D1lf-loverrr - Ruby Winchester

Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara

Sequel to Web of Secrets

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+

Part I Part II Part III (coming soon)

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ERES ESTÚPIDO! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.”  He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates. 

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

 But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

 For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him. 

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 16-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?” 

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

P.S I still can’t reply to your comment but if I missed your tag or you want to be tagged for Part 3 please comment and I’ll add you.

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I love Britain 🇬🇧

Harry and Andrew Garfield at the Valentino show in Paris - 29/09

Threads ; part one

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Language, angst, anxiety? Let me know if there's more!

A/N 💌 Part one is finally here, thank you for all being so patient with me and I promise the future parts will be better!

Interaction keeps me motivated to write, so I would love to hear your thoughts!

Series Masterlist!

The Great Hall is thrumming with activity as the anticipation of the new school year sets in. 

Sunlight pours through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue onto the tables and cold walls. The clinking of cutlery melds with the lively chatter and bursts of laughter that permeate the hall. Students eagerly catch up with their friends after the summer break, their faces illuminated with excitement and anticipation for the year ahead.

"I don’t know if I’m quite ready for this year." You admit softly. Lily, seated to your left, casts a surprised glance in your direction. Your tone carries a hint of nervousness, a stark difference from your usual excitement for the new school year.

As seventh year begins, the reality of it all felt surreal, almost as if time had slipped through your fingers without warning. Contemplating life beyond Hogwarts seemed daunting, a foggy landscape you weren't quite prepared to navigate. The thought of a future without the familiar halls and comforting routines left you feeling unsettled. Questions about your path post-Hogwarts lingered causing anxiety to tighten in your stomach. The uncertainty of what lay ahead, and where your friendships would stand in the grand scheme of things, clouded your mind.

"Because this is the year you find your soulmate?" Marlene's question hung in the air, causing your stomach to sink even further.

Soulmates were tethered by a thread, an intangible connection that tightens with proximity, drawing them closer by an irresistible pull. As their 18th birthday approached, the magnetic pull between soulmates intensified, drawing them closer together in an undeniable bond. 

Even in their younger years, soulmates could sense the faint tug of their connection, though it often was difficult to discern between fleeting infatuation and the unbreakable bond between soulmates. However, as the milestone birthday drew nearer, the pull became unmistakable, a magnetic force guiding them to their soulmate. 

At least, that's what you've heard from those who have experienced it firsthand.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” You confirm, and Lily sends you an understanding look. Neither of you had found your soulmates, while Marlene had found her soulmate in Dorcas.

The timing of finding one's soulmate varied greatly from person to person. Some discovered theirs early on in life, while others didn't find theirs until mere days before their 18th birthday. It all depended on the person and how open they were to the connection.

"We'll be going through it together." Lily says, her smile soft as she bumped her shoulder against yours. It did offer some comfort. Lily Evans had been your best friend since first year, and the thought of her being by your side made the upcoming year feel a bit more bearable.

"What if James is your soulmate?" You ask, your tone laced with playful teasing. However, Lily's hopeful expression catches you off guard, prompting you to shift your gaze towards Marlene in shock. Across the table, Marlene and Dorcas appear just as taken aback by Lily's unexpected reaction. It's a stark contrast from the adamant denials she would have offered last year.

"Maybe he is." Lily says quietly, her tone nonchalant as she offers a simple shrug, as if what she just said isn't a big deal.

“Are you..When did this happen?” Dorcas asks, and you and Marlene eye Lily curiously.

Since the moment you met him, Lily had been skillfully evading James's advances, urging him to seek out his true soulmate rather than pursuing her. Despite Lily's dismissals, James remained steadfast in his belief that she was the one destined for him. Deep down, you sensed a potential soulmate connection between them, but you never brought up the subject with Lily, knowing she would vehemently deny the idea.

Lily looks up with feigned innocence, “What?”

Marlene sighs, “Lily Evans, don’t you dare play dumb. When did your feelings towards James change?” 

"I don’t know. Over the summer, I guess, I realized I’ve been a bit unfair to him," She sighs. "He’s been nothing but kind, and I’ve just blown him off. And honestly, he was on my mind most of the summer."

"Merlin, we've barely been here for two hours, and the soulmate bonds are already starting." Marlene grins, amused.

"I didn't say I thought he was mine!" Lily cries out.

"You said maybe. That heavily implies that you do." You chuckle at the panicked look on Lily’s face, fully aware that she's going to be teased about this relentlessly.

"Have you felt a pull with him?" Dorcas asks, and Lily's cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink.

“I mean, yes. But couldn’t that just be the annoyance I feel towards him half the time?” Lily asks.

"With that logic, you and Sirius are soulmates." Marlene interjects, her grin mischievous as she takes a sip of her tea, her gaze fixed on you over the brim of her mug. Your expression sours at the mere mention of his name, a subtle shift in mood palpable in the air.

“There is no way that Sirius Black is my soulmate.” You snark, the mere thought of Sirius causing your stomach to knot with intense emotion. Hatred, you conclude.

It's the mere mention of Sirius Black that tends to stir up the worst in you. His name alone triggers a cascade of emotions within you, igniting a visceral reaction that you struggle to contain. Just the thought of him is enough to set your nerves on edge, reminding you of past conflicts and tensions that still linger beneath the surface.

It's not as though you hadn't attempted to be friendly with Sirius. Shortly after your arrival at Hogwarts, James Potter had introduced himself to you and Lily in the Gryffindor common room. He was accompanied by Remus, and while James eagerly engaged Lily in conversation, you found yourself drawn to Remus, the two of you hitting it off. You chatted for what felt like hours, so engrossed in your conversation that you barely noticed Sirius and Peter entering the common room.

However, the moment your eyes landed on Sirius, it felt as though the air had been knocked out of your lungs. For a brief second you had wondered if he was your soulmate. Everything blurred into a hazy backdrop, your eyes unable to part from his figure.

Remus didn’t miss the way you seemed to drift away from the conversation, your gaze fixed on Sirius as he made his way over to where you all were seated. You and Remus occupied the couch, while Lily and James were comfortable in their own armchairs. Sirius and Peter hovered nearby, a curious expression etched across their features, clearly unsure who the two unfamiliar girls engaged in conversation with their friends were.

Remus had introduced you while James and Lily remained preoccupied, not yet noticing the two boys, "Mates, this is Y/n," Remus had said, his warm smile welcoming.

Peter had been friendly and eager, extending his hand with enthusiasm as he shared a bit about himself. But Sirius remained silent, his expression etched with a subtle frown. When you attempted to engage him in conversation, he responded with curt one-word answers, leaving you feeling increasingly self-conscious, questioning what you might have done wrong.

Remus had assured you that Sirius wasn't usually like that, and he promised that the next time you saw him, he would likely be more talkative and outgoing. You clung to hope, eagerly anticipating a change in Sirius' demeanor, only to be met with disappointment when his behavior remained unchanged. In the company of others, he exuded friendliness, cracking jokes and radiating outgoing energy. 

