#which leaves a lot more room to play with things
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You and Joel both know how he got that virus on his computer, and you can’t help but to relentlessly tease him in more ways than one…until Joel’s had enough.
Alternatively, Joel should really stop clicking on links that Tommy emails him. (7.6k)
Tags - neighbor!joel, grumpy!joel, pre/no outbreak, porn watching, joel straight jorkin’ his peanits, teasing, lingerie, handjobs, upside down blowjobs (like what happened in spider man), rough sex, manhandling, oral (f receiving), come eating, fingering, overstim, soft dom!joel, porn watching, reader has a bush but is otherwise not described
Fic Help - @joeloverture, @joelsgreys, and @endlessthxxghts for their beautiful brains, and @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for editing and patiently explaining dial up internet to me for this fic 🩷👾📀🖥️ Patti, I seriously cannot thank you enough. You made this fic fucking perfect.
A/N - sorry for the delay on getting joel out to you in a timely manner, he should be cumming a lot more frequently…maybe. I do have a vacation I’m leaving for in less than a week. Also, thank you for all the well wishes and participation on my anniversary/5k celebration, I love you all so very much 🩷
masterlist
You know what you came here for. Grumpy, technologically inept Joel fucking the daylights out of you below 👇🖥️🦠🛜👾😍🍑👅💦🍆
It's early evening on a Saturday and finally time for Joel to enjoy his day off. He spent the day doing yard work, grocery shopping, and chauffeuring his daughter to and from soccer games. Saturdays are never really very relaxing for him, so when he has a quiet moment, like right now, he takes advantage.
Joel draws the curtains closed in his kitchen as he stares at his computer setup and contemplates, even though his mind is already made up. It’s a sign - there’s a Victoria’s Secret coupon set that’s been sitting on his kitchen counter since this morning, addressed to you of course. Damn mailman can’t get anything right.
He sits down on the chair in front of the monitor and powers the machine on, opens the tower’s disc drive and inserts his AOL CD before opening the matching AOL application. He has a post-it taped to the bottom of a drawer next to him that he reads from every time to remember his username and password. Joel grumbles to himself as he unzips his jeans, something about ‘damn thing’s always takin’ too long to load’ as the screen goes from dialing to connecting to connected. Netscape takes even longer to load, but when it finally does Joel visits his favorite website, victoriassecret.com. He works his half-hard cock in one hand, feeling it stiffen in his palm as the screen loads slowly, images of lingerie-clad models coming to life bit by bit. Joel groans and squeezes himself.
He knows that jerking off to Victoria's Secret advertisements is juvenile at best. He knows other porn exists, he’s got old dirty Playboy magazines from his teenage years and even some bootleg VHS tapes that his brother Tommy copied for him. He’s tried to watch them, but they’re all sort of sterile and awkward, the dialogue fake and the women’s moans exaggerated and over the top, it takes him out of the fantasy. They can also only be played on the television in the living room, which is not ideal for a number of reasons.
Joel also knows that the women in these advertisements are not real, that they’re airbrushed and photoshopped to the point of looking like Barbie dolls. He knows that they have more curves and body hair than what he’s looking at on his screen, that they have cellulite, stretch marks, and all of the other things he loves on a woman’s body. But Joel is nothing but a man, and a lonely one at that. A hard worker and a dedicated father, he doesn’t have much time for dating. And importantly to Joel, Victoria’s Secret advertisements allow him to do something his dirty magazines and bootleg VHS tapes can’t - use his imagination.
Oh yes, Joel loves when a little mystery is left for him, to pique his interests. He loves to imagine what the model’s breasts look like, if they’re more round-shaped, or like tear drops. Would they hang heavy, swaying when she moved, or would they point outward, petite and perky? How dark or light are their nipples and what would they look like when hard? He loves to picture their vulvas, to visualize what their folds would look like spread in front of him, to envision how they maintain their pubic hair. He wonders what they look like when they’re wet, lips all swollen. It thrills him, excites him.
His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s pumping his cock when a loud email notification from [email protected] interrupts him. “Fuckin’ Tommy,” he mutters, clicking on the popup.
here’s this for your spank bank pervert
No greeting, no goodbye, nothing capitalized and no punctuation. Just one blue link and nothing else. Joel rolls his eyes but clicks the link anyway, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
Just like before, it takes a moment to load but when it finally does, Joel blushes. It’s a porn site where people appear to upload their own porn. It seems expansive, all sorts of categories. Immediately, Joel’s intrigued - he didn’t realize that this kind of stuff was available online. He guesses that he probably should have known that, but rationalizes that he doesn’t use the internet much. His computer is meant for a few things - playing Microsoft Pinball, emailing clients, and browsing Victoria's Secret during times like this. But this - this might’ve just changed the game.
From the thumbnails, these appear to be real people. People of all ages, from young adults to older lovers. Nudity plastered across his screen in all different shapes and sizes, a variety of lengths and cup sizes before him. There are people consensually exploring kinks and couples in love, everyone engaging in a variety of different sexual acts from solo stuff to threesomes to orgies. This has it all, gay, straight, and everything in between. After scrolling through, Joel notices that there’s a little magnifying glass to search for whatever one may fancy. Joel clicks on this and he first searches ‘boobs’. Then ‘big boobs’, ‘small boobs’, ‘blowjobs’, ‘doggy style’. With each search term he types in, the screen loads with various videos of his request. And then, just for shits and giggles, he searches for his favorite - ‘lingerie’.
The results are everything he dreamed of. Forget Victoria’s Secret, this has it all. Women of different sizes and skin tones, all in various stages of undress. Some wearing bras and panties, others wearing lace babydolls and teddies. One particular thumbnail has his interest piqued, though. It’s a woman in a robe, leaning towards the camera so her cleavage is showing. “Let me strip tease you ;)” is the title of her video.
CLICK HERE TO WATCH.
She doesn’t need to tell Joel twice. Joel clicks the link and watches a little popup on his screen indicate that a video is downloading. Once downloaded, he opens the file and begins to watch the video. The woman featured is cute, he thinks. She’s a curvy redhead and she’s teasing, smiling - he likes that. Those Victoria's Secret models don’t smile like this. She lifts her lacy pink robe and shows her ass where there’s a cute little heart-shaped peekaboo cutout in her panties. Joel likes that too. Joel’s been absentmindedly stroking himself and he sighs in contentment. She’s about to open her robe, show him her breasts and–
Windows System Alert
Error Code: 0x80070070
Your computer has encountered a critical issue due to a potentially harmful program. This issue has affected system files and may cause instability or loss of data.
Please take the following actions immediately:
Save all work in progress.
Disconnect from the internet.
Run a full system scan with your security software.
For further assistance, contact technical support.
“Well, that ain’t right,” Joel mumbles. Joel clicks on the little red X in the top right corner to make it disappear, but the popup is right back where it was, blocking that cute redhead from giving Joel a virtual show. He tries closing the message again, it pops right back up. Growing slightly irritated, Joel closes the media player altogether and reopens the downloaded strip tease video. It won’t open. “The fuck?” He tries opening an old untitled document from months ago, and yet again he’s met with the same error message. The popup is arriving in multiples now, blocking his screen. It’s like whack-a-mole, the way he’s closing one and two more pop up in its place.
Joel’s out of his depth here, so he decides to consult an expert. He lives right across the street from a total computer whiz, so he’ll ask her for help. He tucks himself back into his jeans with a soft groan, zips and buttons his jeans before making his way to her house.
-
You’re vacuuming your floor when you think you hear the faint sound of knocking, so you turn around to see a figure standing on your porch through your window. It’s Joel. Devastatingly handsome, grumpy, single dad.
You and Joel got off to a rocky start when you moved into the neighborhood a couple years back. He used to hound you about letting your grass grow too long, and you’d argue back by telling him that it’s good for the environment. Growing tired of your protesting, Joel decided to start mowing your lawn for you, without your consent. Not that you really minded, he always wears his grass-stained white and navy New Balance sneakers, his few-inches-too-short denim cutoffs and an old white tank top, stained with grease and his own sweat. It clings to his body, outlining his soft belly. His slightly graying but dark, damp curls cling to his perspiring forehead as his thick thighs clench with every step he takes, pushing that heavy lawnmower up and down your front yard. You compensate him with glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade, offer him a cool wash rag that he wipes his forehead with, the sweat and water dripping down his temple, over the stubble on his jaw. Tensions softened then, and Joel’s been a nice neighbor to have ever since. He, his brother and daughter are good people.
You tap the button on the bottom of your vacuum cleaner with your toe, shutting it off before opening the door for Joel. He looks a little disheveled - he’s breathing heavily, pupils blown wide. “You busy right now?”
“For you? You know I’m always too busy,” you smirk, tapping your foot against his shoe.
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I’m findin’ myself in need of your computer expertise. Would you be able to help me, darlin’?”
It’s the way Joel calls you darlin’, how he flashes those sparkling, chocolate eyes at you, bats his long lashes and smiles at you in such a way that you’re sure he’s deliberately trying to send you to an early grave. You’re wrapped around Joel’s finger but nevertheless, you work your angle. “My time is precious, Joel. How will you make it worth my while?”
Joel rolls his eyes, “Oh, give me a break. I’ll mow your lawn. Does that work for you, princess?”
“You already mow my lawn.”
“Yeah, and I’ll keep mowin’ it. How’s that?”
“Cheap,” you quip. But you still smile and close the door behind you, and Joel blushes as you unknowingly take the hand Joel was just pleasuring himself with in yours, swinging your arms between you playfully as you cross the street to his house together. Your skin tickles when Joel places a hand on your lower back, guiding you to his computer setup before pulling out the chair for you. You log into his computer using his own username and password, something you know by heart. Joel has forgotten his password so many times, he used to call you - at a minimum - twice a week to ask you what it was. The only solution to that issue was for you to write it down on a post-it note and stick it next to the monitor for him. He absolutely hates that you’ve made him put dollar signs and exclamation marks in his password. “Seems unnecessary,” is what he would say, annoyance lacing his tone.
You retorted with, “Well if you can’t even get into your own computer, how could anyone else?” and Joel shrugged and nodded.
Joel pours both himself and you a glass of ice water, then sits down at the dining room table behind you. “So it’s uhh…” he starts, interrupting himself to sip his water. “Got this error message thing when you click on a file.”
Clicking a file, you see the error popup Joel’s referring to. “I see,” you mumble, clicking on a few others. Joel watches your brows furrow in concentration, a frown painting your lips.
Oh, shit. Joel didn’t even think to delete that file. “W-what is it? Why’re you makin’ that face?”
“I’m diagnosing.”
Right. Of course you are. You haven’t seen anything you’re not supposed to see, because it’s not like the files would magically start opening for your eyes only. Right? “What’s the verdict, doc?” Joel jokes, hoping you don’t hear the way his voice wobbles slightly with anxiety.
You suck in a breath through your teeth, “Not good,” you reply. “All of your files are corrupted, I thin–”
Joel interrupts, “What’s that, what’s corrupted? Is that bad?”
“Your turn,” you interrupt back, cocking an eyebrow at his impoliteness. It’s very unlike him.
“M’sorry, hon. Go ‘head, sorry.”
Joel needs to get it together. He’s fidgety and high-strung. He needs to calm down. It’s fine. It will be fine. You’re gonna work your magic and you’re not gonna see anything you’re not supposed to see. When you’re done, you’re gonna go home and Joel will go right back to his private time as previously scheduled - that’s probably what his biggest problem is, he’s blue-balled himself and he’s all wound-up. Problem will be fixed, easy peasy.
“When did you say this problem started again?”
“Uh, just a little bit ago,” Joel answers, walking over to the sink and getting himself a glass of water. “Thirsty?”
“No, thanks. What websites do you visit?”
Joel watches you browse his files and mess with the system preferences on his computer. “The weather mostly, or Amazon.. Orderin’ books for Sarah.” Which is a total lie, but he justifies this in his head by telling himself that you don’t need to know what website he visits the most. It’ll embarrass you both. And actually, Sarah prefers to go to the library. She even went today.
“Anything else?”
Joel lies again, “Check the news from time to time, check my team’s scores.”
You hum in response and continue typing. Joel wishes he could type like that, watching your fingers effortlessly fly across the keyboard. He likes the sound it makes, the quiet clicking and the tapping of your manicured fingernails. “What about emails, you avoiding those scams I told you about?”
“Yes.”
“Clicking on chainmail?”
“I am not.”
“Not anymore,” you mumble under your breath. Joel rolls his eyes. You’ll never let it go, will you?
-
Chainmail is how you became Joel’s IT girl. For a couple of months, you’d received various emails from him that were just copy-paste chainmail messages. You know, the ones that say things like ‘Click here to verify your account information. Send to 10 friends and family members to verify their accounts as well.’ You’d just delete, delete, delete, and reply back asking him to stop emailing you these things. But Joel never stopped, day after day he’d send you chainmail. After receiving what felt like the eightieth spam email from [email protected], you decided to confront him.
Joel awoke from an accidental afternoon nap to rather incessant knocking coming from his front door. He opened it only to find you on his porch, where you then proceeded to invite yourself inside. “What happened to hello?” he asked, his voice all sexy and raspy and his eyes tired, lines indenting his face from laying on the couch. He yawned, running his fingers through his curls to try and tame the bed head. You wondered if he always looked this handsome when he woke up.
“Sorry, hi,” you corrected. “Need to borrow your computer. Please.”
Yawning again, Joel sleepily gestured to his computer in the kitchen. “Knock yourself out. Damn thing ain’t actin’ right, though.”
You powered the machine on logged in using the post-it taped to his wall, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. Upon logging in and connecting to the internet, you noticed all sorts of glitches. Not even your computer ran consistently smoothly, but Joel’s was a wreck. Popups and error messages of all different kinds littered the screen, blocking the cute picture of himself and Sarah he had set as the background. “Wow, I couldn’t tell,” you teased. “You have more errors than you do applications on this thing, Joel.” Joel only shrugged in response. “Come sit by me,” you said.
Joel pulled up a seat next to you. “I wanna show you something. Can I open your email?”
“Go right ahead, hon.”
You opened Joel’s email and found his ‘sent’ box, where the last sent email was addressed to you. You clicked it and it opened to his last sent piece of chainmail. “I’ve asked you to stop sending me these emails,” you told him.
Joel looked crushed almost, a look of puzzlement and what might’ve been hurt momentarily painting his features. “You have?”
“I have.”
