#❛ then we’d just get up and go outside. ❜ — closed starters.

[dariuchihasen]

What is the akatsuki like?

hiiii my loves🫶🏻sorry for my inactivity, I’ve been really busy with work😭 for those who have never seen my page, I’m a shifter, mostly to Naruto, but I also shift to Bleach, demon slayer, arcane, and JJK. Everything I post is based on my DR.

•

I’m going to start off by saying the akatsuki are my family, we may not be blood related at all but our bond as friends is unbreakable🖤I truly feel accepted with them^.^

•

Also! We have 4 extra members of the akatsuki, who will be added to this description!

•

Konan: she’s a quiet natured woman, calm and level headed yet calculated. I swear I’ve never seen her scared or even anxious. She’s so strong, physically and mentally! She’s a romantic too. In my DR she’s married to Pain, and Nagato and omg. Such a lover girl, it’s the cutest thing seeing her with them. (Only time I see her get flustered☺️)

Pain: just like his wife, he’s more on the quiet side. He handles handing out tasks and assigning missions. If he’s not away on a mission himself, you’ll most likely find him tucked away in his office handling the countless paperwork the man has to handle. He enjoys reading and learning to cook(he isn’t the best and has burnt more things than making anything edible. Konan is teaching him :)

Nagato: lives in Amegakure and comes to visit every once in a while. He handles a lot of more private affairs which is why he doesn’t live with us full time. Insanely powerful and every time he visits, he trains 1on1 with every member to help strengthen our skills. He’s really kind and gets nervous easily lol!

Itachi: he recently went through a break up and for a while was rather down about it but his spark came back! He’s insanely patient and an absolutely amazing big brother. Sasuke will come visit time to time or he’ll pop into the hidden leaf to visit his parents. Family is everything to him. He keeps his bedroom neat and clean, everything has their own place lol. His favorite genre of movies is thriller

Kisame: for starters, the dude is MASSIVE. In height and size in general. He works out daily, and before the end of the day will be found outside training. Itachi is like a brother to him, he can read Tachi like an open book and tends to know when he’s upset before Itachi even realizes it himself. Was quite the ladies man before getting into a committed relationship with a sweetheart ^.^

Zetsu: May be a bit of an odd ball but I mean that in a sweet way. His sense of humor is rather interesting and tends to be funny when he can’t read the room. Likes to magically appear to scare people or to pass on messages from other members. He’s very close with Tobi and myself so he’ll hang out with us time to time when he’s bored

Orochimaru: tends to be in his lab, all the time. If any of us want to hang out with him, we’d have to go downstairs and enter his laboratory to do so. He doesn’t mind it, he enjoys the company and isn’t afraid to admit as such. Weekly, he’ll visit the Hidden Leaf to have lunch or dinner with Lady Tsunade and Jiraiya. (Was the one to encourage Jiraiya to finally ask Tsunade out, and they’ve been together for quite some time now!)

Kabuto: he’s surprisingly super shy. He only trains with Orochimaru and only does so when the compound is primarily empty. He’s very respectful and just like Itachi, he’s very patient.

Zabuza: level headed, and an extreme strategist. Rather loud, especially when he talks about something he enjoys. Tends to work out with Kisame a few times a week. Haku is his assigned partner and they’re away a lot of the time, as they both like to be on the move but Zabuza always enjoys being able to come home and relax on the couch, watching a movie. (Doesn’t have a favorite genre, he’ll watch anything)

Haku: soft spoken and kind. Can be a smart ass which is rather amusing because he always has a comeback for everything. Enjoys baking, and on the days he’s not running around, you’ll find him in the kitchen, reading from a book as he works on a new recipe.

Deidara: confident! He’s proud of his scars and doesn’t shy away from past mistakes or ‘failures’. He’s also what a lot of the akatsuki refer to as a pretty boy since anytime we all go out, the girls flock to him. Takes pride in his hair and appearance but he’s never cocky. Has never outright said it but it’s presumed he’s bisexual🥰

Sasori: just like orochimaru, he tends to be in his room, working on new creations and preparing damaged puppets. Deidara will also be found in his room more times than his own. Doesn’t smoke like some of us do but he’ll enjoy a nice cold glass of sake at the end of a tiring work week

Tobi: goofy, childish, flamboyant, and easily excitable. Now, sometimes this persona will falter, mostly whenever he’s in our shared room where Obito takes over. As Obito, he’s much more reserved, dominant, intimidating and a major softy. He helps me work on repairs(I have my own business of custom made weaponry, Kunai’s shuriken, etc) he’s also a medical ninja, and his level is very close to Sakura’s.

Kakuzu: quiet, and grouchy. Tends to not be as vocal about his affections unless him and I are alone. He’ll never admit it but loves having his hair played with or back scratches. Has fallen asleep in my lap from me doing so. His favorite food is onigiri, all kinds of doesn’t matter what the middle is filled with. He’s not a picky eater in the slightest. Just like Kisame, he’s massive. He’s the tallest member, standing at 6’5.

Hidan: anytime he’s in the mood, he’ll team up with Tobi. It’s a recipe for chaos. If he wants attention, he’s taken after what Tobi does and have multiple shadow clones ‘annoy’ me until I give in and pay attention to him lol. Hidan is very in tune with his emotions and knows when he needs to step away and take a break from things. He’s also an affectionate drunk, so he’ll be found wrapping his arms or his body around me. Trailing along behind me like a lost puppy🥺

•

If you got this far, thank you☺️

Ps: if you want to know more, please send in requests, I love talking with you guys. Also don’t be scared to ask about my other DR’s, or even a specific person!

[ireadwithmyears]

Get to Know Me Tag Game 

79s edition

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

//Rules// copy this post and answer the questions below + tag people you would like to see at 79’s!

What a fun and creative idea. Thanks for the tag @clonethirstingisreal

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

So, imagine that all of us are living on Coruscant during the Clone Wars. Obviously, we would all be going to 79’s, right? Now I’m wondering what everyone is gonna wear the first time you’re going? What kind of drinks do you order? What will you be doing? Who will you be flirting with?

What to Wear: depends on what vibe I’m going for, TBH. If I want sexy, Maybe like a cute bodysuit paired with a nice pair of jeans that shows off my ass. My ass is small, but she can show off with the right pair of jeans. If I just want to feel pretty and authentically me, a nice dress, preferably one with a twirly skirt that I can feel as I move around cause it makes me feel like a princess. I know I look good in teal/green or blue, and maybe match it with a small pair of heels, because even though I’m 4 feet 11 and a half, I’m not willing to kill my feet just so I can be taller. As for my hair, I have really nice, really soft blonde hair, and it’s one of the few things that I’m rather vain about. I might just leave it down, because I like how it feels against my shoulders as I walk. Or, depending on the outfit, put it up in a nice and high ponytail because I like the way it swings. It’s just fun to me I don’t know why.

What to order: I find the taste of any alcohol really disgusting and intolerable, so probably just water. This would mean, under normal circumstances, that I’m the designated driver. However, because I’m blind, I am exempt, and I am therefore the designated viber, just here for the vibes and to spend some time with my friends. If I want to achieve the sensation of feeling pleasantly buzzed, I’ll go out and steal a few hits off of my friends weed, as that usually turns me into a social butterfly for the rest of the night, and God knows I could use the boost around new people.

What to do: as mentioned before, I’m a pretty anxious person when it comes to being in these environments. As a blind person I find them really loud and overstimulating. So if one of my friends has even successfully managed to drag me out here, that’s a feat within itself and deserves to be celebrated. I’m probably sticking really close to them, because I know that they are a group that will make sure I’m safe and won’t just leave me stranded somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, with my friends, we’ll talk and have fun and one of them might even drag me out to dance. But if a new person approaches our table, I might become a little bit more shy, and might need breaks throughout the night to go outside and breathe because of the overwhelming environment.

Who to woo: guys... this is really haaard😩 for starters, I think I’m horrible at talking to new people. Starting a conversation makes me want to crawl under the pit table and hide, and the idea of actually having to keep up the conversation makes me even more anxious. For this, I need an excellent wing woman to make introductions, and continuously push me to keep talking. If I’ve got that, then realistically, I think I’m making my way over to Echo. He’s on the quieter side, but I don’t think he’s shy. He’s got confidence and charisma that I find insanely attractive and I feel like, if we got to talking, we’d hit it off. By the end of the night, he’d be policing all of his brothers around him to respect the rules of not engaging with my guide dog, and I will have opened up to the point where we could switch from really deep conversations, to mindless chatter to just, comfortable silence that doesn’t feel awkward for either of us. When I go home, my friends will tell me about the way he was looking at me the whole night, and they’ll describe to me how he smiled and couldn’t bring himself to look away every time I spoke.

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

Tagging anyone who would want to do this. If you see this and feel so inspired, please do!!!

get to know me tag game 79s edition

[hecate-fem]

One of the issues in “Call me by Your Name” that I’ve only realised after going back to it (thanks Uni) is the poor characterisation of women.

Elio’s Mother for starters. We know virtually nothing outside of her role as “Mum” and that she’s also well-educated like the rest of them. We don’t know what she does for a living, or what sort of person she is outside of a source of comfort for Elio. You can try to argue that since the book is from Elio’s perspective, of course he’s going to see her as comfort but we know what the Dad’s job is. We know more about his life outside of family than we do the Mother’s. She also isn’t let in to the conversation all that much. In the film when Elio brags about how he almost slept with Marzia, when his Mother says something about it, his Father is quick to shut down the conversation. Again in the film when Elio asks his Father if his Mother knows about the relationship between him and Oliver, his Father says something like “I think she doesn’t.” Elio is shown to be quite comfortable with his Mother, being more physically affectionate towards her, and they are shown to have a close relationship. At least close enough for her to have the same chances of noticing him and Oliver together as Elio’s Father does. Say I’m reading too much into it, I’m a literature student idc, but her not being included in these conversations implies that she’s not important enough of a character to be involved.

You can argue that since this is from the perspective of Elio, of course he isn’t going to pay much attention to his Mother. Well, Elio clearly tells us what his Father does for a living and takes the time to talk about their education, why not tell us his Mother’s profession? Flesh out her character a bit more? You did it with the Father, what’s stopping him from at least briefly mentioning his Mother is something? Even if it’s just explicitly saying she’s a stay at home Mother (given the family’s wealth and her education I have my doubts).

Next up is Marzia. Who deserved so much better. When Elio breaks off their brief romance in favour of Oliver she forgives him. Sure, up to her, but this only really benefits Elio, it shows his feelings as the ones that are more important. It shows his feelings for Oliver outweigh any hurt he did to Marzia and they didn’t even have an in-depth conversation about it! She just sort of got hurt and then forgave him at the end of the book. It’s also evident that he’s using Marzia as a way to push away any attraction he has for Oliver, to help build the tension and raise the stakes. Problem is, when he and Oliver do get together he just discards her. Again, the argument of the book and film being Elio’s perspective and him being 17 means he’s gonna be a dick can be presented. But again, Marzia’s characterisation is extremely lacking. She isn’t anything outside of a plot device for the story. We know virtually nothing about her, what her personality is like outside of forgiving and attracted to the male protagonist. There seems to be a pattern here.