Yet, when his attention turned to you, he completely shifted, hardly communicating and barely sparing you a glance.

You couldn't figure out what you might have done wrong. From the moment you met Sirius, you had been nothing but friendly, offering a warm smile and introducing yourself with genuine enthusiasm. Lily, who shared many similarities with you, greeted Sirius in much the same manner, yet he responded to her without hesitation. It left you wondering: what had been so different about your interaction with him?

Over time, frustration crept in, and you found yourself growing increasingly sarcastic or curt in your interactions with him. Before long, your relationship devolved into incessant bickering and exchanging snide comments.

Any inkling that Sirius might be your soulmate was swiftly forgotten.

"Oi! Princess! You talking about me over there?" Sirius' voice cuts through the chatter, drawing your attention to the Marauders down the table. His cocky smirk meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he overheard your conversation. But he's too far away to have eavesdropped, yet close enough to call out to you, and his voice effortlessly grabs the attention of quite a few other students at the Gryffindor table. 

The students in your year hardly flinch, accustomed to the heated banter that often erupted between you and Sirius. Observing the familiar fighting between you and Sirius was almost expected; it wouldn't have felt like the first day of school without it for some of the students.

“Not everything revolves around you, Black.” You retort, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. Anger begins to simmer within you, heat radiating through your body as frustration builds.

You assume he must have just noticed you, considering you've been had a peaceful morning so far. But little did you know, Sirius had fixed his gaze on you the moment he entered the hall, and he's been eager to get under your skin. Anything to capture your attention.

Sirius, undeterred, flashes a grin that seems to stretch from ear to ear. “So mean already. Didn’t you miss me? The months without you were unbearable.” He calls, his tone dripping with amusement, clearly deriving great enjoyment from riling you up.

“Do you really think I spend my free time thinking about you?” You're sending him an irritated frown, but your eyes are lit up with a fire that's reserved only for him. It's the same look you get every time the two of you fight, and he loves it.

"I think you do, princess. I think I drive you crazy.” He declares with that smug grin plastered on his face, igniting a burning sensation in your stomach.

You remain silent, too consumed by anger to muster a response. His words strike a chord because, deep down, you know he's right. He has a way of driving you to the brink of frustration. You have wracked your brain, relentlessly trying to decipher why he harbors such animosity towards you and where you might have gone wrong with him.

You're momentarily caught off guard, your mind racing to come up with a response that doesn't betray your irritation, much less let Sirius think he's gotten to you. Fortunately, Remus swiftly engages him in conversation, likely sensing the tension brewing on your face.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection there." Marlene insists, and you shoot her a glare, prompting a laugh to escape her lips.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The initial night back at Hogwarts always proved the most challenging for you. It took a few nights before you could finally settle into the unfamiliar bed and drift off to sleep without difficulty. The weight of it being your final year lingered heavily in your mind, along with the daunting task of uncovering your soulmate.

Seated before the crackling fire, you enveloped yourself in the warmth of your blanket, captivated by the dancing of the flames. Your silent wish lingered in the air - that, perhaps, if you remained in this cozy atmosphere long enough, fatigue would gradually claim you.

"Up late thinking of me, princess?" Sirius's voice breaks the silence, causing your body to tense reflexively. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder as he settles into the floor beside you, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames instead of meeting yours.

"What are you doing?" You quip, your tone laced with irritation. Sirius glances in your direction, leaning back on his palms with a subtle smirk playing on his lips. Amusement dances in his eyes as he takes in your furrowed brows and the unmistakable look of irritation etched across your features.

“Warming up. It’s rather cold in the dorm,” He says, before glancing down at the blanket that’s wrapped around your figure. “Care to share? ”

“Get fucked,” You huff, pulling the blanket tighter around your figure, your gaze fixed on the fireplace as you ignore Sirius's laughter, “Why are you sitting here? Go somewhere else.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” You snark, your hopes of relaxing by the fire dashed by the unexpected disruption.

“And when are you?” Sirius's tone carries a teasing edge, and a mischievous grin tugs at his lips as he observes your bristling reaction. 

He longs for you to turn and meet his gaze, to shoot him the scathing glare he's so accustomed to receiving.

You turn sharply, your eyes narrowing into thin slits as you fix them on Sirius, a silent warning brewing in your gaze. There she is, he thinks.

“Go somewhere else.” You repeat, staring Sirius down.

“No.” He declares, shifting his position to squarely face you, leaving no doubt that he has no intention of backing down or leaving anytime soon.

“What’s your problem?” You grit out your words, and Sirius narrows his eyes at you as though you've struck a nerve. His reaction is swift, catching you off guard. While you and Sirius have always engaged in banter, he had never looked at you with such palpable hatred before.

“You.” He snaps, his voice dripping with disdain, devoid of its usual teasing lilt that never fails to irk you. Instead, his expression morphs into one of genuine animosity, a stark departure from the usual banter that fuels your frustration.

“Why? What have I ever done to you?” You're worked up now, your heart thumping with frustration as you pivot to fully face him. In your angered state, you miscalculate the proximity between you, and you're startled to find yourselves mere inches apart. Neither of you budges, both refusing to back away, as doing so would feel like conceding defeat.

Neither of you speaks, the air heavy with tension as you stare at each other through narrowed eyes, chests heaving with unresolved emotions. And in a heart-stopping moment, you feel it—the undeniable tug, the unspoken connection between you.

Your mouth parts in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. Before you can truly react, Sirius rises abruptly and strides back to his room, leaving you sitting in stunned silence by the fireplace.

TAGS: @daisiesformylove @idkbbyx3 @dreamingofmarauders @siriuslyjanhvi @urmomw4ntsme @arwensloanebarnes @harahettania @kitchenbread @ghostheartbeat @dovahqueen22 @y0urm0m12 @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @opalesquegirl @galaxystern08 @scvtdy @123iloveyou456

Ꮚ. CHASER SZN !

a series by @DESOIEUR (2025)

wherein marlene and lily think you're dating someone on the quidditch team. you aren't—you swear to merlin you aren't! but in the bitter heat of it all, somehow, you find yourself admitting you do. you'd hate to disappoint your best mates or have them think you're a liar, and, surely, james potter, captain of the quidditch team, would understand your predicament?

james potter x fem gryffindor reader. ﹙🏆﹚fake dating to lovers.

taglist is currently open ! send an ask to be tagged.

0. in between scylla and charybdis.

1. please, play along.

2. coming soon: not here for a quick shag.

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 this is awkward..