The chainmail on the screen was a common one he’d send you, the one asking you to give up your information to protect yourself. “I was only tryin’ to be neighborly. I thought you’d like ‘em, y’know - want you to keep yourself safe.”
It was endearing, the way he explained himself. How he wanted you to stay safe. Your frustration dissipated, only to be renewed as you looked in his spam folder to find all of your replies to him in there instead of his main inbox. “Joel, why am I in your spam folder?” you asked, sighing. Joel simply shrugged and you didn’t even have words. By the look on his face, he probably didn’t even realize he had a spam folder, much less knew what one was. But you had greater concerns. “What are those emails supposed to keep me safe from?”
“Well, from…” Joel’s mouth hung open as he thought about it, looked up and to the side as he began to realize he didn’t have an answer. “Uhh–”
“You don’t know, do you?” Joel shook his head. “Exactly. It’s called phishing, these emails you’ve been sending me aren’t real. They’re trying to get peoples’ personal information, like, look–” you pointed to the screen, showing Joel an example, “See? Here, it’s asking for your bank information.”
“And I wasn’t ‘sposed to give them that?”
You tilted your head in disappointment, “Joel.”
Joel groaned and leaned back in his chair, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Fuckin’ idiot.”
You were about to tell him to call his bank, but he was already on it. He pulled his Nokia phone from his belt clip and called his bank to explain the situation. As you went through his inbox and deleted each and every one of the hinky-looking emails, you listened to Joel on the phone.
“Didn’t realize there were these uh…email scams…Yeah, that charge was me. And that too…
…Will you call me f’ya see anything suspicious? Okay.
…Okay. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. You too.”
From what you heard of the phone call, it seemed that he was safe. You guessed that Joel’s technological ineptitude is probably what had saved him, that he likely mistyped or misunderstood what the scam was attempting to do. You continued to delete scams and other malware-adjacent things from his computer as Joel hung up the phone call and sat back down with you. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, s’all good.”
Joel looked shaken, though. You touched his hand sympathetically and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna learn some internet safety today.”
“Figured. I need it.”
“Yeah, you do,” you smiled. You went through his email, pointing out all the different scams. You told him not to click on links that look like this and that. This is a scam, this is too. You told him that anything attempting to sell fireworks, guns, or anything else at the low, low price of x amount isn’t real. And no, these emails here do not mean that you won a new TV or the lottery or a cruise. Anything that seems too good to be true definitely is. “...Actually,” you began, “All of these are from Tommy. New rule, don’t click on anything from Tommy.”
“Noted,” Joel replied. “I didn’t know any ‘a this.”
“Most people don’t. It’s new, yet. But you know now, so it’s okay.”
Joel breathed a sigh of relief, but he still looked overwhelmed. This time he took your hand and squeezed it. After a moment, he asked you where you learned all of this from. You explained you picked a lot of it up in school, just learning things here and there. Joel let you talk about it all and seemed genuinely interested and impressed.
“I went through and fixed all that was giving you trouble, by the way. Your computer should be running smoother,” you said. “And I changed your password. ‘abcde’ is not a good password, Joel.”
From that day forward, you became Joel's official computer girl. He’d call you and have you help him when he couldn’t get his computer connected to the printer, when he screwed with the settings and the computer didn’t look or act the way he was used to. Even the most basic things, like whenever he had a new picture of himself and Sarah he wanted to change the background to. Not that you minded, you’d jump at any opportunity to poke fun at your handsome neighbor’s lack of computer knowledge.
-
“Did you click on any links from Tommy?”
Joel goes quiet at that, remembering your very specific rule to not engage with him over email. He looks down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs together. “I might’ve…one or two, maybe”
“What kind of links?”
“There– Fuck, I don’t know. You know, just…websites. They take me to websites. But I don’t give ‘em my information,” he insists.
“What’s on these websites?”
Joel thinks fast. “Truckparts,” he answers too quickly, and the two words come out as one. “Just truck parts,” he says again, slower.
“Well, you must’ve been looking at some sketchy truck parts. You’ve got a virus.”
“Okay,” he says. “Figured as much. But you’ve fixed those before for me, haven’t you?”
“I have, but this one means business,” you reply, shaking your head. You start to type a bit, click the mouse as you go through and attempt to delete corrupted files, but it’s not working the way it should. You open Netscape and check the browsing history to see if that can clue you in as to what website could have done this to Joel’s computer. “You said it just started?”
“Just started, yeah,” Joel affirms.
Which…tracks.
Today, Saturday, June 25, 2003
5:06 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/lingerie
4:54 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/doggy-style
4:50 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/blowjobs
4:49 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/small-boobs
4:49 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/big-boobs
4:45 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/home
His search history is nothing but porn, which you’re 99% sure is exactly what caused the virus. The time stamps all show that the site was visited within the last hour, and Joel says it just started, so…
“What’re you lookin’ at?”
“Well,” you say, hesitating before answering fully. “I am looking at your search history.”
Joel stares at the monitor like a deer in the headlights. “There’s - my uh…” he swallows thickly, “They keep records of that?”
“Mhm.”
“Well I told you - just….lookin’ at parts,” Joel’s hand wobbles slightly as he sips on his water.
“Yeah, lady parts.”
Joel sputters on his drink, choking and coughing as he slams the glass down and water spills everywhere. He uses the bottom of his t-shirt to clean his mess as he begins to turn red, feeling his chest and neck and cheeks begin to warm. He can’t even look at you, but he hears your giggles and he can picture your smug grin and he wishes so badly he was dead right now. You’ve seen it all, you know everything. You know it and so does he. He’s gaining the courage to look at you and oh god - you’re scrolling through the dirty website. Giggling, you’re looking at everything he looked at, fucking everything. You’re seeing the same dicks he saw, the same pussies, seeing the purple links that indicate exactly what he’s already clicked on. “Yeah, laugh it up,” he says angrily, defensively. “Ain’t that funny.”
Joel’s world is ending, but it’s really not as bad as he thinks it is. The porn is tamer than what’s often found on the internet, much tamer than the shit you watch. You continue to explore the site as you listen to Joel tell on himself behind you.
“It’s just somethin’ to pass the time,” he says. “It’s natural, alright? And I know you do it too.” He’s deflecting. Even still, he’s not wrong, you certainly do take part.
You just let him keep talking, relishing in having the upper hand in this situation. “You’re blushing,” you tell him when he quiets down, just to get him started and riled up again as you browse the site. You notice a lot of videos are duplicates, prompting users to download the same thumbnail uploaded by different usernames. Whatever Joel clicked on was probably not uploaded by a real person, though. He clocked on a gibberish username made up of random letters and numbers, unlike some other videos uploaded under actual names. Like Joel’s new found friend ‘cherry_girl_xo’, whose username link is purple. You smirk at that, turning around to look at Joel who definitely recognizes her. He’s bright red everywhere.
You’re sure this website is the culprit, but you check the rest of his search history to see if any other clue lies in there, but see nothing of import. All you notice are various links to victoriassecret.com, over and over and over again. Based on that and his last searched term on that shady porn site, you can safely assume he’s got a thing for lingerie. Which - funnily enough, you’re wearing right now. Not the kind of lingerie Joel’s been beating off to, but similar. You’re wearing your laciest undergarments, a lavender colored bra with a matching thong. They’re your laundry day underwear, you know the kind - five years old and been sitting at the bottom of your underwear drawer untouched for four of those years, not very comfortable and only to be worn when you’ve just gotten off your period and all of your cotton bikinis and boyshorts are in the wash. That kind.
After toying with Joel’s computer for a while longer while he twists uncomfortably in agonizing humiliation, you decide there’s not much else that can be done. “I think we have to wipe it all, Joel,” you tell him. “Delete everything and start fresh.”
Joel nods quietly. “Will I still be able to play pinball after?”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure you can play pinball,” you chuckle.
“Wipe it, then.”
And so you start the process, which will take a long while. The screen loads and loads as you and Joel wait quietly. You look at Joel, who’s got an elbow on the table as he rests his forehead in his palm. “What?” he snaps, noticing you staring at him. You can’t fight the giggles from erupting. “Would you quit fuckin’ gigglin’ like that? You know that a man’s got needs and I ain’t hurtin’ anyone–” You contort your lips into a forced frown, pressing them into a thin line and then covering your mouth to keep your laughter at bay, but you’re struggling. Joel can see the amusement still sparkling in your eyes and says your name in a warning tone.
“I’m sorry,” you smile, raising your hands in surrender. “I won’t laugh. I’m sorry, Joel.”
“Better be,” he grumbles. He drinks the last of his water quietly as you think about something, something that’s been heavy on your mind for the last couple of minutes. What if Joel knew what you were wearing beneath your clothes? You’ve made this afternoon absolute hell for him and you know that - but you don’t care. You’ve had too much fun getting under his skin to stop now.
The real dirty work begins when you unzip your sweatshirt and hang it over the back of your chair. When Joel looks at you, you bring your hand to your shoulder and gently pull up on your bra strap, letting it snap your shoulder.
Joel shifts in his seat and clears his throat, “You warm or somethin’?”
“Yeah, it’s a little hot in here.”
“Mm,” Joel spins his now empty glass between his thumb and pointer finger. When he looks back at you, he flips the glass. You’ve pulled the top of your tank top down, your lacy bra and cleavage on full display. He tries to make two moves at once, catch the rolling glass and cover his crotch because he’s just gone erect. “Cute. I would appreciate it if you’d knock that off now, I get the picture. S’real funny,” he mutters as he scrambles.
“What picture?” you ask innocently.
“Oh, don’t you start. You know exactly what damn picture,” Joel snaps. “You figured it out. Got a certain fondness for ladies in lace. You feel clever or somethin’?”
You really can’t bite back your smile this time, “Mhm.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re exploitin’ my vulnerabilities, takin’ cheap shots and–” Joel’s jaw drops as he watches you unbutton your jean shorts and show off your panties, the little bow at the center of them nicely on display. His look of shock quickly turns into a glare as you take off your tank top. “Like that, that’s playin’ dirty. Put your shirt back on and zip yourself back up. What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“I dunno,” you shrug. You really don’t. This is just as surprising to you as it is to Joel, but the look on his face tells you that you’re definitely having way more fun than he is.
“God, you’re killin’ me,” he groans. The way you’re so cavalier about this all has Joel both flummoxed and irate.
But you’re not this bold usually, not really. Joel must not have noticed the way your hands have been trembling, must not have heard your slightly shaky breaths. He’s been avoiding eye contact too much to notice you’ve been doing the same. “Why?”
“Why? Cause I’m only a man and you’re gettin’ me all worked up. You’re takin’ advantage of me and my biology,” Joel gestures angrily to his crotch. He’s not even bothering to hide it anymore - you’ve seen it all and know what you’ve done to him. “You proud?”
“You’re–”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ hard - been hard. Didn’t get to take care of myself ‘cause of the fuckin’ virus and here you are teasin’ and temptin’ me and…Hon, what’re you -” Joel’s angered expression turns to momentary confusion when you stand up, then turns to contentment when you straddle his lap. You press your core into his thick bulge, holding onto his shoulders for stability. “What are you doin’?” he sighs, his head falling backward.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For teasing.”
“Yeah, so you say, princess.”
You grind yourself on his lap and when Joel brings his head forward to search for your eyes, he notices how your eyes flicker away from his. Like maybe you’re not as in control of this situation as you appear to be.
“I am.”
“Mm,” Joel hums. You’re reaching between your bodies and fumbling with the button on his jeans. He sucks in his soft belly to unbutton them for you, wraps his strong hand around your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth. “Gimme this,” he mumbles, spitting into your hand before he shoves it under the waistband of his boxers. A pang of arousal floods your gut at the action.
You palm his warm, heavy cock, feeling him thicken in your hand, though he’s already so hard. You can feel his rigid member throb and ache as you work his shaft up and down, up and down, your knuckles brushing against his thatch of coarse curls and his tummy. It’s evident how much he’s needed this, what with the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths, soft groans escaping his lips as he does so.
Joel enjoys himself as you work him. “Fuck,” he whispers. You look down between your bodies to admire his member, the blushed, leaking tip and the thick and prominent veins. And he’s so smooth, his skin almost silky. You watch his blissed out face, contemplate kissing those pink, pouting lips of his. You’re gonna do it, bringing your face close to his. Brushing your lips ever so softly over his, Joel moves to kiss you fully when you pull back. His computer makes that signature Windows startup sound,
“I have to take care of that,” you murmur. You dismount Joel and he picks up where you leave off, stroking his own cock just like you were. He watches your nearly naked body with hooded eyes that flutter shut as you work, typing quietly on his keyboard. You set his username and password the same, make sure that things open as they should. For Joel’s own protection, you block [email protected].
“Finished?” Joel asks as you stand up from your seat in front of his computer.
“Mhm,” you reply, gripping his shoulder with your hand as you bend over halfway to pick up your discarded top and kiss his cheek. “Have fun with your Victoria’s Secret girls, Joel.”
Your work here is done. You’ve fixed Joel’s computer and by the look on his face, broken his heart. “What are you doing?”
You smile, too proud of yourself as you begin to walk away. Before you can walk further, Joel stands up and reaches across the table, grabbing you by the forearm and forcing you onto your back. “You ain’t gettin’ away from me that easy, princess,” he says. “I still got somethin’ that needs fixed.” Joel displays strength but is as gentle as can be, though the cold, hard wood against your spine and your shoulder blades hurt you for a moment. Your eyes widen in shock, but it’s a welcome pain. “Knew you weren’t fuckin’ sorry,” Joel spits. Your head dangles off the edge of the table and Joel uses a hand to open your mouth, forcing two of his thick fingers inside. Instinctually, you curl your tongue around the digits, sucking and licking. You can taste his cock on his fingers from when he was pleasuring himself just moments ago.
Joel pumps himself in his hand for a second before guiding his thick head to your lips, pushing past them in one quick thrust, right to the back of your throat so you gag. He likes that noise. “I give you an inch,” he grunts, “And you take a mile.” You slide your tongue over those thick veins of his you’d previously traced with your fingertips. Joel draws out of your mouth slowly, allowing you to lick his weeping slit before pushing himself back in. ��It would’ve been courteous of you to keep my dirty secret to yourself, but you couldn’t even do that. Went an’ humiliated me instead, then you got the nerve to try ‘n leave me high and dry? I don’t think I deserve that.”
Joel wants to fuck your mouth until your lips are raw and swollen, show you just what he thinks of your stunt. But he demonstrates self control, allows you to take him at your own pace and yet, you continue to tease. It’s like it’s innate or something, the way you continue to only give little by little, savoring the saltiness of his precome. He gives you one last warning, “You really should learn when to quit while you’re ahead, hon.”