You have the housekeepers, who are also female and again, lack characterisation. You’d think with Elio being familiar with them, we’d get at least a little bit more on what they’re like but no. They’re just there to serve him, like most of the other female characters.

And then there’s the woman that Oliver seems to have a fling with before getting together with Elio. She’s objectified by both Elio and Oliver, evident when Elio says “She’s more beautiful than last summer.” Again, despite Elio being somewhat familiar with her, she lacks characterisation. She’s a woman who’s beautiful and is attracted to Oliver, giving Elio a reason to feel jealous. Another plot device.

And finally, the woman Oliver gets married to. I’m nitpicking here but consider this revenge for the gross fucking age gap. She’s only there to ensure the Happy End doesn’t happen, she snatches Oliver away for good and the only thing we know about her is in relation to her on-off relationship with Oliver. It’s something that could have been mentioned over the summer if they opened a topic about previous relationships, but that doesn’t fit the whole “romance in a bubble” vibe this story has so I get it. I just don’t like it.

And to people who still insist that this is all because it’s from Elio’s point of view and that I’m being too critical. Think back to the beloved book, after Elio masturbates into a peach, where he looks at the peach and compares it to a rape victim. That line wasn’t necessary, the author chose to put that line in and leave it. You would have still had a similar effect with the description of the peach being bruised, no need to make a comparison to rape. It’s fucking insensitive to say the least. And if you argue “it helps drive home Elio’s feelings of disgust at what he did” there were other ways of doing that! There were other ways of conveying Elio’s feelings without that goddam simile.

There are many other things wrong with this book. A seventeen year old dating a twenty four year old is a glaring one. And to those of you who say “well the age of consent in Europe is sixteen” Elio is also still a minor in Europe. And Oliver is American, so shouldn’t he at least be operating under the “eighteen is the consenting adult age” rule? Even if Elio was eighteen I’d still have issues, just because you turn eighteen you don’t magically become a mature adult. You’re still immature as shit in comparison to a twenty four year old. To conclude, I have many issues with this book and the author who wrote and defends it because that’s just really telling of what he’s like.

[rustworks]

The Brokowski Files - 9

Fahey had gone silent. While it was nice to have a break from his endless jibber jabber, the abnormal behavior made Brokowski wary.

“Bro, now what?”

Fahey’s jaw was tense. “Amigo, those cops near my warehouse got me all nervous. What if they are closing in? I’ve got bills to pay!”

“And what if a meteor hits your shitty Charger right now?”

Fahey jumped and looked up. “Can that happen?”

“My point, bro, is stop overthinking shit. You don’t even know why they’re there.” Brokowski wanted a cigarette, but he’d given Perlman his last one. Dammit.

The Charger turned down Chino. By God, were they finally getting to their destination? Fahey slammed on the brakes suddenly, nearly sending Brokowski’s head into the glove compartment door.

“What the hell, bro!”

“Cop cars ahead! Look!” He jabbed a shaky finger at the obvious - there were three squad cars, frenzied red and blue eyes going, a block ahead.

“Jesus Christ,” Brokowski snapped. “It’s always a good idea in the presence of cops to do super suspicious things like slam on the breaks in the middle of the road.”

“Wow, Brokowki’s in a mood,” quipped Fahey. “They’re after my goods! I hope Coggs and Boz are okay.”

“To hell with Coggs.” Brokowski noticed the cops were at Chino & Cochise. Maybe things weren’t so rosy.

“That looks like Perlman’s Hummer!” Fahey squeaked, pointing at a bright yellow suburban assault vehicle parked near the squad cars.

Brokowski didn’t look. His phone was ringing again. He couldn’t ignore Sad Eyes forever. He answered.

“Sorry, bro. I can’t talk right now. We’re in the middle of something. Be home soon.” He hung up, which he knew would go over as well as a vicar at a brothel.

“What do we do now?” cried Fahey. Brokowski cranked off the radio. Scritti Politti wasn’t providing the right soundtrack for this drama.

“Well for starters, bro, get the car moving.”

“Where?”

“Your damn warehouse, bro. Unless you’ve got illegal stuff just laying around, we act cool.”

Fahey reluctantly drove. “They’re literally parked outside my warehouse, amigo! Look, there’s Boz and Coggs right there. And Mauer! Shit!”

“Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, bro.” Brokowski started to think a night in prison would be more enjoyable than this ride. “I haven’t done a damn thing wrong, so no matter what I’m good.”

“I thought we were friends, amigo! Amigos!”

“You’ve jerked me around all day. Maybe if we had just gone to your damn warehouse right away, we’d have avoided this. As it is, I’m in the dog house with Sad Eyes because of you. And that ain’t a place I want to be.”

It started raining lightly again. Mauer spotted them and waved. They realized it was less of a greeting and more of a “come here”.

Fahey slammed the brakes again. Fed up, Brokowski flung himself out of the car.

“Gentlemen!” Mauer called out, a light smirk on his face. “Just the two I’ve been looking for. We need to talk.”

[andrcmdas]

WHERE: Somewhere in wizarding London. WHEN: August 26th, 2029. WHO: Lily Evans. ( @liilyjane ) VERSE: Time Clash. 

“I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine, or that I don’t know what’s wrong, so let’s get straight to it. What do you need or want me to do for you? Except maybe for killing people, as I’m not sure whether or not laws about that have changed in the future.”

[drakenology]

the yakuza wife - yakuzaboss!bakugo x housewife reader - inspired by @hanji-is-life ‘s sexy ass. 

yakuza au

tw: violence, sadism, mentions of blood, smut, cum, cussing, daddy/ddlg kinks undertones, mentions of guns, very much harley quinn and joker only joker actually loves harley in this ya know?

“where the fuck is my money?” bakugo asks this bludgeoned man tied up to a metal chair in some god forsaken warehouse god only knows where. 

“please sir, i’ll get it to you as soon as I can! please stop!” the man pleads, flinching when bakugo raises his fist to land a mean left hook into his jaw with a dark chuckle. 

“you know you shouldn’t borrow from people if you have no intentions in payin’ em back. it’s fuckin’..” he pauses before taking a crowbar and bashing the man in both his knees, blood curdling screams filling the empty space. “rude!”

bakugo smirks as the man begs for mercy, pulling a set of pliers of his pocket and holding them up to the man’s face to tease him, grabbing by his neck to make him meet his intimidating gaze. 

“shoulda thought of that before trying to playing me for a fuckin’ fool.. hey, I wonder how many teeth I can pull outta ya before your weak ass passes out.” he grunts, waving the plier in his face until the sound of his phone ringing stops him from doing anything.

“you’re lucky I gotta take this.” he mumbles, taking a piece of dirty cloth and shoving it into his mouth to keep him quiet.

bakugo turns away and rolls up his sleeve, setting up his tools for torture as he answers the phone. 

“hi baby!” you chime, at the mall having the time of your life with his credit card. 

“hey. ‘m workin’ whaddaya want?” he says, holding up his pliers and sitting them down on the table as his hostage screams in the background. 

“just checking on you, dummy! whatcha want for dinner, hm? i know you haven’t eaten yet.” you say, holding up different dresses to your frame to imagine yourself in them. “hey, pink or powder blue?”

“pink. and ‘m not hungry. you’ve got security with you, right baby?” he asks, kicking the man onto the floor with a loud thud. 

“of course. you won’t let me leave the house without them.” you respond, not even paying attention to the muffled screams you hear in the background. you’ve learned not to ask too many questions when it comes to being a yakuza wife. 

“gotta keep my baby safe, right? listen, princess I gotta go. i’ll be home before 9 okay?” 

you suck your teeth and roll your eyes, “fine. be careful okay?”

“always am. love you baby.” as he hangs up and returns to his task. 

the difference between you and katsuki was night and day. everyone knew you to be so sweet and kind; unbeknownst to them all how you ended up with a cretin like Bakugo. even though Katsuki was immoral in many ways, he knew marrying you was the right thing to do. who else would want to dress his wounds and pick out his suits for the day?

katsuki demanded you quit your job. in fact he came with you to put in your two weeks notice, tough scowl staining his features as your boss signed the approval with shaking hands.

from that day on he ensured you were well taken care of and that marrying him and becoming his housewife came with many perks.

for starters, your husband was loaded. all those years of extorting and money laundering paid off every time you come home with a couple shopping bags from the mall.

katsuki loved lavishing you in the finest of everything, adoring how you look in designer. so much so, he fucks you by the bay window of your luxury penthouse, the Chanel dress he just bought you hiked up over your ass as his calloused fingers make way into your mouth. you’re pinned to the glass, bare breasts pressed against the window as he railed you from behind. and he wonders why you turned out to be a spoiled brat.

your gifts always made you stand out above the rest. many men fawn over you and he knows this. just a small price to pay for having a fine ass wife. but if anyone ever forgot their place, if anyone ever got to close. well. that’d be the last time you’d ever see them. course you have no idea why. but even though katsuki loved you with all his heart, you could be a real pain in the ass. you were so bratty, especially when he was busy. 

one day you came trotting into his office in the middle of some business deal. whatever. your jimmy choos popped and you needed a new pair before the yacht party you were attending started. 

“daddy’s taking care of business right now, okay? go wait outside.”

“no! you promised we’d go shopping! I need new shoes what the fuck am I supposed to do with these?” you whine, pouting like usual to get your way. bakugo’s brow raised, walking towards you and gesturing for the meeting to continue without him. his hand rested on your lower back as he escorted you out.  

he fucked your brains in in the next room for disobeying him, panties around your ankles, your charm anklet jingling as he picked up your legs. 

“spoiled fuckin’ brat. told you to wait didn’t I? hm? or did you make a scene ‘cause you wanted my dick?” your head hangs back as your hips are held down by him, thrusts brutal as you cry for him to slow down, face turned away from his. he grabs your chin and turns you around harshly with his scarred and calloused hands, bruised knuckles turning white with a tight grip. 

“look at me when i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.” 

he came inside you when he was done, pulling your panties up for you as it dripped down your leg. 

“now.. back to what I was doin’. tell the driver to take your ass home.” he huffs with a zip of his pants and a shake in his sleeves to fix them. bakugo leaves you on the desk, leaving the door cracked for you to leave when you got yourself together. and when you did you could hardly hold yourself up, holding your high heels in your hand as you limp to the car waiting outside for you. 

having a yakuza boss as a husband was always exciting. something in you liked the danger; the thrill.

you tell this tale to your other socialite girlfriends and they almost never believe you.

you were out with bakugo on a date when work called. to your dismay, he had to get up and leave. you insisted on being brought along, hating being left alone in that big house that was often empty without him. he agreed but only if you promised to be quiet like a good little girl. 

when you arrive at some warehouse (the same one mentioned earlier), a man was already hog tied on the ground, muffled screams behind a piece of duck tape as bakugo ripped it off. you sat by a table, legs folded in annoyance. this interrupted date night? you scoff and fold your arms. 