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), r and james speaking is 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝔂 inspired by gilbert confessing that he wants anne so effing bad bc he 𝓯𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂, lowkey dont hate me for making the “dreams” u want so like…. I just didn't know what to do bc like idk smh i set back women 50 years by that

a/n: tysm for all the love on this series!! y’all are NOT ready for the next chapter, writing it rn and 😭🙏 BUTTT tysm for 300🫶🫶 also I finished the last chapter... do y'all want me to post it today or edge y'all and post it tomorrow

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now nearing the end of the school year—even if there was still a month to go. James could now be in the same room as you without glaring daggers at whoever you were talking to. Though he told himself he was over you, he knew deep down that the feelings never faded.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was fine. And yet, every time he caught sight of you, every time your laughter reached his ears from across the room, it was as if someone had set fire to his resolve.

He wanted to talk to you so badly it was almost pathetic. But it was like the universe itself was conspiring against him—or, more specifically, like Finn Laurier had developed some sort of sixth sense for James’s intentions.

Because every single time James gathered enough courage, every time he braced himself to walk over to you, Finn would appear out of nowhere. Whether it was in the Great Hall, the library, or even during Quidditch practice, Finn always seemed to materialize by your side at precisely the wrong moment, stealing away your attention and leaving James feeling like the outsider in his own story.

It was infuriating.

“Mate, you’re grinding your teeth,” Sirius remarked casually one afternoon as they sat under the beech tree by the lake.

James startled, realizing with some embarrassment that Sirius was right. He quickly unclenched his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just…”

“Just what?” Sirius prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James lied, though his voice betrayed him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look. “If this is about her again, just—”

“It’s not about her,” James interrupted quickly, though he winced as the words left his mouth. He knew Sirius wouldn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Prongs, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up. Just talk to her already.”

“I’ve tried!” James snapped, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve tried, but every bloody time, Finn shows up. It’s like he’s got a bloody tracker on her or something.”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally chimed in. “You know, maybe you’re overthinking this,” he said, not looking up from his book.

“How could I possibly be overthinking this?” James demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe Finn’s not doing it on purpose,” Remus suggested calmly. “Maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing?” James repeated incredulously. “Bad timing doesn’t happen this often, Moony. This is a pattern.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue further.

James leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He hated how much this was bothering him. He hated how much control this entire situation had over him.

But most of all, he hated the thought that you might actually be happy with Finn.

It wasn’t that he thought Finn was a bad guy—quite the opposite, really. Finn was charming, talented, and annoyingly good at everything he did. He was the kind of guy parents adored, the kind of guy professors went out of their way to praise. And worst of all, he was the kind of guy who could make you smile in a way James had only dreamed of.

James opened his eyes, staring up at the branches overhead. “Maybe I should just give up,” he muttered.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius quipped, smirking.

James groaned, throwing a small pebble in his direction. “Not the time for jokes.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, you’re not giving up. You’re James Potter, remember? Stubborn, arrogant, never-takes-no-for-an-answer James Potter. You don’t give up on things you care about.”

James hesitated, staring at the rippling water of the Black Lake. He wanted to believe Sirius. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance, that you weren’t as far out of reach as you seemed.

But as he watched you across the courtyard later that day, standing beside Finn and laughing at something he said, James couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was too late.

But his doubt soon melted into something far more unsettling when he noticed your gaze shift. For the first time in what felt like forever, your attention wasn’t on Finn Laurier—it was on him.

James felt like he might throw up.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes as he quickly looked away. In fact, he didn’t just look away; he turned his entire body in the opposite direction, hoping to mask the flush rising to his cheeks.

“C’mon, James, you’ve got a Quidditch game to win today! Channel all that anger you’ve got towards Laurier into winning us the Cup!” Sirius said, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder with his trademark grin.

James gave a faint nod, trying to let Sirius’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to admit—focusing on Quidditch might be better than brooding.

As the match began, Sirius’s advice started to help. Flying through the air, the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins almost made him forget the mess he was tangled in. Quidditch always had a way of making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter.

Almost.

At first, he wasn’t paying much attention to the game. His mind wandered back to you, back to everything that had gone wrong. He thought about what he would say, how he could even begin to fix things. And, like always, he couldn’t resist scanning the crowd for you.

Even in the middle of a fight, even when he swore to himself that he was done, James always looked for you in the stands.

And he found you—right where he didn’t want to.

You were sitting with Finn Laurier, your hand clasped in his. James’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight, and he forced himself to look away, though the image burned into his mind.

Of course. Finn fucking Laurier.

He sighed, his grip tightening on his broomstick. There was no point in hoping anymore. Whatever chance he’d had—if he’d ever had one—was gone now. Maybe he’d already been downgraded in your life: a friend at best, a stranger at worst. The thought stung, and James shoved it down, refusing to dwell on it any longer.

And then, something golden caught the corner of his eye.

The Snitch.

For the first time all game, James’s focus snapped into place. He leaned forward on his broom, his heart pounding—not from heartbreak this time, but from the sheer rush of competition. If nothing else, he could still win this. He could still bring home the Cup.

James shot after the Snitch with everything he had, the rush of wind against his face only fueling his determination. The crowd roared, but their voices blurred into the background. His world narrowed to one thing: the golden glimmer darting just ahead.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was hot on his trail, but James barely registered them. This was his moment. The Snitch veered sharply to the right, and James followed, his reflexes razor-sharp. He could feel the weight of his emotions—anger, heartbreak, frustration—all pouring into this chase.

The Snitch dipped low, skimming just above the grass, and James dove after it, his fingers outstretched. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closing in fast, but James didn’t care. He pushed his broom harder, faster, his body leaning forward so much it felt like he might fall off.

And then, his fingers closed around the Snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, deafening and jubilant. The sound echoed across the pitch as James pulled up, the Snitch held high in triumph. For the first time all week, a genuine smile broke across his face.

He’d done it.

Back on the ground, his teammates swarmed him, yelling and celebrating as they lifted him off the ground in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back. Sirius was the loudest, of course, laughing as he shouted, “That’s my best mate! Did you see that dive? Bloody brilliant!”

James grinned, allowing himself to soak in the moment. But as the initial adrenaline rush faded, his thoughts drifted back to you.

Through the crowd, he spotted you walking toward the castle with Laurier. You looked happy—laughing at something Finn said, your hand still in his.

James’s chest tightened, the pain creeping back in.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. “Oi, don’t let that git ruin your moment. You just won us the Cup, Prongs. Focus on that, yeah?”

James forced a nod, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But deep down, as the team carried him back to the common room, the ache lingered. Winning the match had been a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to erase what he felt for you—or the sting of seeing you with someone else.

Still, James promised himself one thing: he’d get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And who knew? Maybe, someday, you’d see him the way he saw you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The Gryffindor common room was a chaotic blur of red and gold, filled with triumphant cheers and laughter. The moment the team returned from the pitch, the party was already in full swing. Someone had charmed a banner to flash "Gryffindor Wins the Cup!" in shimmering letters, and butterbeer bottles floated around the room, courtesy of a cheeky charm from Sirius.