You persist anyway. Wrong move. Joel fucks himself into your mouth with no regard for your comfort, taking what he needs from you. It’s sloppy and messy, his heavy balls bouncing off the tip of your nose. You wish you could see him, see the way he’d glare at you. He’s flipped like a switch, previously holding himself back from having his way with you like he wanted to. He’s taking it now. All the softness in him is gone, and you fucking love it. You reach forward, sliding your hand down your stomach, dipping it beneath your panties. You spread your legs wide and your fingers hover over your pussy, feeling that wet heat radiating from your core. Just as you let your fingers drop to touch your aching clit, you feel Joel lunge forward and pull your hand away. “Nuh-uh, not where I eat. Where are your manners, princess?”
He fucks your mouth relentlessly, holding the sides of your head in his big hands. He watches the way your lace-covered tits bounce with his every thrust. He pushes himself deeper and deeper, ignoring your sputtering and choking on his cock. Your eyes prick with tears as your jaw begins to ache, really fucking ache. Joel doesn’t stop himself, and it’s not like he would if he knew you were crying like this. He fills the air with his own grunting and groaning, relishing in the warmth of your wet, soft mouth.
And then he’s done. No slowing to a standstill, just abruptly pulls out. You hear his heavy footsteps as he rounds the kitchen table, hooks his fingertips beneath the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down, pulls your hips close to his so your face is no longer dangling off the edge. He pulls your panties to the side, drags his thumb up and down your slick folds and it’s like the quiet before the storm.
He notches himself in your entrance and pushes himself in, inch by inch by inch. Slowly, deliberately, so that you feel all of the stretching and aching he wants you to. “Joel,” you cry. “Fuck, Joel, please, I can’t–”
“You’ll get used to it,” he purrs. He leans over you as he fucks you slowly, holding your neck with his thumb on your jawbone while he kisses you to quiet you down, licking into your mouth and swirling his tongue around with yours. You whimper softly into his mouth with his every thrust, the pain not yet completely dissipated, but pleasurable in its own way. “Spread your legs. Wider.”
You open yourself up for him, allowing him to fuck himself deeper into you. You accept it all as he wraps your legs around his waist, your heels bouncing on his ass. The head of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside of you, pleasure beginning to take over your senses and you moan. “Fuck, Joel.”
“Feels good, don’t it? Maybe this whole virus fiasco was a blessing in disguise, darlin’,” Joel says, “Feels good f’me too.”
You cry out loudly when he puts your legs up on his shoulders, the new angle has him inside you even deeper than before. He sits you up a bit, putting your arms behind your back and pressing your palms down flat on the table with his own.
He draws out of you and fills you up again, over and over and over. “Fuck, look at us,” he kisses your ankle a couple of times, “Look,” Joel looks down where your bodies meet and you join him, watching how his cock slides in and out of you, all wet and coated in your slick. Panties still pulled to the side, your skin is irritated where the fabric tugs and scratches at your skin. He maintains a quick rhythm, rolling his hips into yours.
“Make me come, Joel, I want to come.”
“Oh, I’ve got no doubt you do. But maybe I’ll leave you high and dry like you were gonna do to me, see how you like it. What a waste that’d be, huh?” You whine at the threat and Joel smiles deviously, he likes having you at his mercy like this. All pathetic and begging for him to let you come undone. “You’re nothin’ but talk, aren’t you?”
“Make me come, please.”
“You’ll have to convince me,” he says. “You heard me, convince me. Better make it quick.”
Your brain is short-circuiting, you can’t even process what Joel said and begin to make your case. You feel him twitching, his hips stuttering and before you know it, he’s spilling into you. He paints your insides with his hot spend, milking himself entirely in your cunt and your disappointment is incalculable. Tears of frustration well up and threaten to spill down your cheeks. It was all fun and games before, but you suddenly feel so used and betrayed. You can’t say he didn’t warn you.
“Ohh, I know,” he coos, wiping your eyes. “Bit off more than you could chew, didn’t you?”
You nod, sniffling quietly.
“You can still convince me. I’m all ears, ya know.”
“How?”
“Well,” Joel says. He’s beginning to soften inside of you, and so he pulls out with a soft ‘fuck’, his spend spilling out of you and onto his table. “Can start with an ‘I’m sorry, Joel’. And I want a real one this time.”
“I’m sorry, Joel.”
“S’a good start. Wanna give me some more? Tell me why?”
“F-for teasing you and stuff.”
“For teasing me and stuff,” he repeats your words slowly. Joel pulls off his t-shirt and folds it tightly, places it at the end of the table and lowers your head onto it. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
Joel kneels before you and wraps his arms around your thighs. He presses a kiss over your cloth-covered core, feeling the dampness of your arousal and his spend on his lips. He spreads your legs wide, exposing your wet cunt for him, lips all swollen and ribbons of his spend clinging to your folds. He admires the thick curls framing your pussy, “I gotcha,” he whispers. “C’mere.”
You gasp when Joel finally, finally begins to explore you, his tongue parting open your folds. He pulls back and pushes one, then two fingers inside you, humming in satisfaction at the way you suck him in, so eager and needy for his touch. He curls his fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and jerk as you try to keep yourself still.
“Oh, Joel,” you moan as he laps at your cunt, feeling that warm, sticky feeling flow through your hips. His mouth and fingers work together to bring you closer to your edge, humming as he rhythmically strokes that sweet spot inside of you. His tongue is so hot, wet, and firm as he drags it up and down your sex, circling your clit with the muscle. “Mmm, fuck. Oh, god.”
Joel doesn’t know what’s more satisfying, the sweet taste of this most private place between your thighs or the sounds of your pleasure as he eats you. He devours you voraciously, sucking one fold and nipping at the other as he curls his fingers, never faltering in their movements. With his free hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he reaches around and pulls the hood of your clit back to suck and lick the sensitive bud. His dark, slightly graying and wiry stubble drags across the skin of your inner thighs, scratching you gently. It’s building up quickly, that familiar feeling deep in your spine.
“I’m–” a moan rips through your chest and interrupts you, “Fuck, I’m–”
“I know, hon,” he whispers, escalating his efforts. He sucks, licks, and curls his fingers harder, feeling the slow build of you beginning to come apart for him. You come on his lips and spill into his hand as Joel works you through your orgasm. You’re a gushing, moaning mess, your hands fly to his scalp and you tug on his soft curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt. And then another, slower. Another yet, even slower.
You expect him to pull away from your center with a satisfied grin, his mustache and beard dampened by your slick. But he stays put, licking more long stripes up and down your pussy. Your thighs twitch and flutter uncontrollably and Joel holds you apart for him as he continues to tease, circling the tip of his perfect, aquiline nose around your clit.
“Too much, it’s too much,” you cry.
“Mhm. But you got one more in you, I know you do.”
“Joel–”
You think you might break. You’re not sure where you feel Joel’s tongue, you just feel him fucking everywhere. You don’t know where your orgasm begins and ends, just that by the time Joel decides you’re done, you’re in sweet agony and he luxuriates in the taste of your second release. He’s made such a pretty mess of you. He presses one last kiss to your core, “Yeah, that was a good one, wasn’t it?”
Joel pulls away from your center, wiping his lips on your thighs. His cheeks are flushed and his dark eyes sparkle. He lets you catch your breath as he fills a glass of water for you and brings it to your lips helping you to drink as your hands are still trembling from it all.
When the moment passes, you gather your clothes. You pull on your tank top and put your shorts back on. “Oh,” you say.
“Hm?”
“I blocked Tommy’s email, just so you know. He’s trouble.”
Joel chuckles. “You, my darlin’, are trouble. But that’s probably for the best, thank you for fixin’ my computer again.”
“It’s no problem,” you reply.
“Oh–” Joel grabs something from his stack of mail on his countertop and hands it to you. It’s some Victoria’s Secret coupons.“This was addressed to you. Ended up in my mail. Fuckin’ mail guy.”
You giggle quietly, what a curmudgeon he is. “Actually, I think you need it more than I do. You can beat off to your angels in analog,” you tease.
Joel rolls his eyes. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he says, taking the coupons back from you. “And actually, think I will hang on to this. Maybe I’ll even buy you somethin’ pretty an’ we can do this again soon.”
If you enjoyed, please reblog, comment, send me an ask, just tell me something nice <3 your words keep me motivated to write.
#strang3lov3#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#joel miller x you#joel miller#the last of us#the last of us hbo#joel x reader#joel the last of us#grumpy joel#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut
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eyes wide open
pairing: theodore nott x f! reader
summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought.
content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+)
word count: 5.46k
You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth.
Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”
“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds.
You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”
“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute.
Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates.
You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner.
Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you.
You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers.
You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”
He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”
You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”
“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”
Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”
He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down.
You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.
It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold.
It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return.
You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub.
You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.
You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps.
He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”
You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”
The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”
You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”
He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”
“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”
He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”
You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”
“Haven’t most people?”
“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it.
“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”
“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”
“Yeah.”
Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”
You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.”
Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”
“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.”
“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”
“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.
“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”
Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”
You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears.
You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.
You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts.
It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.
You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”
He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement.
You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”
“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”
You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.
Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”
He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”
“Great minds think alike then,” you say.
You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”
“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”
“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.
“In your dreams.”
“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”
“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”
Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”
“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower.
Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two.
You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”
“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”
“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”
He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too.
As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“Does it bother you?”
“It feels like you can see into my soul.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”
You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”
“Why am I what?”
“Staring at me.”
His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”
Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”
You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”
He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed.
You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages.
Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes.
“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”
He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”
“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Silence.
“Can I ask you something?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you stay here over break?”
He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”
Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”
“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”
“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”
“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”
“We’ll go together then.”
He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask.
“Someday.”
You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet.
It all makes your heart sink.
You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff.
You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf.
Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.
You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn.
You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.
Almost.
You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner.
Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”
“What is it?”
“Christmas present.”
You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”
“Yes, now open it.”
“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet.
Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”
He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”
Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”
“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”
Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”
“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.
“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”
“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner.
You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.
Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly.
You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”
You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”
“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.
“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”
“I’m honored. Wait right here.”
Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”
“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.
Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s.
Merlin, you think, what if he hates it? Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach.
“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”
He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”
“That’s alright.”
You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.
His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—
He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.
“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”
You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”
“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming.
Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”
“You’re welcome.”
The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.
You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him.
You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him.
He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine.
His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso.
“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”
You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss.
It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.”
He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you.
You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”
“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”
Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers.
You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head.
As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”
You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”
He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”
You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?”
“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”
“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…”
He dips down to kiss you again.
Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for.
Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile.
Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face.
This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him.
You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh.
You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.
You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back.
As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”
“I don’t know,�� you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”
He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”
You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s.
Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”
“Don’t you care what your friends think?”
“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”
“Theo…”
He repeats, “Why do you care?”
“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”
“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”
“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”
“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.
“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”
You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away. He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”
“I promise.”
“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”
“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.
author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3
#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x reader#theodore nott#theo nott#theodore nott fic#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott scenarios#theo nott imagine#theodore nott x you#✶ nove writes
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people help the people
pairing: lucy bronze (platonic) x reader
notes: mentions of suicide, not really ahappy ending, whole lotta angst, don't read if you're not in a good place.
i lost my best friend to suicide about a year ago and it's genuinely been the hardest thing of my life to go through, and even though i feel incredibly selfish for comparing my pain to hers, i just hope that everyone who's in a bad place will feel better soon. your death will hurt people, even if you don't believe it. my messages are always open !!
“Heartbreaking news have hit the football community earlier this morning as Arsenal have confirmed the death of young defender, Y/N Y/L/N. The club has stated that Y/L/N, who also played for the Lionesses, was found dead in her apartment late last night. Her death has been ruled as suicide. Other than that, both the club and the FA have asked for privacy as they deal with this tragic loss. The matches of this week will take place as usual, though the teams have agreed collectively to wear black armbands, along with having a minute of silence ahead of the match’s begin.”
The internet was a cruel place, Lucy realized a week after your death. There were countless articles, invasive messages, offensive comments about how and why your presence had been tragically ripped away from this world. She didn’t understand - how could she? Lucy liked to believe that the two of you had a real bond, with you only being nineteen years old and looking up to Lucy as if she was a Goddess, following her every step, studying her every move, clinging onto her every word as if she spoke a prayer. The admiration wasn’t one-sided, either. Lucy looked up to you. How could she not? You were so young, and faced with so much adversity - the fact that you were as professional as you were at such a young age, you impressed Lucy. You had. Until Keira had filled her in on the news ahead of a training session at Barcelona, shattering Lucy’s heart in the process. You had reached out to Lucy a lot, but never about anything this serious. You had told Lucy a lot of things, but nothing grave enough a reason to take your own life.
Admittedly, she knew the odd joke you had made - when you had slipped on the ball in front of the whole team, crashing down onto your stomach and banging your head enough to leave a glaringly obvious bump on your forehead, only to realize that the media staff had caught the moment and posted it to TikTok mere moments later. You had said, then, that you might as well have offed yourself. Lucy had laughed. Leah, who had been standing closeby, had laughed. You had laughed as you said it, but the words didn’t leave Lucy’s head anymore. You had said it. Right in front of her. How could she not have noticed?
It took minutes for Lucy’s face to be drenched in tears, hours until she would leave the medical room, which Keira had cleared and led her into, knowing very well that Lucy would not want anyone to see her raw emotions, days until Lucy returned to training, and months for anyone in the football community to address the situation. Mental health. Mental illness. Lights and shadows that came with being exposed to such brutal schedules, invasive comments, being shown off for everyone to see while no one ever required to know anything substantial. People wanted funny comments, smiles, laughter. No one ever cared about the weight dragging any players down, until it was too late - Lucy realized, as everyone and their mother seemed opposed to even speaking your name, only that energy into searching, very openly, both in comment sections or live on broadcasted TV, for the reason you had left life behind. Lucy searched for it too, though more secludedly.
She re-read your messages for hours, in the little light the moon provided as it fell through the cracks of her bedroom window, deciphering each and every letter, pronouncing the words out loud in different tones, scrolling through your social media to search for any clue. You had had your fair share of problems- you had told Lucy about them. You hadn’t been a big fan of the fans seemingly taking property of you. You hadn’t been ready for the pressure that you would be put under after another one of your defenders was injured and you were re-called from your loan to step into the position immediately. You hadn’t dealt well with the lack of your parents’ presence. Though you had still lived with them, they had rarely attended your matches, always able to come up with an excuse, one that you believed. You had defended them, shielding your family from Lucy's criticism when you had let her know, in another disappointed text message, that they hadn’t been able to make it. You hadn’t wanted to accept the fact that they simply weren’t interested in your career, and Lucy had accepted that.