“ah. good seeing you old friend. remember me?” he asks, taunting him a little with a gun in his hand pressing it against his jaw as the man let out muffled pleas for him not to shoot. 

“you tried stealing from me. fuckin’ idiot. my boys caught you in some hotel with your little girlfriend. did you think you were gonna have a victory fuck after you made off with my money, hm?” bakugo asks, hitting him upside the head with the butt of his pistol.

you jump at the sound of the blow, a small part of you turned on watching your husband beat the crap out of a complete stranger. your pussy starts to ache when you peer over at bakugo’s strong tattooed arms as he flung his jacket aside, rolling his white sleeves up to ensure his expensive suit doesn’t get soiled. 

“oh fuck, where are my manners? this is my lovely wife, y/n. say hi baby.” he coos at you, a switch from rough to gentle when he spoke to you. you smile and wave, the hostage sobbing out a weak greeting when bakugo demands him to. 

“anyways. what’d you do with the money, asswipe? gonna tell me or are you gonna make me fuck you up in front of my pretty wife. god, look at ‘er, ain’t she gorgeous? you know I was about 30 minutes from railing her before you had to go along and ruin our night. I should kill you right here.” bakugo turns his head towards you with a sick look in his eye. 

“whaddaya think, princess? what should I do to this motherfucker, huh?” he asks. 

“smack him again. he ruined date night.” you grumble, folding your arms. 

“he sure did, baby.” bakugo says, punching the hostage in his jaw. he gestured for his men to crowd around him, all of them taking turns kicking and beating him with metal bars. katsuki walks towards you and pulls you into a passionate kiss, a bit of blood on his knuckles as he pulled your hair. god, this whole situation was sick. but why was it so hot?

bakugo carries you away to the car, tells the driver to fuck off somewhere while he rails you in the back seat, knowing his men will take care of the rest of what he started inside the warehouse. you straddle his lap, bouncing up and down on his stiff cock as the car rocked back and forth. the car windows fog up as your body heat commingled throughout the space, your hands pressing against the glass to gain to balance as you rode his fat cock. 

“fuck, daddy. you’re so hot when you’re handling business. ooh, you’re dick’s so hard.” you purr, bakugo’s hand pinching and playing with your breast as his hips thrust upwards. He smirks at you, almost a bit shocked you got as turned on as he did from the pain he inflicted.

“hmm, I know baby. god, you’re sick. getting this wet from watching me beat up some punk. dirty fuckin’ girl.” he huffed into your hair, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck followed by harsh nibbles.

truth is even though you were so sweet and caring, you had a dark side no one knew about. I mean why else would you marry into the yakuza? 

you were both fucking insane. 

[wanda-maxipad1989]

hiii i loved that fic you wrote for wanda and the reader! i think incorporating wanda's glowy powers would be cool, maybe if she was able to get her girl off while standing far away and really dominating her like that

Pairing: MCU Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch & Female Reader

Summary: Wanda gets a little sick of you not paying her the attention she deserves and decides now is the time to bust out her powers.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral sex, use of sex toys, BDSM

A/N: Sorry I took FOREVER to write this I just had to keep re-writing it, this is the draft I hated the least so hopefully you enjoy it. Also "All Work and No Play" has over 100 notes which probably isn't a lot to most of you but I appreciate it so much since it's my first time writing in so long.

You absolutely had it coming tonight. Date night, fancy restaurant, Wanda arriving home from work with flowers before bringing you out. All of that and yet you were still sat at dinner quietly, absent-mindedly pushing your food around your plate, only half listening to the girl in front of you.

You should've known that Wanda was never going to stand for you being quiet like this on your first date night in weeks

The starters had come and gone, and you were just finishing up your main courses when you felt something light graze up your neck and around your ear. Startled, you jolted around to see where it came from, but seeing no one near you, you assumed it had been your hair and turned back around, still not paying enough attention to the girl in front of you to notice the shit-eating grin on her face.

If you were unsure of who was touching you, you were about to know exactly who it was.

The feather-like touch that had grazed you before had now moved to the back of your legs, slowly applying more pressure as they rose upwards until all of sudden, it didn't feel much like a feather anymore. No, it was definitely a hand.

Wanda sat back in her chair, crossing her arms as you looked up from your meal, putting two and two together about the source of the phantom touch. As the hands you were feeling slowly gripped your ass, before one of them sneaked around to the front, dragging nails on the inside of your thigh, you sat forward, now paying her the attention she wanted.

"I thought we said we'd wait and see about you using your powers, I still don't know if I want to", you said sternly, although you couldn't deny that it did feel good to have her touch you, it always did.

"Actually, you said we should wait, I don't remember agreeing", she smirked, knowing that you were enjoying it at least a little bit. Who did you think you were, lying to a telepath.

"Wanda, we're in public, even if I wanted to we can't", you retorted.

"If you wanted to? I don't even need to read your mind to see how turned on you are, sweetheart."

It was with that remark that you became conscious of how heaby your breathing had gotten as the ghostly hand on your thigh had switched from scratching your sensitive skin, to lightly grazing its fingertips along you. You were also starting to regret wearing such a low cut dress, because without even looking you could feel the heat in your chest and you knew it would be bright red, making your arousal clear. Even if you had chastised Wanda for acting like this in public, the idea of her taking you right there in front of everyone as they were none the wiser had definitely turned you on.

You stopped your thoughts in their tracks, knowing exactly who would be listening to them.

"Fine", you huffed, "you can use your powers on me all you want tonight, but can we please just hurry up and leave".

She smirked wide enough that even the Cheshire Cat would be envious, but you would never be so lucky as to just get what you want right off the bat.

"Oh, baby, you know I'd love to take you home right now."

You knew there was a "but" coming that was going to make your night pure torture.

"But"- there it was- "we ordered dessert at the start of the night because you just couldn't keep your eyes off that brownie you saw the girl at the next table with. Since you wanted it so badly we can't leave, kitten, it wouldn't be fair."

Damn you and your stupid brownie.

The subsequent hour of eating and waiting for the bill could've been a lot easier if it weren't for Wanda wanting to find out just how turned on she could get you from the opposite side the of table. Her seemingly normal conversations about art, music and politics were only made to make it seem to others like you were a normal couple, completely masking all the times you nearly choked as she would dip a single finger inside of you, without ever moving a muscle.

The small moans that did manage to escape were explained away to those beside you as your dessert being particularly good, making the brownie a very popular choice for the tables around you.

Despite your little "When Harry Met Sally" moments, you eventually got her out of the restaurant and home without any major incidents, but she was certainly testing you, edging and teasing you the whole way home while never taking her eyes off the road. She had playfully threatened to use her powers on your before and you were really starting to wish you had let it happen sooner, maybe ignoring her and being a brat was actually the way to go.

Whatever calm facade she had put on in the car was gone as soon as you crossed the threshold of your house, as she chased you up the stairs to your bedroom, catching you in the hallway just outside it and pushing you against the wall, her eyes glowing red in a way you had only ever seen when she was angry. She kissed you hard before quickly moving to work on your neck, biting down on the skin, making you hiss. Your reaction only seemed to spur her on further, as she started sucking on the sensitive flesh, claiming you with the marks she was leaving behind.

Had your eyes been open you probably would've noticed the red glow coming from her fingers, before feeling an unfamiliar buzzing sensation in your underwear, making you shriek from the surprise and the pleasure.

"What, you don't like it, princess?", she teases, grinning into your neck as she continues her assault on it, her hands holding you tightly in place, just how she wants you.

The moan you gave in response clearly wasn't a good enough response, as the hand that had been holding your jaw moved to your neck, squeezing tightly as she pulled back from you, eyes still glowing a bright crimson colour.

"Answer me, sweetheart", she said sternly, tilting her head and squinting at you in a way that made your stomach turn.

Wanda had always been the more dominant one in your relationship, but tonight was different, she was cocky and arrogant and you loved every second of it.

"I love it, baby, p-please don't stop", you begged.

"Is this what I have to do to get your attention, are you that much of a little slut? I take you out for dinner, get you flowers and dress up for you and yet it takes me fucking you under the table to get your attention? If that's what it takes then I'll fuck you until you can't walk,", she growled deeply into your ear and all of a sudden you knew you were really in for it tonight, "but I don't think you deserve to actually feel me, baby, so I'm going to have some real fun with you tonight"

Dragging you into your bedroom, she forced you down onto the bed, hovering over you and kissing you while the vibrations continued, getting stronger with each passing minute, making your moans dirtier and louder as she upped the pace. What you couldn't see was her hands summoning what she needed to punish you for the night.

Just as you could feel yourself getting close to your release, she felt it too, stopping the vibrations over your clit, before standing up, pulling you upwards with her to strip you down. She stared right at your naked form while she stripped herself in front of you.

Sick of her just gawking a you, you sat forward and began kissing her stomach and tracing your fingers along her sides and thighs, looking up at her for approval, only to be met with a smirk and her hand in your hair, before she grasped it tightly in her fist, making your gasp again.

"Don't try and be good for me now, baby girl, it's far too late for that", she snarled, getting right in your face, only to push you back onto the bed and rolling you so you were lying on your stomach, almost instinctively smacking your ass as soon as she saw it.

You felt her straddle you as she leaned down and lifted your face off the duvet, wrapping a ball gag around the front of your mouth and tying it tightly behind your head

Moving down your body, she tied your wrists together with hand cuffs, and then did the same to your ankles, looping the cuffs on your feet around those on your wrists to hold your legs and arms in the air behind you. She grabbed the intersection of the cuffs and lifted you by it surprisingly easily, turning you to face the chair in the corner of the bedroom.

You whined against your gag as you saw her walk away towards the chair, swaying her hips as she went, just rubbing it in further that you couldn't touch her, but she clearly felt even more confident than usual.

She lay across the chair so her legs draped over the arm rest, her eyes no longer glowing as she had composed herself again, knowing exactly what she had planned for you.

"Ready, sweetheart?", she said with a smirk, knowing full well you couldn't answer.

You immediately felt a finger dipping inside you and the buzzing you had felt earlier resuming, making you struggle fruitlessly against your restraints, before you felt a second finger enter you roughly. Her pace was relentless inside you, curling the phantom digits just enough to hit your sweet spot every time, making sure you groaned into your gag.

"Look at me, princess", she said softly, as if she wasn't ruining you from across the room. Her hand began to sneak down between her legs as she watched you struggle and heard the filthy sounds she was forcing out of you.

The sight of her only made the feeling more intense, as she stared deep into your eyes with a grin before you felt a third finger enter you. After all the edging you tried to keep quiet, hoping to hide how close you were to cumming as she upped the speed of the vibrations on your clit even further.