James stood in the center of it all, grinning as his teammates and housemates patted him on the back and congratulated him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the victory, letting it drown out the knot in his chest. He’d won the game, and Gryffindor had the Cup—he deserved to enjoy it.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled over the noise, shoving a butterbeer into his hand. “You’re the man of the hour! You better milk this for all it’s worth, because Merlin knows you deserve it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let me hear you say that too often, Padfoot. I might start believing it.”

Sirius gave him a devilish grin. “Oh, you will. Now, c’mon, let’s make some noise!” He climbed onto a table, raising his bottle high. “To Prongs, our Quidditch hero!”

The room erupted in cheers, and James couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of his butterbeer as the noise washed over him. For the first time all day, he felt lighter.

As the party went on, James moved through the crowd, chatting and laughing with his housemates. But no matter how loud the celebration got, his eyes kept drifting to the door, half-hoping, half-dreading to see you walk in.

And then, you did.

James froze mid-conversation, his heart doing that familiar stutter-step it always did when he saw you. You looked radiant, wrapped in Gryffindor colors, your cheeks flushed from the cold. But his chest tightened when he noticed Laurier trailing behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

James quickly turned back to his conversation, forcing a smile and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t going to let Finn Laurier—or his own stupid feelings—ruin the night.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, appearing at his side again. “Stop moping and do something fun. We just won the bloody Cup, mate! At least pretend you’re having the time of your life.”

James forced another grin. “I am having fun, Padfoot. Loads of fun.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re staring at her again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” James lied, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

Sirius groaned, grabbing James by the shoulders. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stop torturing yourself, and you’re going to have a bloody fantastic time tonight. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll prank Laurier so hard he won’t know which way is up. Deal?”

James couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “Alright, deal.”

Hours later, the party was still going strong. Someone had turned the music up, and the common room had transformed into a dance floor. James found himself dragged into the middle of it by Lily Evans, who gave him a pointed look.

“Stop sulking, Potter,” she said, smirking. “You just won the Cup. Act like it.”

“I’m not sulking,” James said, though his half-hearted smile gave him away.

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she tugged him into the rhythm of the music, and for a while, James let himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you again, laughing at something Laurier said, that the knot in his chest returned. He took a deep breath, plastered on another smile, and decided that, for tonight, he’d keep pretending.

He watched you from across the room as you and Laurier continued talking, laughter bubbling between you two. He could see the way you looked at him now—so different from the way you looked at him before. It was like there was a barrier, a wall that hadn’t been there when he first met you.

“Prongs,” Sirius appeared at his side again, his voice low and concerned. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, but this is ridiculous. You’re letting Laurier ruin your night—and you just won us the Cup, for Merlin’s sake. You’re allowed to be happy tonight. So go talk to her. If you don’t, I swear I’ll do it for you.”

James frowned at him, irritated. “I’m not talking to her, Pads. Not now.”

“Then at least get out of here and enjoy yourself,” Sirius pressed. “We’re celebrating, mate. You’ve earned it.”

James looked over at you one more time, and for a second, he almost gave in. But the knot in his chest was still there, tightly wound, and it made everything feel so much harder than it should’ve been.

But maybe... maybe he could find a way to feel better. Maybe he could lose himself in the celebration.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally muttered, glancing at his friends.

Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go off and brood in some corner. The whole bloody school’s celebrating with you tonight.”

James smirked faintly, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he could pretend to be okay, at least for tonight. He could let the victory, the laughter, and his friends drown out the ache for just a little while longer.

But as the night continued, and as the music played on, James found himself once again looking toward the doorway, hoping—just hoping—that you’d look his way.

For the first time in forever, the world was finally on his side as he saw you quickly leaving Finn and walking straight to him.

“May I speak to you, please?” James nodded, Dumbfounded. 

You quickly grabbed his hand and went outside the common room and into the corridors. 

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously. “James… I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

James’s throat went dry, his pulse quickening as he struggled to find his voice. “Yeah?”

You nodded, glancing down at your hands before meeting his gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he had expected. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, an apology hadn’t been one of them.

“For what?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

“For everything,” you said in a rush, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “For avoiding you. I was confused—about what I did that made you ignore me. And I guess I wanted to get back at you for ignoring me, so I decided to do the same to you. And… I’m sorry for whatever happened between us that made things so weird.”

James stared at you, your vulnerability hitting him like a Bludger to the chest. His heart ached at the uncertainty in your voice.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“No, you don’t,” James countered, his tone soft yet resolute. “It’s not fair to put all of this on yourself. You’ve always been there for me, and I—well, I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I was practically acting like you didn’t exist.”

James faltered when he saw the blank expression on your face. Panic flickered in his chest—had he said too much?

But before he could say anything more, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, James,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I—I was acting like you didn’t exist too, but only because you were doing it to me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before slowly relaxing into the hug. He looked down at you, his hand instinctively reaching up to brush away a stray tear trailing down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, a small, watery smile breaking through. “We’re both sorry. Let’s just… not do this anymore, okay?”

James nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

“It feels so much better having my best friend around again.” James’ smile faltered again, he never liked the word “best friend” when it came to you, he always wanted more.

“Definitely”

You two let each other talk for what felt like hours even though it was barely fifteen minutes. He enjoyed every second though, until you brought up Finn and future plans they may include him. He couldn't believe it, when had your parents met his? He remembers your dad telling him how much he was rooting you and him to be together, now he's okay with you dating some other dude? And worst of all, your father was okay with that same dude wanting to marry his daughter? James felt like throwing up.

“Then he said that my father laid it out on a silver platter.”

“Laid... what out on a platter?”

“My future! Gave him the blessing to...to propose. I don't know what to do.”

“You told me you don’t mind being married straight after Hogwarts if you truly loved the man. That being a wife and mother... is your dream. Finn is.. nice, and both of your guys’ parents are supportive. I don't understand. What's holding you back?”

“Just… one thing.”

“What am I supposed to do? Everyone else is just... moving on, and now you’re... and I’m still... We never even... And he’s there, and you’re—Merlin, you’re never going to find someone who—” James stopped, his voice cracking. “I know that much, so how... how am I supposed to... I can’t... I— We...”

Before you could speak–a drunk Sirius somehow found you two. “Woah James you're really speaking to her? Atta boy, now, let's get back to the party, cmon, we are going to do something cool, have you heard of ....” Sirius rambled on, tugging on James’ arm to drag him back to the party.

“I’ll be off, then.” You said, voice quivering as if hesitant to leave.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

All James could think about was the previous night—the talk you two had shared. Your words, your voice, the hesitation in your eyes—it all replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. What would’ve happened if Sirius hadn’t barged in, if James had told him to leave, if he’d been brave enough to stay in that moment with you?

“I think…” James began, his voice breaking as he paced the Gryffindor dormitory, “I think she might’ve been asking if I love her. And—and I think I told her to marry someone else.”

Sirius, slouched in the chair by the window, looked stricken. “Mate…” he started, his tone heavy with guilt. “If I’d known—if I knew what was happening—I wouldn’t have gone looking for you. I—I practically ruined your chances. Merlin, I’m so, so sorry.”