Now, though, she wondered whether you had silently accepted it, and been too ashamed to admit it. Lucy knew that it wasn’t your fault - you had been the biggest ray of sunshine, even through your difficulties. You had managed to put a smile on everyone’s face, even though you had always been a little shy. You had been sweet, and kind, and gentle. Had Lucy been your parent- she would’ve let everyone know, would’ve shown you off to the world with pride, would’ve been there for everyone of your big moments. She had managed to fly out for the Conti Cup final, together with Keira, to watch you win the second domestic trophy in your senior career, only this time it was as a key-player rather than a super-sub.
Lucy was never really able to figure out your exact reasoning - perhaps that was the deal with mental illness. It was an illness. Perhaps there was no reasoning, perhaps the whole point of being ill was the fact that a healthy person would never be able to grasp the darkness that clenched your soul and inevitably drove you to death. If Lucy had learned one thing, though, it was the fact that she was never going to let anyone feel like you must’ve, ever again.
She had seen your parents during the funeral, had witnessed what your death had done to the people, who, though she never really liked them, had raised an absolutely incredible girl. She had seen your room, per her parents request, had seen the blood stained tiles on your bathroom floor, had heard your mother’s mumbled apology for not being able to clean it all. She had seen where you had spent your very last minutes, and she had thought about what must’ve been going on through your head, and it had almost suffocated her. And that was how she found herself here - in a studio in London on her rare off day, with Sky Sports, in an interview room that felt uncomfortable, a seat that pressed into her back, and a microphone in her sweaty hands.
“I just think that mental health is so, so important. I don’t know what it’s like to feel like… to feel like there’s no way out anymore, but I do know what it feels like to lose a person to their illness. It’s brutal. It makes you think you’ve failed them, and it makes you want to wish you had done more. I don’t want anyone to experience that.”
Lucy swallowed thickly, glancing at the reporter next to her. The man was kind, he handled the interview with delicacy. Your death had shocked the world, and by now, people knew to be respectful. Enough time had passed. Everyone had gotten over the initial shock. Everyone was left behind with that same distaste in their mouth and a hole in their stomach. People were delicate, when they mentioned you. They were still wearing black armbands in the WSL, and Lucy still wore the bracelet she had been given by your parents, taping it up for every match, letting any of her lioness teammates kiss her wrist whenever they scored.
“Is that why it’s so important to talk about this, to you?”
“Yeah, it’s definitely part of it. But I think most of all, I think we need to speak about it for Y/N. I think if we’d had this kind of open conversation a few months ago, she would’ve maybe reached out, you know. If I had educated myself on the topic better, maybe I could’ve seen the signs. I think it’s more for the people who feel the way she felt. If we can make even a single person reach out for help when they initially wouldn’t, I think it’s paid off.”
The man nodded.
“It’s just… you know. There’s always another way. Even when you don’t feel like it. I don’t know what it’s like to go through suicidal tendencies, but I do know what it’s like to feel sort of, hopeless. And I know that whatever happens, the world is a better place with you in it. Suicide is such a cruel way to go. I’ve wondered a lot, you know, whether she’s happier now, but I don’t think she is. Y/N had so many ambitions, so many dreams. She had such a bright future and yeah, for a mental illness to rip that away from her, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with that.”
Lucy sniffed, the tears dwelling in her eyes by now. She had never spoken about your death publically. No one had, not exactly. Sure, there had been underlying comments, minutes of silence and the odd mention of your name, but people had been cautious to actually speak about the situation. She couldn’t blame them, because fuck- this hurt. She saw your face whenever she closed her eyes. She heard your voice whenever she couldn’t sleep, your laughter was engraved into her brain. There would not be a day in her life that she didn’t miss you. It hurt. A lot. The realization that you weren’t just a few countries away, that you wouldn’t call her back later, that you wouldn’t call her after an important match or visit her in Barcelona like you had said you would.
“You’ve been kind of hesitant to agree to this interview. Why do you think that is? I mean, no one has really spoken about Y/N’s death as openly as you have.”
“Yeah, I think it’s difficult. To admit this kind of pain. I mean- it shouldn’t be, you know? I think it’s important to speak about this kind of loss and all the hurt that comes with it. Not out of a place to put blame, I’d never blame her. But just to, yeah, make people realize how bad this kind of loss hurts. How much people miss her, because we all miss her, even though some people are hesitant to say it out loud.”
“How do you feel about people being so hesitant?”
“I don’t think you can blame them, you know. Grief looks different for anyone. And I guess I’m a fixer kind of person. I want to fix things, and even though I’ll never be able to, you know, fix this, I do hope that by speaking up about this, I can potentially save someone from doing the same thing. Let people know that mental health should never be a taboo, encourage people to speak up before it’s too late. Because the world will miss you, even if you don’t think it will. The world is a different place without you in it”, she concluded, though she was mostly speaking to you.
It was true. The world was different, now that you were gone. Your friends- mostly the younger girls in the Arsenal squad, seemed to be less talkative. Arsenal was a different place- Leah had told Lucy during your funeral. Everyone was a little less talkative, the loss hanging heavy over the team. Kim worried a lot, about the younger ones, whereas the older, more experienced players, dealt with the same kind of guilt Lucy felt.
Barcelona was different too, though you had never played there. Alexia and Patri seemed to be checking on everyone a little more frequently, holding the team together, making sure everyone was okay. Lucy wasn’t, of course, though her team tried their best to help her move forward.
She did, eventually. England camps became less heavy, and when England won the Euros in 2025 again, during Lucy’s last match, she held up your shirt proudly, keeping the medal that had your name engraved in it, without shedding a single tear. When Arsenal won the Super League that year, they did the same thing. Lucy still felt a pinch in her chest everytime one of your teams reached another milestone, because she had wanted you to experience those kind of things. You deserved to experience your first league title, your second Euros, but more than anything-
She envisioned the life you could’ve lived, away from football. You deserved to fall in love, to visit Barcelona and every other place in the world you would’ve wanted to. You deserved to move out of your parents home into your first ever flat, you deserved to get a kitten and name it something ridiculous, the way you had always planned. You deserved to feel the rays of sun on your skin on the odd day it didn’t rain in London, you deserved to go on another trip to Ibiza and terrorize the rest of the girls in the club for another night. You deserved to be a bridesmaid at a wedding, the way you had always wanted to. You deserved a lot more than dying at nineteen. Everyone did. And Lucy would spend the rest of her career, potentially the rest of her life, making sure that people who felt the same way you had would feel a little less alone, a little more hopeful, would live a little longer. Anything in her power. She would do it all.
#woso#woso community#woso imagine#woso one shot#woso fanfics#lucy bronze x reader#lucy bronze#lucy bronze imagine#arsenal x reader#arsenal wfc
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« I'M THE ONE YOU ALWAYS NEED. »
CONCEPT; MORTEFI X F!READER . YOU WENT TO HIM TO ASK HIM TO INVENT SOMETHING.
TOPICS/WARNINGS; USING TOYS . QUICK ORAL (F!RECEIVING) . ATP IDK . NGL THIS FEELS LIKE A DRABBLE . P IN V . PROBABLY OOC
IM PLAYING WUTHERING WAVES AND IM IN LOVE W SO MANY OF THEM N R PLANNING SOME FICS 💞 also should i start writing on ao3 hehe
WORD COUNT; 1.5K
"hey..." you voiced awkwardly as you tapped your knuckles at his open office door, catching his attention. "yes, do you need anything?" he asks, turning towards you and putting down his tablet. you walk into the office nervously, "you said i could ask you if i needed anything made, right?" you questioned, averting your gaze and looking around the room. "yes... i did say that." he looks at you, crossing his arms as he observed your anxious expression. you gulped quietly, swallowing your pride as you really can't seem to find anyone that sells these things... "have you ever made a..."
his eyes widen slightly at your inquiry, a replica of male genitalia? he clears his throat, holding up his fist to his mouth as he took a few moments to think before speaking up, "well no but... i couldn't say that anyone ever asked either." he turns back around to his desk and sends the current hologram he's working on into his drafts before starting a new project, "so... can you?" you asked for reassurance, tilting your head to get a view of the hologram.
he turns to you, leaning on his desk as he looks down at you with rested eyes, you could feel that you've definitely piqued his interest with your 'invention idea.' "have you ever considered just finding someone to be able to..." his voice lowers, "-use the real thing?" he leans down just a bit, but enough for you to get what he's insinuating. "well sure, in a way." you answered, your voice tensing up.
"oh really?" he retreats back, bringing up his hand to push his glasses back, "which person have you thought of?" he interrogated, seemingly trying to pry a certain answer out of you. you look away, staying silent for a few moments he breaks the silence with a small sigh, "well, it's understandable if you wish to not answer. but, i'll try to make that for you. expect it by the end of the day."
he sure works quick. a relieved exhale, even though embarassment still ran through your body, huffs out of your lips as he turns back to his desk. "t-thank you." you stammer nervously as you swiftly made your way out without exchanging any last words with the red haired researcher.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
as you were just getting ready to leave the laboratory, you hear a certain voice call out from behind you. you turn to see a familiar figure with gold-rimmed glasses—mortefi, and he was holding a paper bag.
you feel heat rise to your face as you remember what you just asked of him. "here's what you requested." he walks over to you, holding up the bag as his tablet rested within his other hand. "oh... you really made one." your hands trembled slightly as you took the bag, feeling shame wash over you. "oh, and sorry if it might not be to your best liking, i used... my own as a slight reference." he said as he closed his eyes for a few moments before looking back up at you.
shock runs through you for a few moments before you smiled awkwardly at him, "oh- okay. thanks a lot though!" you tried to force an enthusiastic answer, failing miserable as your voice cracked a bit. "well then, i guess it's time to head home and have fun, no?" he said rather coldly, and with a straight face as he eyed you. well that felt rather insulting. you laughed sheepishly as you clenched onto the paper bag.
you thought about it for a while, if it's like his... why not just use the actual reference?
"sir... have you ever bothered doing these things with someone?" you asked, making the tension even more unbearable and uncomfortable. his eyes narrowed as he looked at you, certain conclusions and thoughts already being formed in his head. "yes, in a way." he answered, seemingly mocking your words from earlier. "then..." you took a small breath, "would you mind using this with me?" your voice shakes as your grip on the bag tightens.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
well fuck.
he now knelt in between your thighs, with your legs over his shoulders, taking in your most sensitive parts as you sat over his desk. "i suppose we need to make your body ready first, right?" he voiced hoarsely, how is he doing this with a stern and cold expression? you swallow a breath as you looked at his calm gaze, "y-yes." you stuttered in a failed attempt to seem composed.
he took off his glasses, and placing it on his cold table before placing a warm, wet kiss onto your core, making your body shiver. you looked down at him as he strategically worked his mouth around you. he held onto your thighs, keeping you stable as his tongue gently worked around your folds, preparing your body and riling up it's appetite. your legs lock his head within your thighs, pulling him closer to your pussy. "mm..." he groaned out, making him frown a bit though he didn't really... dislike it.
"sorry..." you mumbled quietly, loosening your grip as he pulls back, and getting back up "it's very much okay and reasonable." he assures as he reaches for the bag and takes out it's contents. you shift your gaze to what's now in his hands, he used his own as reference?! it was lengthy, and he brought it down to your already wet cunt. "are you ready?" he asked, positioning the dildo against your drooling pussy, "yes." you whined quietly, looking down at the silicone toy.
"alright, i'm gonna do it slowly, okay?" he assured, his voice was low as he slowly pushed it in, starting with the tip. he kept his attention down towards your hole, observing the way it clenched desperately around the fake cock. he clenched his jaw as he slowly pushed it further, earning him a small moan from you as he felt his pants tighten. well shit.
he notices the now growing bulge in his pants as he pushes the entire thing into you gently, "is it okay?" he asks, looking back up at your now pleasure-washed face. it turned him even more. "absolutely..." you responded breathily as you looked down to see his aching cock hiding under the fabric of his pants. "i'll move it now." he thrusted the toy in and out slowly, hearing the wet noises as your pussy resisted against the movement.
he groans, feeling extremely jealous of the silicone figure within his hands. you moaned at the sensation electrifying you, shooting shots of pleasure into your veins as his hands sped up. your body shook as he started to get rougher, now slamming it into you as a knot formed quickly within your core.
"i-i'm getting close..." you mewled out as your legs instinctively closed themselves, and your back arching as his hand kept themselves on your hip to keep you stable. you cry out as you feel the pleasure wash over you, that knot breaking apart as you feel warm liquid spill out of your pussy, making your legs weak. "ah..." he muttered as he slowly pulled it out, feeling the fabric encasing his own heat now tighten even more as it hurts.
you look down at it, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you look up at him, "better if it's the real thing, no?" you said with a dazed laugh as you wrap your legs around his waist. "is this permission?" he asks with eager eyes as he put the dildo aside and his hands slowly undid his pants. "mhm..." you hummed, and even though you just finished, you felt excited for the real thing.
he laughed quietly as he let his pants fall a bit, revealing his twitching dick. it was desperate for your gaping hole, the way it squeezed on the dildo made him all frustrated for some reason. he wanted to feel it for himself. "i'm sorry, dear, i can't wait." he apologizes before pushing himself slowly but firmly into you. he groans at the feeling, your walls tightened against him and sending his body into euphoria as he feels his control over his body slowly dissipate.
you let out a staggered breath, though the smile returns to your lips as you find it in you to make some teasing remarks. "feels good, doesn't it?" you whisper as your hand moves up to cradle his face. "yes..." he says huskily as he couldn't find the strength to move. "what's wrong? why can't you move?" you voiced rather condescendingly as you start to circle your hips against him.
he frowns as his body twitches at your motion, with his grip on your waist deepening. you feel his fingers dig into your soft skin, making you feel a bit confident of your skills. mortefi hisses through his teeth as he slowly started to move, his length leaving your insides empty for a few moments before burying himself back inside you.
a small cry escapes your lips as you feel his cock fill your empty hole, and your body reacts as if it was running on desire. you reach for his back, your arms travel down his waist, stopping just at the hill of his hips. you push him further into you as sounds of pleasure quickly filled the room, echoing through the empty walls. you're both so lucky that everybody's gone.
you claw at his clothes, feeling as if you were ripping the white fabric apart, you whine out his name as you feel that familiar feeling boil up within your body. and you were sure he could feel it too. "are you close?" you asked breathily as his pace started to speed up, rougher, and harder. "so... tight." he frowns as he ravishes in the pleasure, letting it devour him as he continues to ram himself into you.