Just as you reached the edge, you felt all the sensations stop, making you groan loudly at the feeling of being empty.

"Oh, baby, you don't think I can feel what my fingers are doing? Don't you realise I can feel you getting tighter and wetter for me? You think I wouldn't notice you cumming all over my fingers just because I'm not physically doing it? Even if your thoughts weren't so loud I'd know exactly what you were doing, princess."

She continued touching herself as you felt something new trying to enter you. You knew the feeling as soon as it dipped inside of you, unsure whether you were actually feeling her strap on, or if she had just created it with her powers. You didn't have time to think about it before you felt its full length being forced inside of you, stretching you further even than her fingers had. The feeling on your clit too had been replaced, what was once a vibrating sensation was now the softness of Wanda's tongue, licking small circles on your nerves and sucking it gently between her lips.

You wanted to close your eyes and just feel everything she was giving you, but the sight before you was just too good too miss, Wanda's head now thrown back over the arm of the chair, panting aggressively as her eyes started to glow again.

She picked up the pace of her tongue and the strap on, making you drool onto the ball gag as you got close again, so desperately needing to let go for her. Knowing how much she was enjoying the show, you rocked your hips back onto the strap on as much as you could, and let every moan come out onto the gag, getting louder with every thrust.

"Come on, princess, c-come for me. Come for mommy", she demanded.

Her commands sent you over the edge, forcing your body to convulse in front of her as you shrieked louder into the gag than you thought possible, coating her strap with your cum as it forced itself deep and hard into you, while her tongue suckled desperately at your clit.

She continued long as you had come down, forcing you into another orgasm, despite your protests and trying to wiggle out of your restraints, while she kept touching herself, not allowing herself to cum until she was satisifed with her work.

As your body slumped down hard against the bed, legs and wrists still bound, you looked up through hooded eyes to see Wanda desperate to cum, sweat dripping down her soft skin and her red hair sticking to her forehead as she let out deep, throaty moans. You groaned to get her attention, wanting to badly to be the one that got her off.

"You wanna help mommy cum, baby?", she asked breathlessly.

You nodded enthusiastically, as she stood up and came towards the bed. Too happy with how helpless you were, she decided to leave you all tied up for her as she removed the gag on your mouth, before lifting one leg onto the bed so you could place your head between her legs easily.

Feeling how desperate and swollen her pussy was, you wrapped your lips around her clit quickly as you felt her hand go to your hair, holding your head close to her.

"That's it, sweetheart, such a good little mouth for mommy. Just a little more, baby, make mommy cum nice and hard for you."

You knew she was the one in control, but the desperation in her voice, hearing her nearly beg made you need to feel her cumming even more. You quickened the movements of your tongue, drawing circles on her clit in the way you knew would make her head spin, sucking it between your lips harshly, forcing a scream out of her mouth.

Her grip on your hair tightened as she spewed praises for you, cumming with one final scream, throbbing between your lips as she threw her head back, panting as she felt you kiss her clit softly as she came down, stroking the side of your face as she felt you tasting her cum.

"Good girl, you're my good girl. You made mommy so proud, sweetheart."

You smiled as you looked back up at her, wriggling against your cuffs so she would get the hint, which she did immeditately, leaning down over you to unlock them. She moved your exhausted body up the bed towards the pillows, pulling the lotion from the other side of the room while sitting on the bed beside you.

Wanda smiled down at you as you rolled onto your back, kissing your lips softly as she took your hands and started rubbing lotion into your wrists to soothe them, kissing your hands as she went. She admired the marks on your neck and collarbones as she massaged your wrists, watching you fall asleep quickly after the night's activities.

It was then that she silently hoped you never behaved again.

[twdeadfanfic]

St. Patrick’s night III

Murphy MacManus x Reader

Summary:  You’re left alone on St. Patrick’s night, the people you were supposed to hang out with  seemingly having forgotten you, but what seemed to be an awful night turns into something completely different when you meet the MacManus twins.

Another chapter for this thing that was supposed to be a one-shot but got out of hand...

The next day at work, you were once again distracted thinking about the MacManus twins. You wondered if they meant it when they’d said they’d pick you up from work that day, you were a bit worried that they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t see them lying like that…maybe they’d forget, though, or something else would come up… You knew it was better not to overthink it, though, and you tried to focus on doing your job.

It wasn’t easy, though, as you kept wondering about Murphy, and how he hadn’t said anything about having kissed you, and he hadn’t kissed you again either… You knew it was probably because he’d kissed you only because it was St. Patrick, but, what if he thought you didn’t want to kiss him? That you weren’t interested? Maybe you should have said something when he’d kissed you? You wouldn’t mind kissing him again…

You wouldn’t mind taking time to get to know each other either, see if you both wanted to go on dates or something…your cheeks heated up at the idea, feeling nervous already and it was just an idea in your head…and Murphy might not even be interested. He hadn’t said anything about it after all. Maybe you should try to gather the courage to actually ask him yourself…it sounded intimidating, though…

Focusing on your job was proving to be hard, even if you tried your best, and you couldn’t stop counting the hours until you were done, barely managing to eat your lunch. Once the clock marked five, you and your coworkers began to clean up your desks and put everything into place before gathering your own stuff and leaving.

You walked in front of a group of your coworkers, who were talking and laughing together, ignoring you, but you didn’t care anymore, you were better off without them. As you walked outside, you saw the MacManus waiting for you, and you couldn’t help your smile. Yes, you were much better with the twins as your friends than trying to socialize with the assholes you worked with.  The brothers smiled too when they saw you, approaching you to greet you.

“Hi, lass.”

“Hi, you came.” You didn’t mean to sound like you had thought they might stand you up, but you did sound a bit surprised.

“Of course, love, we told ye,” Murphy said, frowning.

“Yeah, yer a woman of little faith, lass,” Connor teased you, but he frowned when he saw your coworkers walking out of the building too, stopping at the door to chat and say goodbye to each other without even giving you a glance. “Don’t blame ye, considerin’ the kind of pricks yer surrounded with,” Connor said, didn’t seem to mind if your coworkers hear him or not…you were a bit afraid of their reaction if they did…but no, Connor was right, they were pricks.

Murphy was looking at your coworkers too, but he wasn’t frowning like Connor, instead, he smirked as his eyes filled with mischief, and you barely had time to wonder what he was up to before he’d stepped even closer to you, reaching to cup your face, and then he was kissing you.

It wasn’t as tentative and soft as the St.Patrick’s kiss, neither as brief, and you felt your brain sort of melt as butterflies seemed to flutter in your belly. Your hands found their way to Murphy’s shoulders almost by their own accord, but he didn’t seem to mind, as he placed a hand on your waist while the other kept cupping your cheek, even when he pulled back.

You could only blink at him in silence, your brain still feeling a bit numb in the best way, and Murphy smirked at you.

“Better than the St.Patrick’s kiss, love?” He asked, loud enough for your coworkers, who had gone silent, to hear. You nodded, still wordless, and Murphy’s smile went bigger.

“So…should I kiss the lass too or…” Connor said, and it was obvious that he was joking, but Murphy frowned nonetheless, scoffing as he shoved his brother, who chuckled.

“Come on, love, let’s go.” Murphy smiled at you, offering you his arm, and you felt a bit shy but hooked your arm with him, smiling bashfully when Murphy smiled at you. Connor smirked and walked to your other side, hooking his arm with yours too, and Murphy rolled his eyes. “Will ye quit?!” He complained, trying to hit his brother, and so you ducked your head.

“Hey, not fighting while I’m in the middle…” You joked, chuckling.

“Sorry, lass,” both twins apologized as you three began walking, Connor letting go of your arm.

“So…do you have plans?” You asked as you walked.

“What if we get somethin’ to eat and go to our place before goin’ to doc’s?” Connor suggested.

“We live right in front of the pub,” Murphy explained.

“Well, that’s convenient,” you chuckled. “Okay, sounds good.”

The Irish neighborhood wasn’t close to your work, but you went walking anyway. You didn’t mind, and neither did the twins, who kept arguing about what to get for dinner. Murphy wanted pizza and Connor Chinese, and both twins were trying to win you to their side, but you didn’t mind, you liked both.

“Come on, ye have to pick one,” Murphy told you. “And sure ye know pizza is better, aye?” You didn’t know how Murphy could look like trouble one second, then the next he could give such convincing puppy eyes, but you were about to cave and pick pizza even if ye were leaning more to Chinese.

“We literally had pizza yesterday,” Connor complained, rolling his eyes at his twin before looking at you. “Seriously, lass, we’d only eat pizza if it were up to him.”

“Ye weren’t complainin’ that much when ye ate a whole pizza by yerself…” Murphy grumbled.

They both looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to choose, and you tried not to give in to Murphy’s puppy eyes. “Well, if you had pizza yesterday, then I’d say it’s fair that we have Chinese today.”

“Aye!” Connor nodded, looking at his brother with a smug grin, and Murphy scoffed.

“Can’t believe ye betrayed me like this, love,” he pouted, but then he was smirking, and so you knew he didn’t mean it.

“We can have pizza any other day,” you offered, smiling.

“Aye? Ye wanna eat with us another day?” Murphy asked, grinning in that way that lighted his face in such a pretty way that gave you all the butterflies.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded, looking down shyly. “If you wanna.”

“Sure we do, love,” Murphy said with that pretty grin and Connor nodded, smiling.

“Okay..okay, great.” You smiled bashfully, glad that it seemed they did want to eat with you any other day and hang out with you.

*

The brothers hadn’t been kidding, they did live in front of the pub, in an old building that didn���t seem quite fitting for housing… You didn’t know how you expected their place to be, but certainly not what you saw when you walked in, and you blinked as you looked around.

It was…it was illegal lofting, that for starters, you were sure of it, and the distribution was…peculiar, so to speak, especially for people not living alone, considering that there were no rooms. Not even a bathroom, there was no wall or anything at all hiding the toilet, neither the row of showers against the wall. You get that the MacManus were twins and all that but…they really did not seem to care for privacy. You really hoped that you didn’t have to pee while you were there, because you weren’t about to do it in front of them.

The place was small, and there wasn’t much there. On one side, there was a couple of mattresses on the floor, separated by a nightstand table in which you saw a couple of mugs and bottles of beer, a small table with some more empty bottles of beer and empty packages of pizza, and a couple of ashtrays full of smoked cigarettes, and some mismatched chairs around it.  Against the wall, there was a tattered sofa that seemed about to die, a small tv on top of an even smaller table, and for some reason, the fridge was between the sofa and the tv, with a lamp on top of it…peculiar, but the whole place was…peculiar.

On the other side, there was a small, old stove, an older sink, and a small worktop which surface was almost covered by bottles of booze, some still full but most empty. If you had any doubt that the boys liked to drink, it was gone by now.