James stopped pacing, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if she meant it. She said so much without really saying anything, and now I don’t know if I imagined it all.”

“‘Sure, take option two,’ when option one is all she wants for her future?” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“What is option one?” Peter asked, his curiosity breaking the tension.

James scoffed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “It’s Finn, obviously.” He paused, his anger flaring. “But both their parents support it, and she told me that! Before she spilled all of that on me, we were talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. But now…” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Now it feels like I’m being asked to explain the rest of my life on a bloody ticking clock. And if I make the wrong decision, I’ve either ruined my life—or hers.”

The room fell silent. Sirius and Peter exchanged uneasy glances, while Remus seemed lost in thought, unsure of how to respond.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Meanwhile, you had confided in your mother about your plans the night before: to finally tell the man you truly loved how you felt. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up while you and James were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, but you knew if you didn’t seize the moment, you’d never say it at all.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn you down. To tell you—calmly, almost dismissively—that you should marry Finn.

Your mother was waiting for your response. You knew she expected good news, a letter confirming that you and James were finally together. Instead, you sat at your desk, penning words that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Dear Mother,

I did what you told me to do, but I fear I shouldn’t have. We were talking just fine, and then I told him everything. I told him how I felt. And he told me to marry Finn.

Finn is lovely, yes—but he’s not James. I asked James if there was any chance for us, and he said no. At least now I have clarity on where I stand with him. And I know it sounds awful to compare Finn to James, but... maybe knowing what I know now, I can learn to be happy with Finn. Father and Finn’s family are all thrilled, after all. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if James had said he felt the same.

You sighed, folding the parchment carefully and sealing it in an envelope. The weight of your words sat heavily on your chest, but you couldn’t dwell on them any longer. You needed to send this letter immediately.

Pulling on your cloak, you found yourself heading for one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade—the ones you and James had used so often. The memories stung, but you pushed them aside. This time, you’d be using the passage alone.

The quickest way to deliver your letter was through the owlery. You knew exactly which owl was the fastest.

As you walked, you let your mind wander to James one last time, allowing yourself the quiet ache of what could’ve been. You would never speak to him again, not like before. That part of your life was over.

Finn was your future now. And while it hurt to admit, deep down, you knew it was for the best.

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MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Delusions of Fantasy

Chapter Summary: Settling into the semester, you find yourself in an unsuspecting position with your professor, meetings that shouldn't feel so secret but do and an assignment that may change the course of things for the better...or much worse. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, more dream smut that translates into writing, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality, joel is conspicuously toeing the line of lusting after a student while reader is very obvious, some unspoken sexual tension

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You weren’t sure when days would begin to blur, pulling all-nighters to finish assignments that you kept putting off until the absolute last minute. But, the small coffee shop on the edge of campus has become your pseudo-home, early mornings and occasional nights when you need the extra energy boost or focus. 

There was a perfect little nook in the corner of the coffee shop that was hidden behind a wall. A small alcove that was usually empty—at least, it was when you tried to use it. And you find yourself there on a lonely night, crisp autumn air biting at your skin as you slip into the coffee shop. It’s mostly empty at this hour and you order your usual drink of choice before you’re slipping around the corner with your coffee in hand, startled by the sight before you.

“Oh, shit—Mr. Miller—” You stammer, stepping back awkwardly as you almost run into his arm that is flipping a pen between his fingers, his gaze flicking up to you curiously.

He’s just as surprised to see you here, but ultimately, it makes more sense in retrospect.

He had a house, an office (both here on campus and at home), but he preferred a place like this, surrounded by the smell of coffee and the gentle ambience. He could’ve gone home to Tess and gave up grading and preparing assignments, but that didn’t sound appealing either. He finds the more he’s in Tess’s presence, the worse his thoughts wonder.

That maybe escaping to the coffee shop would push you from his mind, but here you were, in the flesh, and Joel couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He offers a curt nod, polite. Part of him expects you to just…go away. But, he has the idea that he’s probably taking up your usual study spot. Before he entertains the idea of leaving, you take a seat silently in the chair across from him, holding up your hand.

“No, it’s fine—you don’t have to leave or anything.” You tell him assuredly, opening up your laptop as you settle into your spot, eyes connecting with his over the edges of your screen, his expression looking a little more jaded than your own.

You were exhausted, but he was exhausted and upset. You couldn’t be sure at what, but there was the glaring fact that he was here, nearing midnight, when he could easily be at home. You didn’t question it though, finding that if you wanted to, you could wear him down enough to talk.

“So,” After a long stretch of silence and his silent typing away at his keyboard and you still staring at a mostly blank screen, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get much work done with him around, thoughts and eyes wondering curiously, “I read those books you suggested.”

Ah, right. The email he’d sent on a whim. A lapse of judgment after the fact, seeing how it could be misconstrued, knowing it could be viewed as inappropriate.

The thoughts he was having were inappropriate, but even then, he knew he would never entertain it. And shit, you’re still looking at him, expecting some type of answer.

“Did you enjoy them?” He asks simply, no elaboration or asking for much.

 Just a simple yes or no.

There’s an angst that settles in your gut over his acknowledgment of the email, nodding quietly.

You had, truthfully. It was a few poem books he said were his favorites, and you could see where your interests intertwined, finding that the tone in the poems he enjoys reading is what you also enjoy reading.

Angst, dread, intense feeling that was hard to ignore.

And truthfully, Mr. Miller was impossible to ignore.

“I read them the other night,” You add, pulling up a half-finished assignment from your English course, “you’ve got…good taste.”

Joel chuckles quietly at that, easing slightly in his seat. Part of him was worried, even if his intentions were in the right place, that things may be misconstrued. He breaths out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“I figured you’d enjoy them.” He smirks slightly.

You feel your cunt clenching at the subtlety, crossing one leg over the other as you find a hauty comparison to his words, thought flashing through your mind.

You’d gone to bed with the words of the poems on your mind that night, but the voice wasn’t lacking in tone or voiceless—in fact, it was his voice. His words as he pumped one, two, and then three fingers into you over his desk, hands clenched into his shirt as you held onto him like a lifeline, only surfacing back to reality just as you were about to come.

But, he didn’t need to know that.

And you didn’t need to know how desperate he fucked himself into a lonely fist when he was pent up from work (which was more often than not, lately) with the image of you on his mind.

He’s never had thoughts like this and he can’t comprehend why—part of him wants to blame Tess and her choices and the stress it has put on his marriage. But, Joel has been checked out for a while and this, even though only in the confines of his mind, feels like an even worse betrayal.

“You should send me more.” A soft sip on your coffee as you stare flirtatiously over the rim of your cup—cool it, you tell yourself. But, it doesn’t work.

There’s a small twitch in his face, the deepest hint of a smile saying—yeah, I’ll challenge that—but it quickly fades. 