"i'm so close-" he scowls, his other hand roaming the skin of your stomach as he takes in the view under him. your vision slowly fades to white as you feel your mind go blank, losing your control over your body as you feel that sensation shatter, sending shards of pleasure all across your body. your body uncontrollably trembles under his touch as he pulls out swiftly with a groan and pressing his dick against your cunt, grinding into his climax.
you feel a sticky, warm liquid spill across your stomach and the soft plush of your pussy.
okay it's all up to u now guys 🤑
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#wuthering waves#mortefi#mortefi x reader#wuthering waves x reader#fanfic#x reader#smut#[💮] SIA.#[📝] sia.#f!reader#female reader#ooc#out of character.
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love on the beach | jeong jaehyun
desc: paired opposite each other in one of the most anticipated series this year, (name) and jaehyun struggle to see the fine line between play-pretend and real feelings.
warnings: making out
Being the latest topic of conversation in the industry has its benefits. The fans, the money, the vanity, stardom leaves no luxury in life unattainable. And trust him, (name) was beyond grateful for all that and more. But perhaps the general audience is unaware of some unavoidable downsides that actors have to face.
For one, you’re not allowed a lot of autonomy on what projects to sign when you’re a newcomer. Which explains why (name) was in his current predicament. Having to share a bed with Jaehyun.
Jeong Jaehyun, one of the most visually stunning men to ever step foot on earth. He was already an established idol in the kpop business and was recently venturing into the world of cinema, with a BL series no less. Given his natural talent for acting, angelic voice and great face card, there was no doubt he’d take the acting world by storm as well in no time.
This was even more reason for (name) to feel nervous around the man, he was way behind the singer in terms of achievements and fame. The two were in Hawaii to shoot a confession scene at a beach house and the filming ended late.
Since the production was behind schedule(owing to both males’ other commitments), the hotel they had booked for the week long stay, only had one room available for this final (extended) night. Ha, they’d have to make do.
It was not awkward, but the air was a little tense as Jaehyun set his things down. He was just as friendly and soft spoken off-screen as he was in front of the cameras. His personality made it easy for the other to loosen up around him.
By the time they were ready for bed, the awkwardness had long dissipated. Both men were in a good mood, a little drunk too. Nonetheless, the thought of sharing a bed with Jaehyun sent shivers up (name)’s spine.
(name) tried his best to maintain as much distance as he could without seeming rude. Jaehyun was facing the other way, relieving (name)’s nerves a little, though he still spent half of the night squirming in his place with unease.
Eventually, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and squinted his eyes to check the time.
02.39 AM.
Jaehyun was lying down, his eyes shut. You could never tell what a guy like him was thinking about.
You could tell he was asleep when his breathing steadied. His face looked even more stunning in the dim light. (Name) stared at the other in wonder.
It felt weird having a guy who was not only famous, but also incredibly attractive, lying in bed next to him.
(Name) was sure his lips would taste like heaven.
And suddenly, his arms were wrapping around the observing male, pulling him close. Jaehyun whispered his name, his voice dripping with affection. (Name), startled, could feel the half-asleep male’s hot breath against his ear.
His heart was beating so loud, he was afraid Jaehyun would hear. But Jaehyun didn't seem to care, instead he continued, "(Name), I like you. I know it's wrong but I can't help myself."
A wave of heat spread across (name)’s face. Jaehyun pressed his lips to the still shocked male’s neck. His kisses were hot and wet. His skin tingled wherever Jaehyun’s mouth touched it.
(name)’s body trembled as he nibbled and sucked at his flesh. Jaehyun’s caressing hand traveled down his side, resting on his hip.
His touch was gentle and reassuring, but still, the other actor was nervous. His thoughts ran a thousand miles a second in order to not overlook the gravity of the situation. The Jeong Jaehyun, just told (name) he liked him and was currently smooching him in a hotel room in Hawaii.
He kissed (name) deeply.
His tongue pushed past (name)’s lips, exploring his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and honey.
Jaehyun pulled away, gazing at the flushed male. One could see the sincerity in his eyes. (Name) liked him too. But this was beyond scary. Jaehyun was one of the most popular guys on the planet and here he was, professing his feelings to his male co-actor.
The situation was almost surreal.
(name) didn't know what to say, so he just leaned forward, capturing Jaehyun’s lips in a kiss. His grip on (name) tightened. He ran his fingers through the shorter’s hair, pulling him closer.
The two were lost in the moment, letting go of all inhibitions. They made out for what seemed like forever. Finally, Jaehyun pulled away, leaving them both breathless.
"I want to take you out. On a date."
The words hit (name) hard.
A date. A real, proper date.
The last time he'd gone on a date was... well, ages ago.
(name) hadn't really dated anyone since he entered the industry. Propelling his career came first, and dating had been the furthest thing from the plans.
But now?
Now he couldn't imagine doing anything else.
"Yes. Yes, of course."
(Name) nodded.
"Really? Are you sure?"
(Name) gave him a small smile.
"Absolutely."
The agreeing male couldn’t help but let out a chuckle again. Jaehyun raised an inquisitive brow at the action as he explained.
“When you were stuttering while filming the confession scene today, I never thought this was the reason.” (name) exclaimed.
“And what do you think now?”
“I think my fluttered just the same on both occasions, Jaehyun.” (name) looked at the male with adoration.
Jaehyun grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
#kpop male idol#kpop x male reader#male idol x male reader#nct x male reader#nct 127 x male reader#jaehyun x male reader
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pillow talk
synopsis: the three times in which you sleep over at seungmin's childhood home as his friend and the one time you're something more.
pairing: non-idol!seungmin x gn!reader
genre: hurt, comfort, angt
warnings: mentions of abandonment, reader is an orphan and in foster care, swearing, food
word count: 3.3k words
now playing: you make me feel - easha
requested: by the lovely @booksndpoetry
a/n: wrote this is two days no wonder it's so bad (pls dont kill me)
"the colors of your love came so suddenly"
The first time you slept over at his childhood home was accompanied with the dull throb and apprehension of yet another new beginning.
Your one solitary bag and the pillow that was your only prized possession were the only things you had with you. Your bag hung off one shoulder and the pillow was clutched to your chest.
You found yourself wondering what Seungmin's family was like. Being a pessimist, you didn't hope for the best and braced yourself for the worst. When the door opened, warm yellow light spilled through the silhouette of a middle-aged women and temporarily blinded you.
Your posture slightly relaxed. Families with an abundance of yellow lights rarely mistreated you.
Your situation was laughable really. You weren't even a full two weeks into the Jang's care, and yet the neglect had already begin.
Stop, you told yourself, at least they were willing to take your old ass in. The Jangs' were away for a business trip and informed you last minute that their flight had been cancelled. They told you to g once she locked up left.
It wasn't that you weren't grateful to the Jangs; but the years you had spent being grateful and getting nothing in return caused you to offer a cautious thanking to their actions. They were sweet to you so far, but you didn't blame them for wanting you out of the house when you were gone.
Foster kids and newly adopted kids had a history of stealing, and while you had never done the same, the feeling of paranoia was one that you were well accustomed to.
Mrs. Kim had a kind, slightly wrinkled face and a wide smile. "Hello dear. You must be Y/N. Come in, come in. Don't stand in the cold for too long."
You could instantly feel the maternal protection that radiated from Mrs. Kim, something you felt in dots and dashed from Mrs. Jang. You knew the Jangs cared, but they didn't quite know how to care. You knew that the Kims had two kids however, an older daughter in college and a boy, sixteen and your age.
Younger you would be mentally cartwheeling in happiness at the thought of being under the care of Mrs. Kim, even if it was for a night. Older you couldn't care less.
Two years until I leave the fucking system for good.
You shifted uncomfortably as you gazed around the house. Wow. It was well decorated and definitely reflected the luxury that the Kims resided in. Everything in sight was in warm and inviting shades of color that made you feel very appreciative.
Interior design had always been a point of interest for you. You realized that there was a lot you could learn about a person from the way they designed their home.
Mrs. Kim turned to look at you. "Ah, you'll be in Seungmin's sister's room. I have told him to clean it up, so you won't have to worry about that. His father is out playing golf, but he'll be home soon too."
Mrs. Kim handed you a glass of water which you accepted with a genuine smile. You were gazing at the family portraits on the wall as you sipped quietly. The entire family looked like they were surrounded by an aura of calm, unbothered by the qualms of the world.
Oh how sweet would it be, to live like that.
"Can I- can I go change upstairs please?" you asked Mrs. Kim softly.
She looked up from the chopping board, lettuce diced evenly. "Oh, of course darling. No need to ask. As long as you're here, this house is yours."
"Seungmin!" she yelled to an unknown entity who must have been on the second floor of the house.
"Coming!" yelled back Seungmin.
The sweetness of his voice took you aback. Just one word made you crave to hear more. His voice was smooth and rich like honey, washing over you. You wondered if he had an inclination towards music, singing in particular; with a voice like that, it would be a shame if he wasn't.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs and a boy with a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants appeared in front of you and Mrs. Kim. He was cute, almost puppy like, with flappy hair and defined features. Seungmin bounded over to his mother and looked at you curiously.
"Seungmin, this is Y/N. Take her upstairs, will you?" Mrs. Kim asked.
"Okay," Seungmin replied.
You extended you hand. "Hello. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Seungmin accepted with a non-judgmental, but curious expression. Mrs. Kim visibly smiled into the large pot she was currently stirring, clearly amused at your outdated usage of language. You cringed internally, mentally cursing the British family that you were with for two years from the age of five for forcing you into greeting people this way.
"It's nice to meet you to," his warm hand grasped yours and let go with a firm shake.
"Come on," said Seungmin, cocking his head towards the stairs in front of you.
You followed his slowly, taking in the houses beauty. Somehow, everything worked with everything. This must have been artistic living.
Seungmin opened his sister's bedroom door and motioned you to go in. You gave him a small smile, if it could be called that, and shut the door. When you turned around, you were met with a lot of surprise.
When Mrs. Kim mentioned that Seungmin was cleaning up the room for you, you were prepared to face a light skimming and dusting of things. In reality though, everything was meticulously arranged and kept in it's place.
Such level of neatness was slightly terrifying.
You changed and kept your things to one side. When you came out, you went downstairs with the clear intention of trying to get a read on the enigmatic Kim Seungmin.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
This was going to be a disaster.
Both you and Seungmin were quiet by nature. Albeit for different reasons, you both sat awkwardly, waiting for the other person.
Seungmin was quiet because he liked observing. He was a listener, and enjoyed hearing what others had to say rather than talking himself. He found the art of listening to be the most brilliant that there was.
You, on the other hand, were forced into being quiet to the point where you forgot what it was like to hold meaningless conversation. All your life, you had been taught that the key to a successful life in the foster system was to remain submissive and deferential.
You never even bothered to make connections with people. You had learnt the hard way that when you bounced around houses and cities, it was difficult to maintain contact with people. You had made up your mind at just the tender age of eight that making friends, hell even acquaintances, was pointless. You were just saving yourself and the other person from future heartbreak.
As a result of being alone so much, you didn't exactly know how to hold conversation with people in your age range.
"So, uh, wanna do something?" Seungmin asked.
You shrugged. "Sure."
You both sat in his basement, a bowl of popcorn in between and half drunk iced tea beside you. Seungmin was very respectful, not once brining up your living situation. He brought the drink to his lips and downed the rest (which was very little) in one go.
"Okay, um, twenty questions?" He asked.
You instantly felt discomfort rise in you. Ah, here it was. His opening to ask you intrusive questions. "I- fine," you relented.
You were ready for whatever shade he was going to throw at you. He didn't ask about your personal life apart from the usual questions (favorite color, movie, etc.) a single time. You were slowly warming up to him.
"Last question. What's something you haven't told anyone?" asked Seungmin innocently.
You snorted, "Why would I tell you that?"
Seungmin smirked, "I mean, I'm very trustworthy. Plus, it's always better to tell your secrets to a stranger rather than a person you know."
You found it strange, but conceded. It felt nice to talk to someone after so long.
"You know the pillow I brought with me, right? That's the most important thing in my life. I was found near a train station laid on top of it, covered in a blanket and a sweater. Those were taken away from me a long time ago, but the pillow was something I fought to keep."
You finished nonchalantly, suppressing a laugh at Seungmin's expression of pure shock.
"I was expecting something along the lines of breaking something fancy or something. I mean, I was going to tell you about the time I broke into my parents liquor closet but chickened out and never drank anything."
You regarded him with a guarded smile. Kim Seungmin was an enigma, but for the first time in your life, he was one which you felt an odd temptation to solve.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The second time you slept over at his childhood home was full of fear and anticipation that was directed towards your college entrance exams tomorrow.
Although the Jangs never formally adopted you, you had stayed with them for close to two years now. You formed an interesting bond with Seungmin: you weren't quite friends, but you understood each other on a deeper level.
Seungmin was easily the only person you would talk to. You both started engaging in combined study sessions, filled with silence interrupted only by a pen scratching against paper or a groan of frustration.
The night before, you needed to go to Seungmin's house to revise. Or rather, to confess.
You were pacing in his room as he lay on his bed. Seungmin was on his back, flipping through one of his textbooks. Finally, he let out a sigh.
"Alright. What is it?" he asked.
"I need to get the top score," you insisted. Seungmin looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Everyone does," he said matter of factly.
"No, everyone wants it, but I need it," you repeated.
Silence with Seungmin was never uncomfortable, post your initial interaction. Silence with Seungmin alleviated your tensions. This silence, however, felt pressing.
"Tell me something you have never told anyone," he asked you quietly.
The routine asking of this question had become a habit between you two now. Whenever you noticed that the other was shifty, holding something back, this was their cue to tell you what was wrong.
"I'm being selfish," you groaned, "I need to so that my name gets published somewhere, anywhere, so that my birth parents know I'm alive and find me. I'm not giving them the liberty of me searching for them. They lost that a long time ago. If they want me, it's them who need to look for me."
You plopped onto Seungmin's office chair and pointlessly spun in circles. He studied you carefully.
After a pause, he responded, "I'll be honest. You are being selfish. You want this, no, apparently need this for reasons that have nothing to do with your future studies, which is what college entrance exams are all about. But considering you situation, I believe it's completely justified."