You didn’t want to seem rude or shallow, or judging, or anything like that, and so you stopped looking around like that. The brothers hadn’t seemed to notice, though, or to care, they walked in and took off their rosaries, hanging them on a couple of nails on the wall next to the door, and then Connor left the Chinese takeaway on the table.

“Ye hungry, love?” Murphy asked you and you nodded, since you had barely been able to eat your lunch as you wondered if the MacManus might forget that they had made plans with you, which now sounded silly, you shouldn’t have doubted them.

“Let’s eat,” Connor said as he began to take the food containers out of the bag, the smell making your mouth water already.

You stepped closer to the table to help him with it, and your eyes landed on an open notebook under a beer bottle, spotting some drawings and doodles on it, though before you could get a closer look, Murphy snapped it, almost making the bottle fall, and he closed the notebook and threw it to one of the mattresses.

You frowned, confused, but Connor snorted. “Murph likes to get all artistic sometimes,” he said, prompting Murphy into hitting his twin’s head as he snapped at him to shut up.

“You draw those?” You asked, looking towards the notebook on the bed before looking at Murphy, who to your surprised, seemed almost shy. For how cocky and smug he seemed to look more often than not, it was strange to see him looking almost embarrassed, and you didn’t like it. You hated that you had made him feel like that.

“Yeah, he drew our tattoos in that notebook of him,” Connor said, nodding.

“Told ye to shut up,” Murphy snapped again and this time Connor was quick to stop his hands before he could hit him.

“I think that’s really nice!” You rushed to say, and you meant it, you were impressed. “Seriously, it’s great!”

“Aye?” Murphy looked at you like he thought you didn’t mean it, or even like you were trying to make fun of him, and so you nodded eagerly, smiling.  He still seemed a bit embarrassed, but he smiled at you. “Connor draws too, he tattoed all mine,” Murphy said, gesturing to his neck, and before you could say how impressive that was, Connor spoke.

“You did all mine better.” Connor shrugged, reaching to grab Murphy’s arm and frowning at the tattoed cross. “Parts of this look wonky.”

“I think it looks great!” You said, impressed. “Both his and your tattoos, it’s so impressive, seriously!”

“Aye?” Murphy asked you, his smile bigger now.

“Yes!” You nodded. “Seriously, you not only draw your tattoos but you tattoo them too?! It’s amazing! If I ever want a tattoo, I know who to ask!”

“Ye’d ask me?” Murphy asked with a smile that made you feel all funny and smile too, and you nodded.

“Sure, why not?” You shrugged, and Murphy gave you that pretty, bright smile, that made you consider if he might mind it if you kissed him again…

You barely noticed Connor as he began fumbling with the food containers again, focused as you were on Murphy and that damn smile, but when you finally looked at Connor, you noticed that he seemed amused at Murphy and you. You felt your cheeks heating up a bit, and you tried to kick your brain into working again, helping with the food.

You three decided to settle on the sofa for dinner instead of at the table, since Connor suggested that you could watch a movie, even if you weren’t sure that old thing would hold you three without falling into pieces, and so they dragged the tv in front of the sofa. Connor had a small stack of what seemed old action movies, and once again you had the final vote on what to watch, since the twins kept arguing about it, Murphy complaining that they’d seen the movie that Connor’d picked a million times already while Connor retorted that it was classic worth watching another million times.

You didn’t give it much thought, you didn’t care much and you didn’t want the food to go cold while the boys argued. Since you had sided with Connor on what to eat, this time you voted for Murphy’s choice of movie. He smiled smugly at his twin, but Connor didn’t complain much, since he liked that one too.

It was so much fun, to eat and watch the movie while the twins kept commenting on it, usually Connor saying details that you hadn’t cared to notice before, things that he liked, and Murphy just making fun of it until they both hit each other from time to time, but you knew they didn’t mean anything bad by it, so it was fun too…you didn’t know what was more entertaining, to watch the movie or to watch the MacManus…they had a way of moving in sync most of the time that was hypnotizing, even if it was just to bring food into their mouth, but when they began bickering they were so endearing and funny…you loved it.

At some point, though, once you three had finished your food, you started to find it hard to focus on the movie, as you felt Murphy’s fingers playing with your hair. You froze for a second before looking at Murphy, who was sat down between Connor and you. He smirked at you and you felt your cheeks heating up but a smile tugged at your lips too, it seemed that every time that Murphy smiled, you couldn’t help but smile too.

Murphy’s smirk went wider at that, and his fingers caressed your hair again before he casually placed his arm around your shoulders. It felt nice, to have him so close to you, almost kind of holding you, but you couldn’t stop your shyness and nerves. You tried to relax, though, you didn’t want Murphy to think that you were uncomfortable or that you wanted him to move away from you…not that there was much space left on the small, tattered sofa though.

“Ye both ain’t lookin’ at the screen, yer gonna miss the best part of the movie,” Connor complained, and you looked away from Murphy and to the tv, a bit embarrassed at being caught by Connor staring at his twin, but also part of you was kind of glad to escape Murphy’s intense glance, that made you feel shy while also making you feel twirls in your belly…

“The whole movie is the best part of the movie for ye,” Murphy scoffed, chuckling.

“It’s a damn good movie,” Connor said as he shoved his brother, pushing him closer to you…not that Murphy seemed to mind, and honestly, you didn’t either, even if it made you shy.

You still wondered what was Murphy’s deal, though, if he wanted just to mess around and have fun, kiss you sometimes, hold you while you watched tv it seemed too, and that was it, or if it meant something else, more. You still didn’t know how to bring it up, how to ask, you knew you should, so as not to obsess, thinking and wondering about it all the time, but the idea of asking him made you feel so awkward… You decided to just enjoy whatever it was, at least for that night.

Once the movie finished, and Connor’s monologue about it finished too, you three made your way to the pub. No sooner had you stepped inside, you excused yourself and rushed to the bathroom. You had been needing to go for a while now, but since there was no walls or anything hiding the toilet at the MacManus’ place, you had been waiting until you were at the pub, no matter neither of the twins had seemed to have any qualms about it while you were there.

Once you left the bathroom, you noticed that the brothers had sat down on one of the tables instead of at the bar counter, and you liked it more. They were sat down next to each other, and when you approached them, Murphy smiled at you, pushing a pint towards the seat in front of him, while Connor looked at you seeming amused.

“We ordered ye a pint, love, hope it’s okay? Murphy asked you.

“Yes, it’s perfect, thanks.” You nodded as you sat down, but you frowned at Connor, wondering why he seemed so amused, and he noticed it, smirking.

“So, lass…I was tellin’ to my brother that ye were too shy to take a piss at home and that’s why ye ran to the bathroom like that,” he said, and you almost groaned aloud, mortified and beyond embarrassed. Your cheeks burned and you almost hid your face on your hands. “See…told ye.”

Connor chuckled, looking at his brother, and you felt like hitting him in the head like Murphy sometimes did…they both seemed to enjoy embarrassing each other, and you hoped Connor, or even both, hadn’t decided to extend it to you too and try to embarrass you too.

“What…but lass, ye got nothin’ to be embarrassed about!” Murphy said, which just made you feel more embarrassed. “We all gotta piss!”

“Can we just…talk about anything else at all? Please?” You begged, feeling your face so hot that you wouldn’t be surprised if it caught fire.

The twins seemed to take pity on you, letting it go, and they began telling you about one day at work in which Murphy got himself locked inside the bathroom of the meatpacking factory. and Connor had to “throw the door open to rescue him, lass, we had to pay for it, ‘cause Murphy was an idiot,” he explained, earning a shove from Murphy.

“I ain’t an idiot, the lock was not openin’ no matter what, I promise, love,” Murphy insisted as if it was a matter of life or death.

“I believe you,” you assured him, laughing, and as the brothers began bickering again, you couldn’t help your grin looking at them, they were just so fun to be around, that soon you had forgotten your earlier embarrassment.

Unsurprisingly, the MacManus finished their drinks before you, and so Murphy went to the bar counter to order a couple more. The waitress was busy waiting tables, Murphy had been right when he told you that the pub was busier at the weekends, there was almost the double of people than you had seen before, and so the twins didn’t want to bother the waitress.

You looked at Murphy as he waited for Doc to get him the drinks, getting lost in thought again. You had tried to, but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to what Murphy thought of you, of this thing that seemed to be going between you and him, whatever it was…

You heard Connor chuckling and when you looked at him you felt your cheeks heating up at his amused smirk.

“Do I wanna know what are ye thinkin’ lookin’ at my brother like that…or don’t I?” He teased you, arching an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you murmured, looking down, and judging by Connor’s chuckle, he didn’t believe you.

“He’s been all corny and givin’ ye the heart eyes since St. Patrick’s too, it’s made it easier to mess with him, gotta thank ye for that,” Connor chuckled again.

You felt as if your heart had done a summersault while butterflies decided to flutter in your belly…Murphy gave you the heart eyes? Really? Connor knew his twin, so it must be true, right? Unless Connor was just messing with you…it didn’t seem like so, though.

Connor looked at his brother, who was coming back with their drinks. “Don’t go breakin’ my brother’s heart, though, lass.” His voice let you know that he was joking, but anyway, you didn’t plan on doing that, you were more concerned about the opposite…still, the sight of Murphy’s grin as he sat down in front of you, had you smiling like an idiot again, despite the mess of feelings in your heart and the mess of thoughts in your head, despite any concern about what was going on between you and him.

*

Well, we got kisses.

If you liked this, reblogs and comments are more than welcome, thanks.

As always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

Murphy MacManus taglist, let me know if you want to be (un)tagged:

@pancakefancake @mychemicalimagines  @lilythemadqueen  @theteaset  @hells-mistress  @coffeebooksandfandom  @phoenixblack89  @soraitmnt @sourwolf-sterek32 @hopplessdreamer

@huffledor-able541 @browneyes528  @princessxpunk @easypeasyweasleywheezes

@bitchynicole

@crustyrose @dazzledamazon @pittbull-enthusiast  @elodieyung @leej2468 @angelofthorr @pulplorrd @collecting-stories @sapphire-angel​

[buckyownsmylife]

‘till I get where you are - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky tries to convince you to run away with him.

Warnings: infidelity, reader is the cheater, Steve is the one being betrayed, smut

A/N: So this is the long awaited final part to graveyard. Per @navegandoaciegas​ suggestion, I just had to make our boy steal her away from Steve, even if it did hurt my heart a little bit. I considered writing an alternative version where she stays with Steve, but my muse wasn’t really feeling it - maybe some other time. Hope you guys like this one!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

It had been a weird couple of days ever since Steve caught Bucky and I in the kitchen. No matter how many times I prepared myself for this situation, I did not know what to do or say. But to my surprise, it seemed like the boys had it figured out perfectly.