“Just…if you want to,” You add, playing things subtly, carefully, “if that’s okay?”

Joel knows he shouldn’t entertain the idea, but he sees the genuineness in your expression, beyond his attraction toward you. You had a desire to write and share and feel—he could respect that. He nods slightly, pressing his laptop closed and gathering his things slowly.

“Alright—give me a couple days,” Joel bargains, “Anything you prefer?”

You shake your head innocently, wishing he would recommend his own literature. You wanted to see how deep his ego ran, if he had the nerve to be so bold. “Anything you like, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it too.”

It was an understatement.

And the accidental coffee shop mishap doesn’t end there. In fact, it quickly grows out of control, beyond your own intention—this was natural, no coaxing needed.

–

Joel hated how much he craved your presence outside of work, in this stupid fucking coffee shop—but like his dependency to schedule and caffeine, he finds you become a normal occurrence and it throws him out of wack when you’re not around.

Luckily, you never strayed. You were there every night, even early mornings when he had to take a retirement for the night—you didn’t need to pry, you knew. He’d twist a nervous hand around his wrist that slowly trailed to his ring finger, fingers flexing anxiously. He had to be home, he didn’t want more problems. Even if this was somehow helping him work through his inhibitions, he still had a responsibility.

And Joel knows the time he’s spending with you could be misconstrued, but he does it out of a genuineness to further your interest and desire into literature if anything. He’s met with many students after hours—though, not to this extent. And always within the grounds of school, either in the classroom or his assigned office, nothing beyond the border of allowing a personal connection.

He was bending rules for you and he couldn’t help it.

There’s so much you learn in the short month or so that this drags on—Joel likes black coffee, no add-ins or sweet touches. He fidgets a lot, fingers constantly twisting at the watch on his wrist or scratching at his slowly regrowing stubble when he had just shaven a day or two prior—you start to notice the small blank patches in his beard because of it.

He seems so unsuspecting and normal—maybe that was what drew you in. You couldn’t really pinpoint it anymore. There was a point where the secret admiring morphed into open admiration and maybe Joel should’ve stopped it there. But, it made him feel good.

It made him feel wanted. And that was his first real mistake he made with you.

Allowing it.

It never breached anything inappropriate, but he’d notice when you would track the movement of his hands, rubbing over his face or neck in exhaustion, arms stretching over the back of his head after a long period of sitting down, hunched over in the small sanctuary you two had constantly found yourself in.

Mr. Miller was fair in that he never helped you with his assignments. He wasn’t there to give you a leg up or help you out in that regard, he knew you were capable. Competent. But, he fed your desire for him and literature by asking about your own interests and melding them his own, curating your time together in the small cafe with topics you could both find yourself getting lost in.

It was easy to lose track of time with him. And very irresponsible.

Joel does notice your longing glances and subtle twitches in your face when he does certaIn things, moving his body in a way that accentuates his strong form—he wasn’t toned necessarily, but he was broad, large, and he wasn’t amiss to how his own shirt clung to his body or how well-tailored his slacks were. He liked things to fit well. And you appreciated that so much.

But, beyond your own disappointment, things never cross that line.

He never makes a comment or threads the line of touching you, his hands always aware of their placement around you—and maybe he was just being respectful and was terrified to lose his job, but you can see the flex of his fingers when you remove your sweater or lean in to close to him, his eyes dragging along the slope of your neck, nostrils flaring in response at how comfortable enough you feel to just lean in.

He’s foolish to think this wouldn’t mean anything to you, but he allows that thought to stray from his mind and continues, too attached to these meet-ups like they were his own form of free therapy, beyond the dreadful marriage counseling he was going through.

It wasn’t working, but this was.

And he thinks that it is partly because it’s you and not Tess.

In fact, he knows it’s you.

The emails continue for weeks, days upon days of trading back responses and links—and really, everything is telling him to stop. Everything.

The guilt. The fear. The anger.

Yet, he never tries.

-

Joel can feel you breaking out of your shell little by little, more engaged in the group setting of the classroom the more time he’s spent with you one on one. He doesn’t want to initiate a responsibility in it, but he can since the familiarity and comfort when you speak–even if it's mostly directed at him.

Truthfully, you didn’t have a problem speaking in front of the class, but if it filled Mr. Miller with a sort of pride, you weren’t going to deny that.

You try to ignore the way he speaks your name, calls on you and beckons you to speak with a raise of his eyebrows, arms crossed firmly over his chest–and your eyes draw to his stomach, following along the soft slope and over his groin and you see his thighs tense as he crosses his legs too, one gently over the other as he leaned against his desk.

You smirk slightly, feigning a look of innocence as your eyes drag to his face, answering his question mindlessly—something about how to capture dialogue properly and even Joel can see that you’re not fully there, mind elsewhere.

It wasn’t hard to surmise where, but he ignored it. For now.

But, it wasn’t until the day was nearing the end of your class, head buried in your laptop as you copied your handwritten notes down into a document for later, knowing absently that he was perusing around the room but trying to ignore his lingering presence every time he glanced over at you.

His hands surround your chair before he announces himself, flimsy plastic creaking underneath his grip.

“Mr. Miller.” You address pleasantly, typing idly away at your keyboard.

He speaks your name gently, a reverence in his tone that allures fondness, a smile creeping on his lips. 

“Any questions?” He asks curiously, brow furrowing in confusion, “On the assignment—“

He points blindly to the board, eyes still locked on you as your head turns toward the board, down at your notes, then back at him.

“I mean—not really?” You sound unsure, “Write something fantasy, make it interesting—“

He can feel your interest waning, seeming rather nonchalant about the topic, like it would be an absolute breeze and wasn’t worth the wasted energy. But, he’s challenging you.

To what, you weren’t sure.

Joel clears his throat, grip tightening on the back of your chair as he leaned over subtly, chest crowding around the back of your head, examine the notes you did have type out before his eyes dragging back toward you, and you can’t ignore his gaze, chin turning up toward him and your eyes soften as they connect with his.

“But, specifically—dreams.” He clarifies, “Sometimes your best ideas can come to you in a dream—so think of it as journaling them but, expanding…bringing it to life.”

Dreams…

You’ve had enough of them in preceding weeks to last you a lifetime, all including him.

“Bringing it to life…” You echo his words, mincing the words on your tongue as the idea flusters your mind, a small nod from Joel in response.

Of course, he had no idea the extent of how deep your mind wandered, but his words were edging too close for comfort, like he had the faintest idea.

There’s a brief moment of self awareness as his eyes drag to your lips, tongue dampening them as you soothe the chapped skin, nodding absently.

“I think—I think I understand what you’re saying.”

Mr. Miller smiles then, whether fake or not you couldn’t tell, “Good—feel free to, uh—“

Email him.

You see him hesitate to force the words out, chuckle awkwardly as he leans away, breaking the built up tension between you both.