You instantly felt at ease. This boy you only know for two years astoundingly always knew the right thing to say.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
You and Seungmin had the house to yourself. His parents were visiting his sister, helping her settle into her new apartment. You ads Seungmin had to share his room, the other rooms stored with his sister's things that needed to be moved.
You were practically asleep in his bedroom but an uneasy churning in your stomach kept you awake. You could hear Seungmin lightly open the door and step inside.
"Wait, I'm gonna go get the air mattress," he voiced in the dark room.
You turned towards him. "No, just sleep with me."
"You sure?" He asked.
Seungmin knew about your hesitancy towards forming attachments and committing. You hummed in affirmation, knowing that he would get little to no sleep on the air mattress and wouldn't let you sleep on it either.
He slid in beside you, his face facing yours. You both just looked into each other's eyes until you broke away, turning to the other side. Seungmin felt a part of his heart chip away for reasons he couldn't really identify.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
You felt bile work it's way up your throat and knew you wouldn't be able to suppress it. Carefully getting out of bed to make sure Seungmin didn't wake up, you made your way to the bathroom.
Routinely swallowing your vomit, you got to the bathroom and without even switching on it's lights, heaved out the contents of your stomach as quietly as possible.
Or so you thought. A drowsy Seungmin materialized at the doorway, turning on the light and watching you in concern. You flushed the toilet and violently splashed your face with water.
"Being half asleep is a very good look on you," he mumbled dryly.
"Likewise," you panted, an apologetic expression on your face.
You hated physical touch. Seungmin knew you hated physical touch. But when you reached over to lightly squeezed his hand as an apology, Seungmin felt a similar constriction in his chest.
To Kim Seungmin, you were a mystery he hadn't quiet solved, but he was still, willing to do anything for you, and the unfamiliarity of such a feeling scared him beyond belief.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The third time you slept over at his childhood home was full of nostalgia and memories.
You both were twenty two, finishing up your undergraduates, when you mentioned to Seungmin in passing that you would be in town on your way for an assignment that would require you to travel. Seungmin jumped at the idea of you staying with him, since he was house sitting for his parents that very weekend.
Seungmin would be lying if he said that he wasn't hurt by your slowly decreasing contact. Conversation between you both slowly dwindled, but he never pried as to why. He understood that you rarely ever maintained an attachment, and that he was lucky for what he had.
You wondered what it would be like when you went back. The Jangs had never fostered a child after you, but never called you their daughter. They maintained contact with you but never attended events like graduation.
Still, deep down, at the end of the day, you knew you carried two things in your heart: Your now battered pillow and Seungmin.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
You both were sitting in his backyard, legs crossed over each other on Seungmin's folding chairs. Stars littered the sky the way they littered his eyes, and you couldn't help but be entranced by the wistful gaze that Seungmin held.
"Tell me something you have never told anyone," you asked, leaning your head over, near his shoulder. Just a few inches, and it would placed on it.
Just a few inches, and everything would mean something.
Seungmin knew his words carried gravity, but he was tired of walking on coal around you.
"I missed you," he said, a near whisper.
You stilled. "Your turn," came his voice after an eternity.
"I talk to my pillow sometimes. I pretend like it's a family member. It stopped, when I used to live here. But it grew in frequency during college. There is something inherently wrong with me, and I think that it's either me being undeserving of love or me never having been loved."
When your voice finally faded, Seungmin turned to look at you. Your eyes were glassy and unfocused. He wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into you, tell you that you were loved. Hell, he was proof, if you needed it.
"You're loved. If you weren't you wouldn't be here," Seungmin said hoarsely.
You snorted in response. "Yeah, I sure as hell wouldn't be here if I was loved."
Your words stung but Seungmin wasn't deterred. "I love you," he said softly.
Your eyes widened fractionally and you turned to look at him. "What?"
"No," he laughed, "Not that way. I love you as a friend, a confidant, as someone I know I can always talk too. Not... whatever it was you were thinking."
You visibly eased under the effects of his words, but noticed that Seungmin didn't do the same. His body was still tense, still rigid.
"What is it?" you asked.
"I- I know I said I love you as a friend but," Seungmin's voice faltered.
"But?" you prodded, your own heartbeat increasing with each passing moment.
"I would be falsifying my emotions if I said there weren't times when I wanted to love you in different ways as well. Romantically. Intimately. Devotionally," he added in an uncharacteristically shy tone, "If you'll have me."
And you realized, with a start that you did want him. But doubts started plaguing your mind, started seeping into your body and mixing with your being. What is the pain of it was so irreparable that you would never be able to love, if you ever could in the first place, again?
"What if I can't recognize your love for love?" you questioned meekly.
"Then I'll say it to you everyday. Platonically at first, romantically, maybe, afterwards, but I'll say it to you every single day. If every hour if you want me too. Because it's the truth."
You felt the warmth that accompanied thoughts of Seungmin blooming in the pits of your stomach. Or maybe it was the barbecued chicken you just ate. In the heat of the moment, you weren't quite that sure.
"And what if I can't love you? All I have ever known towards this world is hate."
"Then I'll teach you. We have all the time in the world to do so. If all you have known is hate, then love should come easily. They're very similar emotions," Seungmin said softly.
He hesitantly moved his hand towards yours, and laced his fingers through the pads of your knuckles. You did the same and moved you head to place it on his shoulder. Now, everything did mean something.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The fourth time you had slept over at his childhood home, Seungmin taught you that love could be found in every aspect of the world.
It was hidden in the way sparrows flew towards each other in the summer, in the way mothers looked at their children and the way a child looked at candy. It came in droppings, reflected in the way you felt about rain and cherry blossoms.
Seungmin taught you how love was found in the grand and the simple.
Love was when he sent you large bouquets of roses that you had know idea where to keep and the surprise picnics you planned for him. It was the coffee he prepared for you every morning without question and the way you paused whatever you were watching when he had to step out for a phone call.
At the Kim house, you experienced even more love.
Sisterly love, when Seungmin's sister showed off the clothes she brought for you. Maternal love, when Mrs. Kim squealed in excitement when she spotted you holding Seungmin's hand. Paternal love, when Mr. Kim placed a bet against his team while giving you a wink. Brotherly love, when Seungmin's cousin tried to steal food off your plate.
You felt love everywhere, and slowly but surely, you spread love everywhere.
That night, Seungmin held you close and sang into your hair the way he did every night.
"I love you," he yawned, and snuggled into you.
And, you wanted to say it back. Mustering up the courage, you replied, "I think I love you too. No, I know I love you too."
Seungmin looked at you in astonishment and you realized that you were right all along.
He did have stars in his eyes.
You didn't know much about love. You were still learning, still faltering. But you knew one thing for certain: the love you held for Seungmin and the love he held for you would never go away.
please reblog and comment if you liked this fic! it means everything to me and I love reading your thoughts <3
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Do you have any HCs for the Viera? I have been loving your HCs for the Miqo, the Lalafell and the Elezen, I'd love to hear about the Viera!
LES BNUUYS I’ve had this in my drafts forever and just not drawn a viera until now I’ve been lazy—
las bunuys I think get a lot of very similar treatment to everyone else. which mostly means More Bunny. I like to think they’re almost satyr-like and have the most animal leg out of everyone, they have long fuzzy digitigrade legs and long paws! The heels in game is to lengthen their legs to give the illusion of bunny (and also. conventionally attractive), but in the world this is so their heels have relaxed support while they stand for long periods of time doing guarding and stuff. They don’t actually need them. They’re also way tall but not as tall when they’re just relaxed and standing on their heels so what is their real height. their noses are very cute and wiggly. they have little fluffy curled tails which are also very cute. they chatter or grind like rabbits do when they’re happy, but since they don’t have continuously growing teeth like rabbits do, their back teeth just happen to be Insanely Tough. Some parts of Othard don’t have a “lucky rabbits foot” thing they have a “lucky rabbits tooth” thing. I think Dalmasca is in Othard. Viera DO stomp and binky and it IS cute except for when they stomp and it leaves a little crater.
Viera also have the bunny trait of playing “im happier than you” when they don’t get along with someone, which is a competition of showing dominance or confidence by being the chiller person in the room. They might sit down or sprawl uncharacteristically and if you know they don’t like you, this is not them getting comfortable around you, this is an insult. Sometimes Viera can come off as a little uptight and paranoid? This is probably because they can seem stiff on account of being polite, which body language is “stay very still and be very attentive”. If they didn’t grow up around other viera, these two things might not be present. They are cultural traits.
Like hares, viera don’t have a tapetum lucidum, so despite being very sharpsighted they do not have perfect night vision. but unlike hares, viera are omnivores. Also like hares, they come in a lot of colors! Anything from pure black to stark white to brown to red to almost purple. Some viera, like the veena, will change seasonally from white to brown furred. Sometimes viera will have patterns in their fur, like dots or patches, but it’s pretty rare to have rabbits with patterned skin aside from the large amount of them that have freckles. Except, like miqote, in viera born from a viera/hyur couple. There is something in hyur genetics that turns on Patterns: The Gene. scientifically significant!
This is my child she kicks like a HORSE
they also have claws. They are NOT retractable! be so careful. Also viera leverets can stand up and start walking by two days old, but this doesn’t mean their brain is any more developed than another race at two days old, so be. so careful.
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Modern AU: Norton Campbell
You've heard of modern reader? Well now it's time for Modern canon!
- Previously, he worked in the oil industry, but a nasty accident he doesn’t speak about has left him with his fair share of burn scars. Norton now works as an independent contractor, known around town as a do-it-all type of handyman. He rarely works with or for group projects, preferring to be hired directly by property owners for the work they need done. He’s his own boss, and he makes his own schedule, but he’s a workaholic.
- He was raised by his uncle Benny after his parents died when he was still very young—his mother shortly after childbirth, due to complications, and his father in a work-related accident. Benny’s health deteriorated fast, though, and as soon as he was legally able Norton picked up a part-time job to help pay the bills and build a college fund. (Or several, more like, and he was known to bounce around for better pay.)
-Some time in his senior year of high school, he discovered that Benny was keeping secrets; Benny had not only convinced his father to stay in the oil industry after he was born, but wasted and gambled away all the life insurance money from his death. Enraged and betrayed, Norton dropped out of school and left. He drove as far away as he could with the little money he had, and then lived out of his truck for a while. Eventually, he made enough money to rent a shitty little motel room by the week, and then a shitty little apartment.
-After leaving, he at first went into the oil industry like his old man and Benny had been—it was something he was familiar enough with and hard labor paid better than being a busboy again. But after a few years there was an accident which left him with several burn scars. He was left in pain for a long time, but the worker’s comp paid for most of his medical bills and his rent, giving him just enough time to get his GED. After that, he started into construction, plumbing, and other handiman things he was knowledgeable in after years of being poor and self-sufficient.
-The accident, this time, was more of an ACTUAL accident. Norton had a disagreement with some of the coworkers he hated. There was an altercation, and something ignited…and Norton was the only one who got out. He doesn’t talk about it, mostly out of shame and a sense of guilt, but he copes by telling himself they deserved it.
- He drives the same beat-up old pickup truck Benny bought for him as a kid. It was transferred into his name when he was 18, so Benny can’t swipe it from under his nose. (Legally, anyway.) He could probably get a loan and buy a new car, but at this point he prefers to keep the old hunk of junk. Maybe he’s sentimental, or maybe the weekly maintenance he has to do on it is just therapeutic in a way.
-Not a super techy guy. He keeps up with industry news and learns new skills often, but his truck, his phone, and most of his home appliances are older. He’s good enough with fixing things that he hasn’t bothered to replace them.
-He’s not much of a decorator, either, but he’s good at thrifting and building his own furniture with recycled materials. His apartment/home is a bit of a hodgepodge, with mostly bare walls, but what he does have I impressive in its own way. Any décor he has is likely gifted.
-He’d like to own a home one day, but he’s playing things by ear. He realizes that might be asking a lot while he’s got no real support system.
-He’s a fair cook, but a lot of what he makes could be called “struggle meals.” They’re what he’s been used to for a long time.
-He’s a little paranoid about pumping gas into his truck, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. On his days off, he tends to walk to take public transit to save some money and gas mileage.
-He’s that guy with a 7-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, bodywash etc men’s soap. Someone please teach him better ways.
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S1E1 – In The Beginning Write Up P3
– Five Years Later (allegedly) and The Present Day
Alright so let’s address the elephant in the room here shall we? The signpost tells us, in no uncertain terms, that the story line has moved on by five years. I have a serious issue with that assertion, and it’s not just because this is in direct contradiction to the storyline in the book. It goes a little something like this:
I cannot believe that Aziraphale and Crowley have left the Antichrist alone for the first five years of his life.
Even if we’re generous here and say that Crowley steps in to replace a nanny that has been present for Warlock’s early years, it simply doesn’t make any sense that they would have sat back and let him develop on his merry way for the most influential years of his life (sorry Neil, but I will die on this hill). The book’s timeline here makes a lot more sense – that both Aziraphale and Crowley are inserted into Warlock’s life within a week of his birth, Aziraphale as the gardener and Crowley as the nanny. At the age of five, they both leave and return immediately as tutors for him, ensuring that they are both present for his entire childhood. With that in mind, I’m going to do something potentially controversial and adopt the book timeline as fact. It just makes more sense. Also that will make my fanfic ideas not only possible but genuinely really feasible. Honestly, I don’t know why the timeline deviates from the book here – this matter aside, the series is a truly excellent adaptation of the book (judged by the fact that I never said “that’s not how it happened in the book” for the whole of series 1. There are a lot of media writers that could learn a lot from Neil on this point – I’m looking at you Discovery of Witches series 2 creative team).
There are two things I find interesting about the short scene that follows (no, one of them is not how well David carries off a skirt, though I do really appreciate the Mary Poppins reference with that costume). Firstly, the positioning of Aziraphale as a gardener. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that the idea of a garden is brought up again, but I can’t quite make the connection myself. Perhaps there isn’t meant to be one. That said, I would have thought, given his character, Aziraphale might have been more suitable as something like a butler (it would even give him the opportunity to steal food!), which would likely give him more opportunity to interact with Warlock throughout his childhood, so I do feel like there’s something here.
On a tangential (and impossible-to-be-related) note, I saw Nye a few days ago (a play about the founder of the NHS, starring Michael, for those who don’t know what this is) and there was a line in it about Nye and his wife believing their love to be like a garden – he planted the love and she tended to it. It was truly beautiful and touching. I felt like I had a sort of light bulb moment about gardens in GO and then realised that the two productions have nothing to do with one another!