And that resulted in Bucky immediately leaving me to deal with Steve and Steve pretending nothing had happened as he hoisted me up and took me to the bedroom, where he fucked me just like he did every time we had one of those sinful little sessions that initially began as his idea. 

I felt guilty, just like I had felt right when we first started this. Only back then I knew everything was happening under Steve’s gaze and Bucky only wanted me for my body - actually, I wasn’t even certain of that. I thought Bucky was doing this as a favor to his old pal, because there was no way in hell Bucky Barnes was attracted to me. I could barely believe one super soldier wanted me in his bed, now the other wanted it too?

But as time went on, it became obvious that was very much the case, until it wasn’t necessarily only that anymore. What started as a sexual connection slowly built up into much more, and I was conflicted, because of course I was.

I thought I loved Steve, but could I love him and betray his trust like that?

I managed to fall asleep every night by his side on a technicality. This was what he had asked me for, after all. If he wanted Bucky to fuck me whenever he wanted to, so he could be caught by surprise when he found us, he should have known there would be times when he wouldn’t find us.

The fact that Bucky looked for the times where Steve wasn’t around could not be attributed to my own doing, now could it? 

But I knew it was wrong. I just knew it. That burning acidic feeling of shame and regret bubbled inside my belly every time I had to look Steve in the eyes while his best friend’s cum still dripped from me. 

But he never asked me about it, now did he? He never told me that I should warn him about what Bucky and I did when he wasn’t around, when he didn’t manage to catch us. I could very well push through this, ignore my barrier of morality and pretend everything was fine, if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew my boyfriend like the palm of my hand. And I knew this was affecting him more than I ever feared it would.

For starters, he hadn’t asked Bucky to come over once since his last mission. Ever since we started this little arrangement, three days wouldn’t go by without his best friend being invited at least once into our shared bed.

He was insecure, I could see that. And I think Bucky saw it too. I recognized the guilty look in his eyes whenever we met in the common room for breakfast, because it wasn’t too different from the one I sported on myself.

But still, he restrained himself, abstaining from raising any issues or questioning what should very well be on the table. I knew why he didn’t, though. It was because he already knew the answer, just like I already knew what was going to happen, even if I wasn’t prepared to admit it to myself yet.

I’d warned him about this. When he first approached me with the idea, I wanted to be as open-minded as possible, especially since I cared a great deal for Steve and wanted him to be as sexually fulfilled in our relationship as I could make him. But I needed to let him know how my body and mind worked, and even back then I was well aware - and made sure that he was too - that I wasn’t able to simply sleep with someone without catching feelings for them.

It was only a matter of time, but both Steve and I tried to ignore the ticking clock, pushing through like I was able to only think about Bucky’s weight on top of me when Steve was looking us over, like I didn’t know what his cum tasted like and how heavy his cock felt in my mouth, making my mouth water every time my eyes met his in the gym, like I hadn’t begun to fall in love with him between the silly little compliments he’d whisper against my skin.

And now it was too late to ignore all of that, but still, here we were. All three, pretending nothing was different in our dynamic, like a relationship and a friendship hadn’t deteriorated in all of our joined hands.

I began distancing myself from the both of them, and as much as I could see the hurt in their eyes as they realized what was going on, Steve’s gaze held a little bit of relief in it. Like he was hopeful that the growing space between our hearts would end up tearing that last thread of sentiment that still held the two of us together, without either of us having to pick up a scissor to do it ourselves.

But that still didn’t solve the problem of my relationship with Bucky, and how it would affect Steve even if we did end up falling apart.

Those were the thoughts consuming my mind all day, every day, until I managed to get some sleep next to Steve in bed. But most nights, until I was able to do so, I’d roam the deserted hallways of the tower in search of answers I’d never find outside of myself, until I decided to take a warm shower in the hopes that relaxation would find me.

I was taking off my clothes to get under the water when Bucky joined me in Steve’s walk-in bathroom.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Hi,” she murmured, eyes meeting mine on the reflex of the mirror in front of the both of us. “I was just about to wash up.” I gave a small smile, eyes running across her form, drinking in her figure and the warmth she brought me after so long without being alone with her. I was going crazy without it, the feeling of peace and belonging she brought me. So I didn’t even think before hugging her to my body, hiding my head in the crook of her neck from behind.

“Can I join?” When she didn’t immediately answer me, I knew it was time. We’d danced around the inevitable for too long. We needed to talk about the reality of our feelings, the reality where we had found ourselves in.

“I don’t think that would be best…” I sighed deeply, memorizing the intoxicating perfume of her own skin before finally raising my head to meet her eyes in the mirror again. I knew what I needed - what I wanted to say.

“Let’s run away. Just you and me. I’ll find a cabin in the woods. We can live a quiet life, just like we’ve always wanted.” She doesn’t ask me how I know it. I knew she remembers those midnight conversations as well as I did, long before we even started sharing a bed together. We’d grown close over cups of tea and whispered secrets, it shouldn’t have been any surprise I’d give her my heart without blinking twice.

When she didn’t answer, I turned her around to look directly at me, cradling her face between my hands, both flesh and metal. I was always careful not to hurt her, terrified of seeing any ounce of pain or fear in her eyes, but she never showed me anything other than love and care.

“C’mon, I know you want this,” I urged her, thumbs softly brushing her cheekbones, feeling my chest heavy with each breath by the intensity of the emotions in her eyes. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want us?”

I waited with my heart on my sleeve for her to finally exhale a breathy little “yes” that was immediately swallowed by my lips descending on hers again. I was desperate to have her sweetness on my tongue, to reassure myself that this was real, and not a sickly realistic figment of my deteriorating imagination.

“Bucky, we can’t do this right now,” she whispered against my lips as I hoisted her up on the counter behind her, but I could only keep on pressing kisses against her skin, relishing in the new feeling of possessiveness that took over me as I tasted each inch of her.

“You sure? ‘Cause I can smell you dripping for me, and only me right now.” It was true, I could always smell when she was wet and it was more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever aspire to be. It made my head swirl and my entire body feel more alive than ever before. Ever since the first time I was allowed to touch her, it became increasingly more difficult to control my desires. Now, when I needed her, I needed her. And I needed her now.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I wanted to succumb to him, I wanted it so badly - and I knew my self-control was wearing thin because I wouldn’t usually admit it to myself just how much I craved the feeling of his body on mine. But there was a more important issue here, something we had to discuss, and I knew we should have this conversation now rather than later.

“I feel like I should put on my clothes. We really need to talk about this. You can’t just drop this idea of running away and then fuck me silly so I’ll agree.” That made him smirk against my collarbones, hands slipping under my robe to slowly pry it off my shoulders.

“You know me so well,” he purred, tongue slowly licking from my collarbones up my throat until he was right by my lips again, kissing the breath away from my lungs. I couldn’t deny it any longer. He had awakened the fires of desire inside of me, and I was beyond desperate for him now.

“Is there really anything to talk about, doll? I know you can’t even sleep next to him anymore. And I can’t sleep without you.” His fingers had found my pussy, and without any sort of preamble, two slipped right in, his thumb easily locating my clit and rubbing it. “All of my nightmares are about living without you now. Please don’t make me live in them.”

I melted at the same time that he found my sweet spot, a strangled gasp somehow escaping me, despite how hard I was trying to keep quiet. And that’s when his metal hand came into play.

He covered my mouth and leaned over me, body caging me on the counter as he whispered in my ear. “I love hearing your little sounds, sweetheart, but be a bit quieter, okay? We can’t have Steve interrupting us now, especially since we’re in the middle of such an important conversation.”

I wanted to laugh, but all that got out was a mumbled version of his name, thankfully barely understandable thanks to the hand still silencing me. “Where were we? Ah, yes. You running away with me. Say that you will, baby. I’ll take good care of you. Haven’t I always? Say yes, doll. Please.”

I don’t know how the hell he expected me to be able to form any sort of answer - hell, I had no idea how he was able to speak that convincingly while fingerfucking me to a blinding orgasm, but I guess he knew my body and its limits better than I did, because before I could consciously realize, I was screaming yes over and over again against the cold palm of his hand, body writhing desperately over the counter.

“We’re gonna be so happy, doll. I promise you,” he whispered against my temple before depositing a kiss there, while I dramatically tried to catch my breath. “But right now, I really want to taste this glistening little pussy.”

As his hand left my face, I had to bite down on my own fist to stop the loud moan that threatened to escape me at the mere sight of James Buchanan Barnes falling on his knees in front of me, animalistically licking his lips at what awaited between my spread open legs.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

She looked like a fucking meal, all ready and wet for me to taste. And now she was mine and only mine, forever and ever. “You know…” I started, tracing her outer lips with one of my metal fingers as I watched her juices continuously drip from inside of her, making my mouth water.

“Every time I see you - it doesn’t matter who’s around - I just keep thinking about how I want to have my head between your legs.” My voice was thick with desire as I let her ponder over my confession, tongue slipping past my lips to finally taste her once I felt her muscles relaxing when the anticipation had started to decrease.

“F-Fu-uu-uck, BUCKY!” And now they were tense again. I could feel the solid muscles of her thighs under the palms of my hands as they roamed across her spread legs, forcing her to stay that way for me.

“God, I love your taste, sweetheart. No one - nothing can ever compare.” It was the truth. I loved her juices. Ever since the first time I got to eat her sweet pussy, I craved to be sweeping my tongue over her lips, collecting her wetness all the damn time. It was easily my favorite meal and hobby, and I had no idea how Steve could spend a second of his day without getting on his knees for her.

“It’s just like candy. And you’re so fucking wet, always so fucking wet.” I chuckled against her cunt at the gasps and moans that she tried to contain but failed miserably, relishing every bite of pain that I felt when her fingers pulled on my locks a bit more forcefully. She thrashed and twisted on the marble counter while I managed to hold her open without any difficulty, smiling at each lick I got to give across her pussy.

“Fuck, you look so good like this.” Stopping only to thrust two of my fingers in her, I admired the way her pussy so easily swallowed them up before going back to suck on her clit just the way I knew would make her tighten around me. “Don’t close your eyes,” I ordered when she tried to do just so, recognizing all of the tell-tale signs I’d long memorized that warned me of how truly close she was to creaming around my face. “I want to see you cum for me. Cum for me, baby.”

This time, I didn’t stay to drag out her orgasm this time. I needed her, needed to be inside of her, so the second that I felt her orgasm, I dragged out my fingers and rose to my full height, hands immediately making quick work of my jeans.

“Don’t you ever wear underwear?” She questioned in a lazy voice that made it abundantly clear just how fucked out she already was, and I had to laugh as I made sure to adjust her body just how I needed it to have her.

“Not ever since we started fucking.” It was the truth. Specifically, ever since Steve commented on wanting to step it up a notch, I decided to skip wearing boxers altogether, if only for the time that it saved me where I could be enjoying her before he appeared. This time though, I was particularly grateful for it, since my cock ached in my fist, terribly stimulated without any actual sort of stimulation whatsoever.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” she sighed, right as I rubbed the head of my member between her pussy lips and started to press in. As always, it felt amazing. It felt like being connected to her, and that was all I’ve ever wanted, ever since Steve introduced me to her.