“Yeah, yep.” You laugh softly, infectiously as you turn your attention back toward your laptop, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He pats your shoulder softly and squeezes, the only point of contact he ever allows himself, never letting his touch linger or stray because he knows—if he broke that point of contact and wandered elsewhere, he wasn’t sure he could stop.

-

You tap mindlessly at the edge of your keyboard, laptop resting wobbly in your propped up legs, start to type a word before quick erasing. Mind flicking through baseless and boring ideas, wondering how easily you could muster up a fake dream and amaze Mr. Miller with your lackluster writing skills—just lie, it wasn’t that hard.

You feel your mind wandering then, head hung back against your pillow as you stare at your ceiling, his expression etched into the back of your mind, eyes wandering along the dip in your cupid’s bow and the less than subtle lick of your lips that you offered in return. 

This couldn’t all be in your head.

You sigh, heavy and thick, but the soft ding of a notification on your laptop pulls your attention.

On the other end, Joel sits anxiously at his desk, foot tapping insistently against the hardwood floor, still fully dressed from work sans his tie that laid slack on his desk.

It wasn’t even a fully drafted email, rather a precursor to beginnings of an improper, but casual conversation. He tried to keep an open line of communication with all of his students, but when you don’t show up at the coffee shop that night, too burdened with the idea of just what you were going to write—he worries. 

‘Are things coming along? Didn’t catch you at the cafe tonight.’

You stare blankly, unsure how to respond.

It felt…odd, starting a conversation over email.

Of course, you didn’t have any other means of communication, so this is what Joel was forced to devolve too, tapping nervously as he awaited your response.

‘Having trouble actually—any suggestions?’

Part of you craves to hear his voice—and selfishly, he does too. And Joel knows the moment he offers the information up, he’s going to regret it. But, he does.

The house was empty, thankfully. Tess was working later than usual and Joel couldn’t be bothered with the semantics, finding himself straying further and further from this bed every night. His office was his new sanctuary, bad back be damned—he would choose the couch over a bed with her, knowing she still judged him for the choices she made.

A phone number is attached to the email that follows, ‘I’m free, if you want to talk through it.’

Your heart desynced from its usual rhythm for a brief moment, nearly fleeing your body if you hadn’t felt it so deeply in your chest. You couldn’t—this…it couldn’t be all in your head.

You quickly type the number into your contacts, hovering for far too many minutes over the call button, wondering if it mattered how you looked—if he would judge. You didn’t appear much different, but you were in your own comforts, vulnerable. And as much as he appeared here in your dreams, the reality of him being this close was startling.

You bite thoughtfully at your bottom lip as you prop your phone against the screen of your laptop, a blank document open behind the calling screen as you went through with your hesitation and attempt to connect the call, chin resting against your fist as you waited, eyes wandering aimlessly around the room.

When the familiar tone blares of the call going through and Joel is suddenly appearing on screen, you’re not sure why you followed through with this in the first place—even if he was the one who insisted it by offering up the information.

He looks slightly more disheveled across the screen, still dressed in the outfit you saw him in earlier, his tie gone, a button or two undone, and he’s definitely allowed his fingers to run through his usually quaffed hair, a curl falling freely over his forehead, his phone seemingly propped up in a similar manner as you can see most his upper body that wasn’t hidden by his desk.

“So, what’s the issue?”

He jumps right in, which isn’t surprising.

You feel the sense of familiarity in your usual conversations, like you were almost there in the room with him—you couldn’t imagine how exhausted you looked or seem currently, but you push the thought from your mind and hoped it didn’t cross his, that he wasn’t harping on your similarly disheveled appearance in his mind.

He seemed as if he genuinely wanted to help.

You hated it, wishing he wouldn’t drag things out.

If he wanted you, he could have you.

Instead, it felt like he wanted to—or rather needed to keep you at a distance, just out of reach for his own good rather than yours.

“Just…wondering, I guess.” You look down briefly, feeling his curiosity through the screen as you pick at a frayed thread in your blanket. “How—how detailed are you asking?”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be so loud that it feels like…too much?” Joel feels like he may not be making complete sense, but he tries. “Do you have a few dreams you remember well that you feel the need to jot down, that you can morph it into something tangible?”

The way he speaks so eloquently, even beyond the guise of his profession, never gets old. Maybe it is a habit he’s formed, speaking and teaching for so many years that he can’t force himself out of that mode—but maybe he was also allowing it to be a barrier, that if he let his guard down too much that you might sneak in and find a way to pick at him and allow yourself to get comfortable.

He couldn’t do…comfortable. But, this—this he could manage. It allowed for a clear divide between student and teacher. Professional and casual, even if he didn’t hand out his phone number to people so willingly. 

“Um…yeah,” You nod slightly, mind filtering through the filthy thoughts of him over you, breathing a deep satiating desire for relief into your body, lips on your body, fingers buried deep inside of you, bringing you right near the precipice before you’re being ripped away from the glorious fantasy, “there’s a few, I guess.”

“Do you wanna share?” His eyebrows raise inquisitively, his hand disappearing off screen to bring a clear glass to his lips, half-filled with a dark brown liquid.

Tequila, maybe? Whiskey? 

His lips curl around the edge of the and he sips, ice clanking inside of the glass as he awaits your response.

You shake your head hesitantly, smiling slightly, “I think the whole point is to surprise you, right?”

He chuckles softly, “I suppose.”

“Maybe…some vague advice, if you have any?”

Joel sets the glass against the desk a few inches off screen, thinking quietly. Eyebrows furrowing deep as he contemplates. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” He starts, staring mindlessly off into the distance as he speaks, “be—be authentic and try not to limit yourself.”

“So, no sparing any details?” You ask teasingly and he smirks at your playful tone.

“Why would you do that?” He asks unknowingly of the thoughts on your mind, “You’re a beautiful writer, don’t discredit yourself.”

It tugs at something deep inside of you, a subtle frown forming on your face as you nod in response. “Thank you…”

“Hey,” There’s a gentle utterance of your name that has your eyes connecting fiercely across the screen, “I mean that.”

You’re silent, at a loss for words. It wasn’t for lack of knowing what to say, but how to say something—how to extend your appreciation. But, you figure that may translate better through writing, brewing over the idea in your head.

“Mr. Miller—“ Your mind lingers on unspoken words and thoughts, begging to be spoken, but the faint creak of a door in the background on his end has you both shooting to attention, a shared understanding as he scrambles slightly.

“If you run into any road blocks, just send me a message, okay?”

You nod, cut off by his sudden eagerness to end the call—feeling you just got caught doing something horrible, a shunning on the horizon.

You sleep that night with a fresh revelation on your mind, smothered by the feeling of special treatment that Mr. Miller was offering, wholly committed to your own delusion and it fuels and stokes that fire effortlessly. And the vivid scenes of your dream flow onto the page the following morning in perfect detail:

It starts off innocent, a bland tale of forbidden love or…something thereof, playing at the idea that this wasn’t supposed to be. Two parrying forces that yearn for the other but can’t find the courage to jump or take that leap—full of dread and hesitance and intensifying that idea. 