The second thing I noted about this sequence is more something of note than something that has meaning. Having discussed the music/soundtrack for this series in a previous write up, it should come as no surprise that there is a cute little parallel here: the melody Crowley uses for the lullaby he sings to Warlock is the same as the melody for the second motif in the theme tune. It’s slowed down quite considerably, but still recognisable.
Original theme:
Lullaby:
I have to say, I’m a little disappointed we don’t get to hear the rendition of “Three Little Pigs” that we’re treated to in the book. I am not ashamed to say that I laughed very long and very hard when I read it – I have a pretty dark sense of humour. Perhaps this was a little too much for the good ol’ BBC?
Quick item of note from the next scene at Heaven/Hell HQ – this series has escalators instead of an elevator. I had originally assumed that this was the same building as we see being used in series 2 to gain access to Heaven but looking at the background when Crowley and Aziraphale enter the building, it’s clear that it’s a completely different building, which just makes me wonder where exactly the HQ entrance is. There’s a really clever piece of editing at use here too, one which I actually didn’t spot until I was doing this write up.
I hadn’t noticed previously that the duplicate image of the escalator on the floor of the lobby ISN’T a reflection of the physical escalators. On the left, we can see Crowley’s image on a set of escalators going down, whilst we see no reflection of Aziraphale. We even get to see Crowley approach the escalator in the “reflection” after he disappears through the floor, whilst Aziraphale’s reflection disappears from the floor as he approaches the stairs, and both of these things happen as they walk across an area that ripples like water under their feet. I don’t think there’s any hidden meaning in this, I just think it’s a really cool piece of film.
When we see the angel and demon giving their reports to their respective head offices, it’s made clear to us that neither authority has any awareness of their collaboration. In fact, Aziraphale is still held in high esteem by Gabriel and Michael (though perhaps not Uriel and Sandalphon – those two always look like someone just pissed on their nice suits) and is even given permission to continue on his apparently futile mission. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Crowley, but as Liggur said earlier in the episode, it would be a funny thing if demons could trust one another anyway.
It’s nice to see that Heaven isn’t so busy that it can’t produce a newspaper for its earthbound agents, complete with weak headlines, worthy of any local rag:
I do not think it a coincidence that the newspaper has been given the title of “Observer” – after all, it’s pretty much all they do up there isn’t it? Watch people? Other than planning Armageddon I mean…
The short scene on the bus also shows us a little more of the dynamic between Crowley and Aziraphale when it comes to planning. It’s clear that the angel is relying on the demon to lead the way and he looks really worried when it’s made apparent that Crowley doesn’t have a plan for a potential emergency situation.
Quick note about the Hell Hound – he’s being housed in a room with a number on it – 2549. Does this mean there have been 2548 Hell Hounds before him? Hastur certainly indicates that he isn’t the only Hell Hound they have (but he is the biggest). Where are the rest of them?
The conversation (which takes place in the grounds of Crystal Palace Dinosaur Park - the repeated reference to dinosaurs being a big joke in this scene is not lost on me) on the park bench is the first time we hear Crowley call Aziraphale by the name “Angel”. Neil has confirmed (here and here) that this isn’t anything other than a factual name to use but I can’t help but feel like it’s affectionate. It’s certainly very familiar and it’s interesting to see that Aziraphale doesn’t repay the favour; perhaps this is to do with the meaning of the words – after all, calling someone “demon” doesn’t feel very polite, does it? Or perhaps it’s just that “Aziraphale” is a bit of a mouthful to say. This is also the first time we are let in to the secret of them having their own side:
AZIRAPHALE: And if he does name it?
CROWLEY: Then you and I have lost.
The conversation around the potential murder of an 11-year-old boy presents an interesting side of the relationship between the pair. I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that the suggestion that Aziraphale is capable of killing an innocent child (even if he is the Antichrist) is nothing short of laughable, and Crowley would know this. This suggestion is shared with a rare occurrence of Crowley communicating “secretly” with Aziraphale where the angel doesn’t get the message, and the irony is that Crowley isn’t even being that subtle about it. There’s no doubt that Aziraphale really doesn’t get the drift though:
It’s painful to watch Aziraphale’s thought process here. He knows that Crowley’s logic actually makes sense but he can’t tally that with his own moral compass – it’s a struggle that I think the vast majority of us would go through if put in the same position. Sadly, it’s not like Crowley has much other choice than to suggest Aziraphale does the deed – if he were to do it himself, the repercussions for him would be unthinkable. It’s clear that this is the first time he has raised this idea in the eleven years they’ve been doing this job together and he can’t even say it without his voice breaking (see “one life against the universe”), and once it’s clear that Aziraphale isn’t open to the idea he doesn’t push him or lose his temper. He watches Aziraphale carefully for the whole exchange, without changing his expression, which I take to mean he’s watching for any signs that he’s pushing him too far. All of this tells me he’s only done it because they’re getting desperate.
Alright, it’s time to move on to the little “magic” routine. I find this whole sequence adorable - can we say 1941 vibes? I do find it interesting just how quickly Aziraphale’s mood changes with the idea of him being able to perform some magic again – he’s gone from the contemplation of the ethics of an actual trolley problem (see here if you don’t know what that is) to a smiling, bubbly angel complaining that his companion is “no fun” in mere seconds. For someone who lives their life in eons of centuries instead of years or decades, he’s a remarkably fickle being! It’s pretty blurry in this shot, but just look how happy this angel is:
The hidden communication thread is resumed at normal operation here as Crowley knows exactly what Aziraphale means when he says he could “entertain” – he knows exactly what he means by this and is not amused by the implications.
I also find Crowley’s use of the word “demeaning” an interesting choice here. Usually we might say embarrassing; in fact the dictionary definition of demeaning is to lower the character of somebody, or to make them feel less respected. Whilst I can fully understand why Crowley might be embarrassed by Aziraphale’s pathetic attempts at illusionary magic, I am less clear on why he would find it demeaning. UNLESS. Unless my suppositions about the state of their relationship are correct, in which case they would have already been together (romantically) for almost eleven years at this point. Then it makes a weird sort of sense.
The comic little squabble that follows also makes perfect sense in this context. This couple are in no mood to compromise on this matter; Aziraphale will not be told that he’s a shit magician because he has too much fun doing it (this despite the fact that we know he and Crowley agreed he shouldn’t do magic anymore, but unlike in 1941, there’s no risk of anybody getting hurt if he drops a coin on the floor) and Crowley will not concede that he’s being a killjoy (which goes quite against his character). The spat concludes with Crowley delivering a passive-aggressive threat to Aziraphale, which you can see he instantly reconsiders with a head tilt - probably wise considering how unimpressed the angel is with it.
Side note: the watch that Crowley is wearing (seen at Warlock’s birthday party) appears to be a Devon Tread 1 A, coming in at a cool 18.5K (dollars). The book does make mention of his watch being fucking fashionably expensive but it was custom made for him, with an extra time zone for “Another Place” where the time is always “Too Late”.
Another side note: how many dens did you make as a child? A fair few I’d bet if you were anything like me. Did they ever look as cool as the one that The Them has? Me neither. I mean, just look at all those guns and skeletons used for decoration:
Once we’re back at the book shop, I find it interesting that Aziraphale is intending to imbibe (we don’t actually see him drink any of it) whatever spirit he’s given to Crowley. I’ve no doubt it’s good quality, it’s just unusual to see him drinking hard liquor – perhaps this is simply due to the seriousness of the situation he finds himself in. Their conversation about lying in memos to head office also suggests that Crowley might not be the only one lying to his bosses:
CROWLEY: Everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office, you know that.
Is it me, or is there a sense of “I told you so” to Aziraphale’s lack of sympathy towards Crowley’s despair? Some might say it’s reminiscent of the way a stereotypical nagging wife speaks to their long-suffering husband when he’s done something wrong…
In amongst the dark threat of impending Armageddon, we’re still treated to a little comedy (and perhaps another Clue as to the current status of the relationship between the angel and demon). Crowley’s snappy, and ill-considered, outburst in response to Aziraphale’s almost apologetic confession that he’s wearing a new cologne is well worth a word or two. Let’s say for a second that this pair are not romantically involved at this point in time – is it not a bit strange to think that the person you’re with knows you so well that they would detect that you’re wearing a different perfume than usual? I would think you’d have to be spending a LOT of time in VERY close proximity to that person for that piece of information to be anywhere near their radar. And what’s with the angel’s apologetic tone? Why would you feel the need to be sorry about trying out a new cologne? Aziraphale doesn’t look particularly shocked when Crowley announces that he knows what he smells like, and Crowley’s tone and facial expression suggests he thinks this piece of knowledge is a pretty obvious one.
Here’s my last observation for this episode. Check out just how earnest Crowley is in this delivery:
Despite Aziraphale’s response that he thinks he obviously would, I don’t really feel like he believes this stance, and he’d do anything not to believe that what Crowley is saying is true.
And so concludes the first episode! If you’ve made it this far through my write-up(s) so far, I commend and thank you. I’ll start work on the next episode over the next few days, but in the meantime I’ll also write a master post that I’ll add to as I go along. As always, comments, questions, discussions and any other engagements are welcome.
#good omens#episode analysis#aziracrow#good omens season 1#ineffable idiots#ineffable husbands#good omens gabriel#hastur good omens#good omens ligur#good omens michael#good omens uriel#good omens sandalphon#hellhound#good omens adam#head canon#alternative timeline
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Some Pico, Darnell and Nene headcanons
-Pico stims by scratching the side of his gun with his thumb. In the events he's without a weapon, he'll just scratch his own palm.
-Darnell is the smartest among his friend group. He also serves as most of his group's impulse control.
-Nene has a mild case of spectrophobia. Her bathroom mirror is covered up by a hand towel, and she'll generally avoid rooms with mirrors unless she needs to.
-Pico has a small hard drive connected to his PC. on it, contain a shit ton of sfw files of various flash pieces, mostly from Negrounds, as his own private archive. His long standing grudge at Adobe for killing flash is, thus far, unsatisfied
-Darnell, whenever he's home, will put on one of those "ambient fireplace noises background noise" Youtube videos. He can't really sleep or even relax without one of those playing
-Nene was really big on the show '1000 Ways to Die' while it was still airing. She bought a bootleg 'complete series DVD' of the show once.
-Pico's favorite food is macaroni and cheese, Darnell's is onion rings and Nene's is cinnamon toast
-Pico and Darnell spar kind of a lot. Sometimes when angry, sometimes when just bored. Darnell is usually the one to patch both of them up afterward
-Darnell usually walks Nene home at the end of the day, once the three are done hanging out. He's mostly just wanting to make sure she doesn't try to hurt herself on the way back. Pico tags along too, just in case anyone else tries to jump on them. Safety in numbers and all that.
-Nene can and will run her mouth off to anyone to listen to her special interest, seals. Usually, that person is Pico. He doesn't exactly care for the animal, but he hates not having any noise going on, to keep any bad thoughts away
On their relationship with Boyfriend (when not hired to kill him at least):
-Boyfriend and Pico, of course, dated for a bit of time, having met when BF was on an unguided tour of (read, broke into) the Newgrounds hq. The two hit it off pretty good, at least, at first. Boyfriend found Pico's contract killer life a bit too much for him, something that gave him a mild case of insomnia. Pico, having experienced what he did and having never forget what it did to him, agreed he didn't want BF to go through what he did and agreed to break it off after they talked it out. He didn't exactly feel he could leave the life behind, anyways, what would his friends say?
-Darnell and Boyfriend get along great. The two of them follow each other on Soundcloud at least, and they often hang out. The two actually collabed on a song. "Fresh - Boyfriend Mix" - which was a gift for GF.
-Nene, as soon as he heard BF and Pico broke up, immediately went like, "Oh, you want me to kill em then?", something Pico had to correct pretty fast. BF thankfully went by unharmed, mostly, but still gets a little nervous around Nene. Pico assures him that Nene won't just up and kill him without reason, but BF likes to play it a bit more cautious. She does love her knives after all.
On their relationship with Girlfriend:
-when the ex of your lover is still their friend, things can usually be a bit contentious, but GF doesn't want it to be that way. This is why she's usually super nice to Pico whenever he's around. She's usually the one to pay for stuff when she, BF and Pico's crew hang around, rich parents and all. Pico finds it a bit odd, but isn't gonna just turn down her hospitality. He does find it odd, though, that BF broke up with him because his lifestyle was too much...and then went on to date a demon.
-Darnell and GF both have a mild fascination with fire, so they usually bond over that. Sometimes, they go out back to her family's trash pit just to throw shit in and watch it burn. Boyfriend sometimes joins as well, but he has a bit habit of leaning too close in and getting his hat caught on fire.
-Nene and GF are fairly good friends. The two hang out a lot for 'gal's nights out', where they chat about their friends, family, and usually just watch shit on Newgrounds together. One special time, GF was going on about how BF and GF protect each other, and Nene mentions her contract killer gig, and brings up if anyone wanted to hurt Boyfriend. Girlfriend shut the idea down there, stating 'if anyone tries to hurt boyfriend, their not even gonna have time to smell his breath before I come in to take them out.' Nene was all, 'heh, yeah right. I'm sure if I wanted, I could kill 'em', Girlfriend wanted to challenge that, something that Nene agreed to and, no less than twelve hours later, Nene woke up in a hospital bed from the fight she tried to start with her. Thankfully, GF agreed to pay the medical bill.