“For you, doll. Only for you.” She gasped so prettily at my words, and a silly smile took over my face as I started thrusting inside of her, but when she did it again, hands holding onto the back of my shoulders to keep herself up, I got worried.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” The worry in his tone had me smiling against the skin of his shoulder, where I had hugged myself to, before quickly shaking my head to calm his anxious mind.

“No! No, Bucky… You’ve done nothing… wrong, ah!” The second he learned I wasn’t in pain, his thrusts resumed, and each time he bottomed out, he managed to hit that sweet spot that had me struggling to keep myself sane while holding tightly to the man that was driving me crazy. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out. 

“Oh, you like this, huh?” I nodded eagerly, still holding on to him like he was my lifeboat. “Awn, you love how I fuck you, huh, sweetheart? You love that it’s me who’s pounding you inside your ex-boyfriend’s bathroom.”

The addition wasn’t missed. But in the throes of passion, as I felt my toes curl and tried to keep my moans in by biting on Bucky’s skin while he eased my orgasm with his gentle, soft coos, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

Later, when the post-orgasm clarity cleared my mind, I still couldn’t. 

“Look at me, baby,” Bucky begged, out-of-breath and almost whiny and it was enough to have me needy again. So I pushed myself away from his muscular chest, wanting to see his beautiful face when he found his bliss just as much as he seemed to need to watch mine, and the second our eyes met, his pace quickened, the bottles and knick-knacks around us on the counter threatening to fall over and wake Steve up. It was clear that he was reaching the point of no-return, desperation dripping from each and every one of his movements.

“You’re mine, doll. You’re already mine, you’ve been mine for a long time, it just took you awhile to realize it.” The truth behind his words shocked me, revealing parts of myself that I had tried to ignore up until then. But he was right. I was Bucky’s, mind, body and soul. And it was time he came to collect what was rightfully his.

Another orgasm rose up so quickly, it took me by surprise, but Bucky knew me so well by now that he covered my lips just before I screamed my release, alerting Steve of our actions. “Shhh… Keep it in… Good girl.”

My pussy milking him, it was impossible for him to resist much longer. I knew he was about to cum when he looked at me with hazy eyes, mouth slightly open before begging, “Kiss me, kiss me.”

Of course, I did. I don’t think I’d ever be able to refuse him a kiss again, not ever since the first time his lips touched mine.

For a few seconds, it was only the sounds of our thumping hearts and breathless pants, my cunt still throbbing around his release as he cradled my face in his hands. Looking up at him to see the love in his eyes, all I could see, all I could feel was warmth. Like this was right. Like I was right where I needed to be. And it was time for me to admit it, both to Bucky and me.

“Let’s do it,” I broke the silence in the bathroom. “Let’s run away together. I love you. I’m scared, but I love you.” And as hard as it was to admit, the love I felt for the man in front of me left no space in my heart to regret the man I was about to leave behind.

[wavesmp3]

before sunrise

kevin moon x reader   - strangers to lovers au, fluff  - based off the movie before sunrise   - wc. 9.4k   - warnings: mentions of alcohol, lots of dialogue, cursing, and a few attempts at comedy

synopsis → You and Kevin Moon only have one night together before his flight leaves the next morning. And before meeting Kevin, you never would’ve believed that one night is long enough to fall in love with someone.

The train rattles on and on, a blur of colors painted beyond the small window you rest your head against. A headache is forming, between your ears and behind your eyes, a small thrumming that’ll make the rest of this train ride unbearable if you don’t end whatever’s causing it. Except you don’t know whether to blame the rattling train or the lovers' quarrel from the couple sitting across from you. 

You make another attempt to ignore the rattling and the arguing, holding your book closer to your face and starting the same paragraph you’ve been on since boarding the train. The effort does little to help on either account. You sigh, loudly, in the hopes that your annoyance stings the ears of the couple next to you. It does not. So you get up, gather your things, and move further down the car. 

You settle into a new seat, the couple’s argument still audible but less intruding than it had been when you were sitting right beside them. You open your book to restart the same paragraph when someone interrupts you. Again. 

“Hey, do you have any idea what those two are fighting about?” 

You look up from between the pages, lifting your eyes to meet those of the person who spoke to you without lowering the book itself. You stare at him, taken aback almost, by asymmetry of the smile he’s directed towards you and how charmed you are by it. You swallow. 

“Oh, sorry,” his body caves inwards, scratching a spot behind his neck, “do you speak English?”

You nod, too eagerly. “Yeah, no, I speak English. Just no clue what they’re arguing about.” You lower the book, folding in the page you’ve yet to move on from and leaning forward in your seat, just enough to catch sight of the couple whose voices get louder with each passing moment. “My German is not very good.”

“Ah,” the boy mutters, his pitch-black hair falling in front of his eyes, “that’s what that is.” He turns back to you, looks at you expectantly almost, then awkwardly laughs sitting back in his chair. He gestures to your book. “I’ll let you get back to it. Sorry to bother.”

And you’re about to tell him it’s fine, that you don’t mind the small talk, when you notice the book laying in his lap and the finger he has shoved between the pages to mark his spot. And the words sort of fall back down your throat once you do. 

You return to your book, not even bothering to start the paragraph for what feels like the thousandth time. Instead, you stare at the printed page, passively listening to the heated German flying between the couple and thinking about the boy sitting across the aisle from you. 

The couple stands up suddenly, dramatic enough to make half the car look up at them. One of them makes their way down the aisle in your direction, walking hurriedly and shrugging off the hand their partner places on their arm, as if they could not get way fast enough. You look towards the boy across from you with a raised brow. He makes a face at you, lifting his shoulders and shaking his head. You bite back a laugh, eyes following the couple as they exit the car. The sliding door opens with a whoosh and closes, their absence swallowing the car in silence.  

“What are you reading?” The guy asks, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. 

You hold up the cover of your book for him to see. “You?” 

He looks down at his lap, pursing his lips and chuckling a bit, hesitating, as if he wasn’t expecting you to return the question. He holds up the book. 

“Series of unfortunate events?” You murmur, recognizing the cover. 

“In my defense, I’m rereading it.” 

“No judgement.” You tell him, lifting up your hands in surrender. “I read it when I was young as well.” 

“It’s a good series, right?” You nod. “Thank you.” He huffs, resting his back against the train seat. 

“Although, I’m not sure if it’s good enough to reread. Not sure I get why people reread anything, actually. I mean there are so many books out there, why bother rereading one you’ve already read?” 

He shrugs at that, tilting his head and gaze fixed on the book. “Nostalgia, I guess.” 

You accept the answer with a nod. The couple returns then, and the clamor of their argument returns with them. You both watch as they pass by your seats. 

“Hey,” the guy begins again, sitting up in his seat and shifting his body until he’s in the aisle seat instead of the one by the window, “I was thinking of going to the lounge car. Would you wanna come with?” 

“Yeah, sure.” You lean towards him. “Why not?”

— 

“I’m Kevin Moon by the way.” He says once you’re both seated, extending his hand. You take it; give him your name. And there’s a draft that runs through the lounge car when he repeats it to himself. “So are you coming from Copenhagen too?” 

“Yeah, I was visiting some family there?” 

He nods. “And how are they?” 

You laugh, giggle really, awkwardly despite the faux intimacy of his question. Nodding, you answer: “They’re great. Well—great is a bit much. Content, perhaps?” 

“Content sounds good.” 

“So where are you getting off?” 

“Amsterdam.” 

“What’s in Amsterdam?” 

“No clue.” You laugh at the response, or maybe it’s at the quirk of his brow and the nervous tapping against his knee. “I have a flight out of there tomorrow morning. So I was thinking I’d explore the city some, attempt to experience all of Amsterdam in one night.” 

“Yeah, and where are you flying to?” 

“Back home.”

“Let me guess,” you start, a teasing lilt in your voice, “America?” 

“Canada, actually.” He proudly corrects. “Where are you from?” 

“All over.” You gesture around vaguely. “Moved around a lot growing up. And now I’m in Paris.” 

“Is that where you’re getting off?” He asks, leaning forward. You nod. “Why Paris?” 

“University.” 

“Oh,” he looks shocked, “which one?” 

“Would you even know it if I said?” 

His mouth parts, eyes darting around somewhere above your head. “Yeah, probably not.” 

“What about you?” You ask once your laughter has died down. “Still in school?” 

He’s quick to shake his head. “Gosh, no. School was never really for me.”

“Why not?” 

“I-“ he falters, tilting his head back at the question, “well, why are you still in school?” 

“No real reason.” You plan to leave it at that, but when you look up at him, keenly waiting for you to continue, some part of you wants to elaborate on it as well. “Sort of like I’m not sure what I’d do with myself once I finish.” 

“I feel that.” 

“You feel that?” You echo, a laugh dancing under the question. 

“Yeah.” He answers sincerely, eyes fixated on you and surprisingly serious. “I do.” 

“Oh,” you blurt, taken aback by how genuinely he means it.

The waiter appears then, handing you menus and taking your orders after. 

“So of all the places you’ve lived, which one felt the most like home?” 

You think over the question, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek. “Maybe Copenhagen. I have the most family there.” You add as a half-hearted explanation. “But I don’t know, I guess no place has felt much like home yet.” 

“Not even Paris?” 

You shake your head. “There’s this quote that goes: what is a home if not the first place you learn to run from.”

“So is that what Paris is?” He asks, resting his head against his hand. “The place you ran to?” 

You shrug. “Something like that.” 

There’s a beat of silence, somehow you spend the entirety of it starting at Kevin. “You seem to be very well read.” He says finally, looking away first and folding a napkin over his lap. 

“It’s just one quote.” 

“One more than me.”  

“Maybe if you stopped rereading ‘the series of unfortunate events’, we’d be on even footing.” 

He gasps. “You said ‘no judgement’.” 

“It’s called being polite.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “So how about you? Were you just visiting Copenhagen, or…?” 

“No, I’ve done the whole tour. Started in Madrid, hit Paris, Rome, Vienna, Budapest, Berlin, London, Athens, Prague, Florence, Lisbon… you know, all the big ones.” 

“I hope not in that order.” 

He laughs brightly. “No, not in that order. Thanks for the vote of confidence though.” 

“Of course.” 

“But, yeah, I bought the Eurail Pass a while back and decided I would see as much as I could.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“About a month and a half now.” 

“Wow. And just for a holiday or?” 

“Yeah, well,” his face turns down, a cloud passing across the sun and casting a shadow over the table, “I had a friend in Madrid, but, uh, mainly—yeah, mainly vacation.” 

You don’t prod any further, nodding at his half-baked answer. 

“But what I’ve come to realize,” he continues on, “during these past few weeks, is that there’s something special about just sitting on a train and staring out the window.” 

