conklin #jenny han #gavin casalegno #chris briney

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my-wuthering-bookshelf · 8 months

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J'ai reçu ma kube du mois !

C'est toujours un moment d'excitation, ouvrir doucement le carton et découvrir le livre qu'il abrite, et toutes les petites surprises... et je ne suis jamais déçue !

Hâte d'apprendre à saboter un pipeline, hihi.

#lakube #kube box #a book a month #french #comment saboter un pipeline #politics #non-fiction #tea #reading #books #bookler #my wuthering bookshelf #andreas malm #la fabrique editions

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beolf · 3 months

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MY BOOKSHELF 2024

READ

jane eyre

stephanie plum 8,9,10

girl, interrupted

why do bad things happen to good people

frankenstein

TO BE READ

grapes of wrath

the heart is a lonely hunter

the lottery

inferno

dracula

after the first death

for whom the bell tolls

the crossing

crime and punishment

the dark side of the light chasers

wuthering heights

grendel

beowulf

the shallows

the plague

#bookshelf #reading list

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midnightcowboy1969 · 8 months

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My bookshelf

Hey, @beanifred <3 So, here's a big peak at my bookshelf (way too many books as I said)

Beginning with my treasures:

The "Real" Bob Steele and a man called "Brad" by Bob Nareau

The Photostory of "Battling Bob" Bob Steele by Mario DeMarco

2. The Columbo Collection

Just One More thing by Peter Falk

The Grassy Knoll by William Harrington (my enemy)

Murder by the Book by Steven Bochco

And now there's chaos:

Psycho 1 & 2 and Night-World by Robert Bolch (Norwegian edition)

Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick

The Body Snatcher by Jack Finney

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

Trash by Dorothy Allison (lesbian but at what cost)

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

The Buddah of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (I also have American Gods but I cannot find it)

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin

The Stepford Wives by Ira Levin

The Complete Short Stories: Hercule Poirot by Agatha Christie

Then There Were None by Agatha Christie

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane by Henry Farrell

The Hunter by Richard Stark

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The System by John Burke (novelization)

Alien Nation by Alan Dean Foster (novelization)

Edge of the City by Fredrick Pohl (novelization)

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Babysitter by Joyce Carol Oates

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

The Collector by John Fowels

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier (Norwegian edition)

2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke (novelization)

Ninteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Jaws by Peter Benchley

Wanderer by Sterling Hayden (the actor)

The Wicker Man by Robin Hardy & Anthony Shaffer (Novelization (?))

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

Terror by Dan Simmons

Papillon 1 & 2 by Henri Charrière (Norwegian editions)

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers (book of all time)

The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Midnight Cowboy by John L. Herlihy

Shooting Midnight Cowboy by Glenn Frankel

Cape Fear by John D. McDonald (watch the movies)

The Bretheren by John Grisham (Norwegian edition)

Dracula by Bram Stoker

The Marlow Murder Club by Robert Thorgood

Glitz by Elmore Leonard (Norwegian edition)

The Big Sleep and Other Novels by Raymond Chandler (the other novels are Farwell My Lovely and The Long Goodbye)

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

The Client by John Grisham (Norwegian edition)

Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman

The Man Who Died Twice by Richard Osman

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

Legion (Exorcist 2) by William Peter Blatty

La Peste by Albert Camu (Norwegian edition)

Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink & Jeffery Cranor (not read)

The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop by Fannie Flagg

The Day of the Dolphin by Robert Merle

Local Hero by David Benedictus (novelization)

The Glass Cage by Colin Wilson

American Psycho by Brett E. Ellis

Fools Die by Mario Puzo (Norwegian edition)

The Godfather by Mario Puzo

The Sicilian by Mario Puzo (Norwegian edition)

Fire & Blood by George R.R. Martin (Norwegian edition) + Four different Game of Thrones books in Norwegian

The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb

The Princess Bride by William Goldman

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

Enders Game by Orson Scott Card

The Betsy by Harold Robbins (Norwegian edition)

Aliens by Alan Dean Foster (novelization)

Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian

The Auctioneer by Joan Samson

Timeline by Michael Crichton

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White

Red Dragon by Thomas Harris

The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris

Dune, The Children of Dune and God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert

Hitchiker's Guide to the Galxy by Douglas Adams

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

Trumpet by Jackie Kay

Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner

Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater

Trigger Warning by Neil Gaiman (short story collection that made me dislike short stories)

Mr. Monk in Trouble by Lee Goldberg (my enemy)

Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop by Lee Goldberg (I hate him)

A Room of One's Own by Virginia Wolf

Oranges are not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson

The Perks of being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Maurice by E. M. Forster

The Case of the Gilded Lily by Erle Stanley Gardner (Norwegian edition)

The Case of the Glamorous Ghost by Erle Stanley Gardner (Norwegian edition)

Something Happened by Joseph Heller

Marathon Man by William Goldman

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

Skulduggery Pleasant: Playing with Fire by Derek Landy

The Hunting Party by Lucy Foley (Norwegian edition)

The Guest List by Lucy Foley

The Paris Apartment by Lucy Foley

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry

The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurt

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid (Norwegian edition)

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three by John Godey (bad)

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg

The All-Girl Filling Station's Last Reunion by Fannie Flagg

Killing Time by Della Van Hise (Star Trek Spinoff Spirk book)

Star Trek: Department of Temportal Investigations: Forgotten History by Christopher L. Bennet

Star Trek Deep Space Nine: The Missing by Una McCormack

Star Trek Enterprise: Rise of the Federation: Uncertain Logic by Christopher L. Bennett

7. Stephen King Collection

Outsider

If it Bleeds

On Writing

Blaze

Carrie

The Stand

Hearts in Atlantis (Norwegian edition)

The Tommyknockers

Cujo

Thinner (Norwegian edition)

The Shining

Night Shift

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon (Norwegian edition)

Dreamcatcher

Doctor Sleep

Rose Madder

Pet Sematary

Christine

Salem's Lot

Dolores Claiborne (Norwegian edition)

The Bachman Books

The Institute

Insomnia

Misery

Finders Keepers

End of Watch

Firestarter

The Body

Needful Things (Norwegian edition)

Bag of Bones

8. Not pictured

A collection of Sherlock Holmes books

Many Hardy Boys books

Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie

Some comic books

I believe this is approximately everything lol.

My dream is to have a small cozy rooms dedicated to the books I own. It won't happen any time soon.

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