Until, there’s a major implode of tension.

A sudden snap on the male character that resembles Joel so much it is unsettling, down to the subtle mannerisms as he takes in the characters appearance and words throughout, slowly describing yourself in a way that isn’t…obvious. But, it is heavily implied. 

There’s a sudden confession of desire, not love, but a definite yearning that is mostly mutual, leading into a fantasy of filth. Debauchery personified in a way that feels inappropriate to write for a college assignment but is therapeutic for your mind.

His hands wander with a restrain that reads as worried—unsure of what the other character expects, but the moment your lips connect all bets are off, clothes rapidly disappearing amongst the confines of the male’s vaguely described quarters, laid over a flat surface. His bed or his desk, the detail is omitted, but he crowds dream you in and devours, capturing your mouth in another heated kiss, hands wasting no time as they slip over your cunt, beyond the sacred barrier of your underwear and inside of you like he’s done this a million times before.

In your mind, he had. But, that was beyond the point.

His fingers work you over expertly, your own hands wandering over his strong frame, biceps flexing underneath your touch as you describe a distinct feeling of stubble as he decends and you feel the texture against the inside of your thighs, underwear disappearing at some point you can’t remember before his mouth is latching into your cunt without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his mouth so vividly it almost startled you awake at the time, the distinctness of his voice echoing in your mind, biting your lip to stifle your desperate moans.

“Don’t hold back.” He echoes, a distinct line of dialogue that sticks out in your mind as you type it into the document, feeling your inside twist and clench at the fleeting memory of his voice.

You come against his mouth with a shout, fingers twisting into his horrible disheveled hair, just long enough that you can secure a good grip before you’re pulling him upright, tasting the slick of yourself on your tongue as you kiss him.

It’s all a dream, after all. 

You take your own liberties, playing up the descriptions in a way that feels sinful, but you do it anyway. You finished the assignment in a few hours despite the ability to extend it over a few days, not bothering to wait as the idea was still fresh in your mind as you typed it out.

You don’t even hesitate to send the assignment once it is finished, fully confident in your abilities and Joel’s echoing encouragement.

It may have been the best thing you’ve ever written.

-

Joel is blissfully unaware of the debauchery awaiting him in his inbox, busying himself with the endless list of divorce attorneys in the state, wondering if he should really go through with this—ending his marriage, starting anew and cutting ties with Tess. He isn’t sure, really.

He isn’t positive about anything in his life anymore. 

He sips gingerly at the steaming cup of coffee, his second of the night as he switches between his browser and a separate page of assignments he was concocting for the rest of the semester, specifically tailoring some around your own interests. He couldn’t explain why he was putting the effort in, why there was genuine concern—but he wanted you to succeed, if anything.

You don’t see him at first, he wasn’t hidden away in your usual spot, but he’s tucked away in a quiet corner near the back of the cafe, and you almost decide to ignore him and give him the space he seems like he craved, wondering if he had already read through your essay, but he nods at you subtly when he catches your gaze, a quick look up from his computer as you grabbed your coffee order from the barista.

Come here, he beckons silently.

You cross a single arm over your chest and press the lid of the cup to your lips and sip, gentle are careful steps progressing his way as you stop, hip pressing against the edge of the table. He looks at you, friendly and innocent, like he hadn’t offered up his phone number without precautions or asking, handing out the final line of connection that sealed the deal for you. This wasn’t just…help. It had to be more.

“J–Mr. Miller,” You catch yourself, finding his first name almost slipping from your lips, too close for comfort but he doesn’t seem to catch it, “reading through the assignments?”

You’re curious, but silently hoping he hasn’t crossed yours yet. Or, if he had, wondering if he was calling you over for that very reason—he wouldn’t express his thoughts in the coffee shop though, he couldn’t. If he lies, you can’t see through it.

“Uh, not yet, giving that a couple days,” He shakes his head, closing out of the browsers and shutting his laptop, “sit?”

He’s extending the invitation, hand gesturing toward the empty seat.

You bite back the smile that creeps on your face and take a seat, pulling at the sweater that covers your body, the cold chill creeping into the cafe as the bells to the entrance ring.

“Did you ever figure out what you were struggling with?” Joel asks curiously, still painfully in teacher mode, much to your dismay, “I didn’t hear from you, so…”

“Oh, um,” There’s an excited fluttering in your tummy, hesitant to debrief him on the details, but you nod, “yeah—just took a little bit of thought and the words started flowing.”

“Well, that’s good,” He offers politely, “I’m glad I could help—if…if I did.”

“Of course,” You smile more confidently, “You always do.”

If he only knew.

His eyebrows furrowing subconsciously, staring at his watch as the numbers creeped closer to midnight, his mind heavy with thought he wouldn’t speak out loud. So, you ask.

“Are you okay?” You utter softly, knowing it was the instance either of you have ever made the effort to ask—through countless meet-ups and secret conversation, feeling a need to keep it all hushed—it never occurred to you until you’re saying the words out loud. “You seem…irritated.”

Joel laughs bitterly, a soft chuckle that radiates in his chest. “Who isn’t?” He challenges, seeing the familiar look cross your own face, “Sorry—that’s—”

Joel looks away briefly, feeling that confiding you was a line he couldn’t cross, even though he’s blurred just about every other one in existence. 

“I don’t mean to pry,” You shrug, “but I figure—it doesn’t hurt to ask?”

He’s withholding and you can see it, clock it in the way he checks his phone screen—a few missed calls and a text but you can’t read out anything other than the name. Tess.

Tess Miller. Got it.

“Did you get your assignment turned in then?” He asks curiously.

You nod shyly, twirling the cup slowly on the table, eyes drawn away from him despite how starkly he glared at you, hands cupped in his lap underneath the table. If you scooted closer your knees would knock together and you fight the urge to do so.

Joel notices the way you curl inward, a subconscious act that always denotes something simmering beneath the surface with you. He was used to your forwardness, your inability to respect personal space to a degree that…didn’t necessarily bother him in the way that it should. And he hates how his cock twitches at the sight of you glancing away, intimidated by his eye contact for once in the few months he’s gotten to know you.

There’s a creeping thought edging its way into his mind, an urge to force your wandering gaze on him, coax you into trusting him, wondering just how easy it would be for you to comply with his will, if it would take any fight on your part at all.

“Good, I’m excited to read it.” Joel replies honestly, a genuine smile finding its way onto his face, “I’m always lookin’ forward to what your mind thinks up.”

He may be asking for more than he bargains for with that.

“Well, I’ll see you on Monday then?” You confirm, feeling the need for a quick escape, things getting entirely too close for comfort, “Hopefully with a perfect score?”

Joel smirks knowingly, “Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” He teases.

Unfortunately, you were yards if not miles ahead. 

Beyond saving.

And Joel had no idea.

2022 really do be the year of pretty Hispanic men in everything and I’m living for it