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having watched good omens 2, i am definitely thinking about some crossover involving jane austen and the 1810 clerkenwell diamond robbery, crowley, clara oswald and possibly the doctor thrown in
#clara's line about jane austen being an excellent kisser livea rent free in my head#i've had a fic idea based on that remark and the 'i love her. take that any way you like' comment in my head for around 7 years now#also having done a quick google it seems like there was no clerkenwell diamond robbery of 1810#which leaves a lot more room to play with things#not that i need more fic ideas#but the david tennant link is just too good#good omens 2#doctor who#good omens spoilers#lit talks#jane austen
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me: i figured out how to open my play!
also me: researching brussels zuid/midi station intensively
#these things are important to me so if anyone can tell me which platform is the intercity direct to amsterdam thats lekker#i love it when things are annoyingly accurate and like yea#i would have just used antwerp BUT BUT BUT he's in wallonia theres a running thing with that#bc everyone is like 'oh how was flanders' and he's like... bro#its a running joke with the whole merel rooijakkers verse actually#so in that case brussels zuid/midi makes more sense even though i remember the antwerp platform#orginally the opening was about the value of goud but i think thats too cliche and i should just open the play with dirk-jan leaving#but yeah im the person that phonetically wrote out amsterdam metro announcements in dutch just for that sense of accuracy bc its the detail#and now i have a duty to include that scene#but also merel reveals some crucial information about herself in that scene so thats fun#the part where she explains that shes so connected to language she knows theres nothing that she can't express in that language#(yeah shes one on THOSE ppl)#and then at the end we find out that the breakup affects her so much she can't express how shes feeling#but the fact i phonetically transcribe this shit in dutch? like sat in my little amsterdam room and copied it down...#says a lot about how i care too much about certain details and not too much about others lol#anyways im in my hometown rn what else am i gonna do lmao i hate this place#dutch language found dead
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kingdom staff finally heard my plea and they made ten cute this week :)
egg-shaped, as she should be, thanks ❤️
also a couple of additional lines between her and shin where he talks abt how they’ve only made up ground because of her…
cute for him to acknowledge it out loud like this!
also cute is shin & kyou kai’s campfires of dreams sequence…
the perfect little resolution to their conflict from ten plot, both in shin’s goofy apology and kyou kai insisting on bullying him a little bit about it, and then her comparing his relationship with ten to hers with shou just to confirm we’re all on the same page. and the conversation moving seamlessly into their shared goal/ending w kyou kai’s bit abt making general before shin… they are so sweet
tou and roku omi also have their adjacent scene where tou explains his Mentorship Scheme (his ou ki impression is so fun to hear out loud…) and the significance of this battle for shin and ou hon (and the manga had a panel of mou ten that i’m a little disappointed we didn’t get to see..) in terms of making a name for themselves by defeating someone else who has recently made a name for himself. which is the core & whole point of the arc, but I do think when shin is describing the situation (in extremely similar terms to tou in the other scene, which is just innately cute, he’s so on the right track!!) his phrasing does unintentionally cast light on a very funny aspect of the plan…
With all possible love in my heart, I don’t think it’s fair to say that this guy almost toppled kankoku pass lol. Like it’s an extremely valuable aspect of his character to me that he Is Legitimately Very Talented (and tou has good reason to believe this, I love that the arc opens with him immediately knowing that it’s hou mei he’s losing against) and that he *is* an opponent worth beating, but I just think it’s cute that he’s made such a name for himself off a campaign where all he did was get his siege towers burnt down and used against him, *and* that this newfound fame is the specific reason why he’s about to get curb-stomped by a bunch of teenagers. proud of my baby ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Oh, and also the best frame from this week is of course this one of shin and kyou kai in combat
woosh!!!
#hit image limit in the post but I think my talk last week abt making everyone Cuter really manifested this ep into reality#I have a whole lot of shin caps saved just bc they made him look cute too which we almost never get#moe kingdom real 🙏#they are still being mean to ou hon but I’ve accepted that no one except hara knows how to make his design look good. and even he was Better#txt#kingdomposting#AND ALSO the hou mei and ka rin from tou’s monologue… So Cute#I also just love the premise of tou putting them on the same level of New Rising Stars from the coalition army#like I think ka rin did objectively more (she contributed nearly as much at the pass while also almost winning her own battlefield)#but the two of them in that arc Are neat little parallels in terms of both just sitting back and Waiting for their plans to play out#and both ultimately being undone not by any fault of their own but bc of a failing on the part of general they were partnered with!#but also hou mei going >:3c when sei kai died vs ka rin having a tantrum and leaving when kan mei lost lol#////edit. returning to this post months later. I got them backwards#hou mei’s >:3 is when kan mei dies and ka rin’s tantrum is About kan mei but doesn’t come until ou sen’s reinforcements arrive#same net point tho. now back to the original tags of this post////#and all of that vs him aggressively playing the straight man at all the generals’ meetings while ka rin completely dominates the room…#wanna reread coalition again lol#WAIT— ALSO: RI BOKU SCENE#tou’s whole thing here is about how all the other great generals of this era are Looking At This Battlefield#but the only one we actually see reacting to it is ri boku :’)
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Haunted
Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.
Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)
You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.
How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.
Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like.
And perhaps that's what it was.
Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.
And it was wrong—so wrong.
“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.
But not this time.
He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–”
“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted.
Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.
He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later.
You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.
The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer.
Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.
Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it.
“I’m sorry—”
“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”
The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi.
“And how are you so sure—”
“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.”
It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch.
His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.
You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking.
That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.
next part ->
#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x y/n#angst#jjk angst#jjk toji#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#toji x you#toji zenin#jujutsu toji#toji fushiguro angst#toji fushigro x reader#jjk x you#jjk drabbles#rosipuree
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ATSV HEADCANON: they have a crush on you . . . ☆
warnings - none really, super fluffy and adorable :), semi-proof read so i apologize for grammatical errors if there are any! no use of name or y/n, gender-neutral reader!
word count - 2.1k
main masterlist <3
☆ . . . miles morales
I imagine you two already being well-acquainted friends with each other once he realized his feelings for you. For quite some time he had a crush on gwen but now his heart strings are pulling him towards you, so he's struggling when it comes to addressing his feelings.
If you're in the same room as Miles, he will stare. Any conversation that he was having before is long forgotten and all that's on his mind is you.
Miles doesn't need to study, he's one of the top students in school. But he continues to go on study dates with you because he likes being in your presence and sharing his headphones with you while eating yummy pastries.
He has an entire journal dedicated to you. Said journal includes: small journal entries of his day with you, little quotes of the funny/cute things you've said that stuck with him throughout the day, candid drawings of you that he created whenever you two hung out, cute sketches of you and him stargazing or slow-dancing together (and other secret drawings of him saving you as spider-man and cradling your body in his big strong arms but we won't get into that...)
Miles really can't get enough of you. He laughs extra loud at your jokes even if they aren't funny, his heartbeat quickens at the mention of your name, he'll offer you his jacket even if you don't need it, he always smiles when something reminds him of you, he'll share his headphones with you and shyly ask if you and him can make a "study playlist" (he listens to it at night while drawing you), and overall is just madly in love with you.
He wants to be with you more than anything, he's just struggling to find the right time to ask you. <3
"Hey, don't touch that! It's- No! It's not a diary, it's just...secret."
☆ . . . gwen stacy
She's pretty awkward herself. You were assigned to be partners for a project that would play a big part in your final grade, she came off slightly cold and seemed to be annoyed at your presence which made your relationship start off rocky. In reality she was just stressed, juggling her spider duties, getting kicked out of her house, and then school on top of that, it was just a lot. But when you made the effort to plan things and work around her busy schedule (that you didn't really know anything about) she started to become grateful for you.
Your parents welcomed her kindly each time she came over to study and whenever she would leave she was happy with a full belly and a sore face from smiling and laughing with you all night. The project was supposed to be done by the end of the semester but you and gwen were able to finish it the first month you got it. That didn't stop her bi-weekly visits, that then turned weekly, until she was suddenly walking home with you everyday, from and to school.
She likes to compare hands, shoes, and height just to see the difference in sizes. On walks back from school she'll give you a piggyback ride if you ask nicely. She also likes laying her head in your lap, if you run your fingers through her hair she'd be fast-asleep within 5 minutes.
You and her tend to share your oversized clothes together, You always wash her jackets/sweaters after you wear them, which she absolutely loves. She's fallen asleep curled up in your hoodie, inhaling the scent and listening to whatever song you rambled about the previous morning on repeat until she finally asks you to just make her a playlist. Hobie definitely knows about you, only because she slipped up by saying too much.
She enjoys staying over your house during rainy days. She tends to tense up whenever you're watching tv together on your bed and your head falls on her shoulder. During missions in other spider-verses gwen has taken little souvenirs from different worlds and given them to you, she always does it in a nonchalant way as if she wasn't grinning ear to ear on her way back, excited to see how you'd react.
You don't have sleepovers often but when you do they always seem more intimate than your usual hangouts. When you wake up and see gwen flustered on the other side of the bed you never understand why, not knowing that when you were fast asleep she woke up cuddled into you, nuzzling her body into yours.
"I-uhm. I-uh just had a weird dream. Nothing to worry about, heh.."
☆ . . . pavitr prabhakar
It's very obvious he has a crush on you, it might as well be written on his forehead. He follows you around like a lost puppy. He's constantly offering to carry your books, opening doors for you, paying for your snacks, and even giving you hand massages when you've been writing an essay for too long. He's just completely whipped for you and you're not even dating (yet).
You were a transfer student and he was assigned to show you around Mumbai. He found himself getting giddy at your cute reactions to the different sights he took you to. He adored how you were filled with so much curiosity and wonder, the awestruck look in your eyes when you saw the pretty lights at night and just how genuinely excited you seemed to stay and explore Mumbai. Since then, he's been glued to your side.
He's such a gentleman, you can tell he was raised right. Whenever you're talking his full attention is on you, nobody else matters in this moment but you. He'll even get a bit upset if someone cuts you off, ignoring whatever they're saying and urging you to continue. His legs feel wobbly around you, he gets dizzy at the sight of you, and he feels like he's floating whenever you smile at him.
There have been multiple occasions where you've caught him staring at you, depending on how he feels that day he'll either smirk and gently wave or quickly turn away with a blush on his face. He gushes about you to Hobie and Miles all of the time. They know so much about you and they've never even met you.
A true romantic. He buys you a singular flower one week out of the day, always explaining the meaning and where they originate from. (all of them are a variation of romance/love)
He tends to lean into you whenever you speak. More than one person has pointed out that you both tend to mirror each other's actions. He's feigning for your touch more than anything, a simple brush of your shoulders and he's full on putty in your hands.
He won't outright confront you when he figures out you like him, instead he'll invite you on a nightly walk. Taking you up to a rooftop with a gorgeous view, and gently resting his jacket on your shoulders. You'll sit for a while enjoying the scenery before he turns to you and says...
"a person as beautiful as yourself shouldn't wander this world alone.."
☆ . . . hobie brown
What a nightmare. He is constantly teasing and flirting with you. Always doubling over in laughter when he sees you get all flustered and the words you so badly wanna spew at him get stuck in your throat.
I imagine you both to be spider-people, you're a little more stuck-up than he is which is why he likes to tease you so much. Little by little your reactions fueled something deeper in him. He no-longer found himself flirting with you because he liked seeing how aggravated he could get you but because that was his way of approaching you and saying all of the things he wanted to while being able to play it off as a joke.
Besides teasing you relentlessly, he can be really caring and attentive to you when he wants to be. If you're in the medic he'll stop by pretty often to make sure you're okay. The only reason you found out is because you woke up to him fast asleep next to your bedside, feet propped on your bed and his vest laid across his torso like a blanket.
He'll eat the foods on your plate that you don't like. If you fall asleep he'll lay his vest onto your body and even move your position if it looks uncomfortable. If he senses danger before you he'll move you of the way as fast as he possibly can, but if he's not close enough he'll give you a heads up before anyone else. He tends to stare at you sometimes, always smiling gently to himself.
When you two get closer as friends he'll play any song on his guitar if you ask him nicely. He'll even give you lessons if you really want them. Carefully throwing his guitar over your torso, he brings his much larger hands to yours. You can feel his chest against your back, and the waves of his warm breath on your neck as he teaches you how to play. He'll also let you wear his jacket, saying it looks better on you than him. He might let you keep it, only in exchange for one of your jackets. (he sleeps with your jacket on, it makes him feel close to you.)
Hobie often checks up on you during missions, sometimes saying teasing phrases to get you riled up but mostly to make sure you're holding up okay. "you alright there, peaches? you took quite the hit."
Once he finds out you like him, he eases up on the teasing, but he doesn't refrain from dropping subtle hints of his knowingness that you like him. He's just waiting for you to finally say something.
"Yknow, if i ain't know any better i'd say you were doing this 'cause you like me."
☆ . . . miguel o' hara
You worked beside him in Alchemax, the two of you were assigned as partners. At first he didn't care much for you, simply telling you to stay out of his way and that he didn't need any help, but after Lyla practically forced him to be a cordial lab partner and work with you, he started to take a liking towards you. Sadly, it took months for him to tolerate you and even longer for him to like you.
Although he was quite stuck-up and practically seemed on edge most of the time, you were able to break through those confined walls and have a comfortable-playful work relationship with him. Every-time you made a joke or a light quip about his attitude he'd always respond with sarcasm, still not being able to hide the tiny smile that graced his face at your foolish acts.
He always runs his projects by you before submitting them. (and then lyla to triple check) He'll stop by and pick up empanadas from his favorite store, always boasting about how it's the best in Nueva York and you'll never taste anything better. Eventually he brings in a hefty share of empanadas that you two share over lunch time, your conversation flowing naturally without the teasing but with a fluffier feeling flowing through the air.
He pretends to be annoyed when he catches you over-working but he's genuinely worried for you. Always shaking his head in a disapproving way when he finds you fast asleep on your desk, papers scattered, and drool falling past your lips. Quietly scolding you in spanish before throwing his lab coat over your shoulders and organizing your papers neatly.
He tends to act unbothered when you do something that shows you care for him but in reality it makes his heart stutter and his stomach feel all loopy. He hates it because it makes him feel like a middle-schooler when they get their first crush but another part of him absolutely adores it and his main motivation to get up to go to work in the morning is you, although he'll never admit it.
If a co-worker is ever rude to you he will be the first to defend you, not hesitating to get in their face with a nasty scowl painting his features. On Friday's he made it his personal mission to walk you home, you two slowly walk side-by-side, quietly laughing to yourselves as you reminisce on lab accidents and old memories. There's a slight gleam in his eyes when you make it to your apartment door. He turns to you almost hesitantly, before stepping closer to you. He whispers a question, so quiet and soft you almost wouldn't be able to hear it.
"Can I kiss you?"
omg i hope you guys liked it! requests are still open btw and thank you for reading! <3
likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated <33
#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara headcanons#pavitr x reader#miles morales x reader#atsv gwen#gwen x reader#hobie brown x reader#atsv headcanons#spiderverse imagine#across the spider verse x reader#spiderman atsv imagines#spider man: across the spider verse#across the spiderverse headcanons#pavitr prabhakar x reader#miles morales headcanons#atsv x reader#atsv fluff#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader
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Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.
Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.
But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.
The Abduction is The Thing.
Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.
Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.
It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.
I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!
It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.
"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.
And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.
They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.
Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.
That's how it went.
I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:
This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!
Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.
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