“What’s special about it?” 

“For starters,” he gestures to the rolling green hills outside the window, “it’s beautiful. But also, I get these ideas while sitting here.” 

“What sorts of ideas?” 

“Like,” he hesitates, leaning back towards you, “well it’s gonna sound dumb to say outloud.” 

You watch him carefully. The asymmetrical smile that you first noticed appearing on his lips again. And maybe that’s what makes you lean towards him and say, 

“Try me.” 

— 

“Hey,” you push away your now empty plate and tap on the window as the train rolls to a stop, “isn’t this Amsterdam?” 

“Oh yeah,” Kevin checks his watch, “it is. I guess I lost track of time sitting here.” You check the time yourself and realize it’s been over two hours.

“Well for what it’s worth, I really enjoyed talking with you,” you tell him, shifting in the seat. 

He returns the sentiment, and you both continue to go back and forth until the train does actually stop, a loud whistle traveling through the lounge car.  

“Well, this is me.” He says softly, sucking in his bottom lip. 

You extend out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Kevin Moon.”

He shakes it. “Nice to meet you too.”

You watch him go, lugging a duffle bag by his hip and pulling a pink beanie over his hair. And once the door to the lounge car closes swiftly behind him, you slump into the chair resting your head against the window and scanning the group of people on the platform outside of it. Maybe, you think to yourself, I’ll catch him leaving.

“Okay, I have a crazy idea.”

You jump at the sound of his breathless voice, jolting up in your seat. “Kevin, what are yo—”

“Blow off Paris for one more night.”

“What?”

“Just—like I know this is crazy—but just listen for a second.” He tosses his duffle bag into the seat that was occupied by him a minute ago and places both his hands on the table, leaning down slightly. An action that leaves no room for you to think he’s joking. “My flight only leaves tomorrow morning, and I was planning on wasting time in Amsterdam until then. So come with me, let’s hang out for the night, and you can catch the first train back to Paris. I haven’t had a conversation like the one we just had in so long, and I don’t really want to say bye yet. So, let’s just see where this goes. And if it sucks or if you realize you hate me, then you leave, and we part ways just like that. No strings, no obligations.” He pauses there, chewing on his bottom lip and fingers curling around the edge of the table.

And for some reason, after his whole speech, you find yourself thinking about the arguing couple from the other car.

You grab your things. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Come on,” a grin fights its way onto your face, excitement teetering in every part of your body, “let’s go.”

And some small of part of you that’s hanging onto reason knows this is a terrible idea, a reckless and stupid idea that you would chide the protagonist of a horror movie for. But another part of you, the same part that can’t get over Kevin’s asymmetrical smile and the same part that said yes when he asked if you wanted to go to the lounge car, is too enthralled with the idea of continuing whatever this is to say no.

So this time when Kevin leaves, you don’t watch him go; instead, you follow him off of the train.

—

You’ve been to Amsterdam before, once on a holiday with your family that you can barely remember and again on a school trip when you were much younger. But despite the two times you’ve been to this city, walking beside the street and admiring the brightly painted buildings with Kevin feels like a first.  

And after seven minutes of mindlessly walking around Amsterdam with a complete stranger, the reality of your earlier choice strikes you like a burst of wind across the cheek. The exhilaration that compelled you to get off the train withering away with each step. Not a word has passed between either of you since agreeing to Kevin’s plan.

“This is,” you start, voice hoarse and hiding a shy laugh behind your palm. “This is weird.”

“No, yeah, it’s awkward, right?” Kevin smiles, scratching a part of his neck. “Do you…” he shoves his fists into the pockets of his coat, “do you regret getting off the train with me?” He laughs after he asks the question, as if he’s embarrassed to even bring it up.

“No,” you tell him honestly, scuffing your shoes against the pavement and avoiding looking at him. “Not yet.”

In a corner of your vision, you see him nod, then smile. The asymmetrical one that first caught your attention. And in that moment, a tiny spark of exhilaration returns.

—

You and Kevin find yourselves in an art museum. The first activity you could find to fill in all the awkward silences. You take turns acting as guides explaining the curation of each piece of art. A suggestion that you had made and then come to regret when Kevin tries to argue that a modern sculpture of sunflowers is actually just the Shrek movies reimagined.

“And see that part,” he says animatedly, pointing at a corner of the piece, “is actually depicting that once scene in the beginning of Shrek 2 when—”

You just laugh, shoving his arm playfully and wandering on to the next piece.

“Hey,” Kevin calls from further along the wall, “come look at this one.”

“So, what is this one about?” You tease, meeting him beside the art piece. “Ice Age or Monsters Inc?”

“No bullshit explanation this time, actually.” He mumbles, eyes trained on the art still. “I really like this one.”

You take a moment to study the painting, done by an impressionist artist according to the blurb beside it. The piece depicts a whole bunch of couples dancing on a street.

“I like how the background is all a blur.” Kevin says. “As if each of the couples are so occupied with themselves that everything else sort of fades.”

“I think my favorite part,” you start, taking a step towards the painting, “is how the girl in this pair and the guy in this one are painted like their fading. Makes me feel like they aren’t real; like they’re a dream or a memory.”

“Or a ghost.” 

“Yeah,” you smile at the thought, “or a ghost.”

Kevin leans down to read about the piece. “It’s called ‘Lovers Embrace’” 

“I like it.” You declare, thinking over how fitting the title is.

He straightens back up, smiling. “Me too.”

—

The art museum is effective in easing the awkwardness between you and Kevin, acting as a distraction from the insanity of the current circumstances and your belated recognition of it, so that now, while meandering about a record shop he found, conversation flows as easily as it did in the lounge car. And when you realize that, another bit of your exhilaration returns, bursting within your chest and fluttering against your gut.

“I have an idea.” Kevin announces as you finger through a section of records.

“Another one?” You deadpan. 

He flicks your arm, continuing, “We both pick a record to listen to. And then a random, third one for good measure.”

“How are we picking the third one?”

He hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the shelf. “Okay, I got it. Close your eyes.”

You point a finger at yourself. “Me?”

He squints at you, dramatically looking side to side and bringing the emptiness of this portion of the store to your attention. “Who else?”

“Fine but--”

“Just close them.”

With a long sigh, you do.

“Okay,” Kevin murmurs, spinning you around by the shoulders. He jerks you to a stop. “Now choose a record.” You push your hand out, feeling around for the nearest rack of records. “No, that’s boring.” He complains. “You have to walk around a little bit.”

“You know, we could’ve avoided this if you just chose the random record instead of me.” You huff at him, slowly walking around with your eyes still closed as per Kevin’s request.

“Watch out,” he warns, ignoring your comment, “you’re about to hit a stand.”

Eventually, you walk far enough from the place you started at. Blindly reaching out to the rack, you chose a record that feels the most worn around the edges. You open your eyes, blinking, and are about to read the cover when Kevin stops you suggesting you both wait until you’re in the listening booth. You agree, parting ways to pick your own record to listen to.

After a few minutes of browsing the store, you meet with Kevin outside of the listening booth, two records under your arm.

“Play yours first.” Kevin says, stepping into the booth with you. You pull the record out of its sleeve and place it in position. 

Moon river, wider than a mile

“Ah,” he sighs, as the song begins to play, “I love this song.”

I’m crossing you in style someday

You swallow back a smile and mutter a small ‘me too’.

Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way. Two drifters off to see the world

“Kind of fitting, isn’t it?” He asks, laughing lightly and knocking his head back against the wall of the booth.

“Part of the reason I chose it.” You explain, turning your head towards him just in time to catch his eyes fluttering shut. An action that sends a familiar burst of exhilaration running heavily over your chest. He looks at peace like this, you think, his gold frames resting on the middle of his nose and a tuft of black hair slipping out from under his beanie. It’s only when the song ends, the repeated skipping of the needle replacing Sinatra’s voice, do you realize you’ve spent the entirety of it staring at Kevin. His eyes snap open at that moment; you’re quick to look away, busying yourself with the drawstring of your bag and ignoring the warmth that fills your body.

Kevin removes your record and fixes the one he chose in place. The song starts on a familiar chord. 

Kelly, can you handle this?

You shoot him a look, just barely holding your laughter in.

“I know. Totally different vibe from ‘Moon River’ but this is the only Beyoncé song I could find.”

I don’t think they can handle this.

You start singing along. Kevin joins, dancing along as well despite how small the booth is. And when he starts twerking, you spend the last two minutes of the song laughing in shock.

The song ends, after Kevin declares his love for Beyoncé. You hand the Destiny’s Child record back to Kevin and pull the final, random record out of its sleeve and set it in place.

“How’s your Italian?” Kevin asks, as you straighten back up waiting for the song to play.

“No better than my German. Why?” He flips the vinyl’s cover around to show you. “Il Mondo by Jimmy Fontana,” you mutter as the first note rings throughout the booth. 

No stanotte amore non ho più pensato a te

Kevin finds the translation online, scooting closer until the side of his arm is pressed against yours, phone tilted so that you can see. You lean in to better read the lyrics.

Gira, il mondo gira, nello spazio senza fine Turning, the world’s turning, in a space without end

Your eyes catch Kevin’s for the briefest of moments before he looks away, quickly refocusing his gaze on the opposite side of the booth.

Con gli amori appena nati, con gli amori già finiti With the lovers just now starting, with the lovers already parting

You don’t return to the lyrics, instead watching as his focus ping pongs between the phone screen and the wall.

Con la gioia e col dolore della gente come me With the joy and with the hurt of the people like me

His eyes flit over to your face. You look down, pretending to read the lyrics, swallowing.

Il mondo The world

And from a corner of your vision, you can see him watching you, can feel his eyes on you. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore how good it feels to know he’s staring. 

Soltanto adesso io ti guardo, nel tuo silenzio io mi perdo Just now I see you, in your silence I lose myself

There’s a jerk of movement from Kevin. But the second you angle your head towards him, he tilts his chin up, smiling at the ceiling and tongue running over his teeth. You stare at him and consider for a moment: tearing your eyes off him, turning your head down again, and pretending to read the lyrics. But as quickly as the thought comes, it passes. And you find it impossible to care that he knows you’re staring, figuring that it’d be just as impossible to make yourself look away.

E sono niente accanto a te I am nothing beside you

His chin falls at the line, dark brown eyes dancing around the room before landing on yours. And this time, you don’t look away. There’s a sharp inhale. A loud gulp. The slightest turn of your body and an even smaller glance at the curve of his lips. His fingers flex, knocking against your knuckles, lingering for too long to be accidental. And it’s like time stops at that moment, like all the clocks in the world cease to tick, making you and Kevin halt as well, standing still, unmoving, staring at each other as if you hadn’t spent the past minute avoiding each other’s eyes. 

And you swear, if the music hadn’t stopped, the scratching needle cutting into the air, you would’ve fell in love with Kevin right then. 

—

“A piano,” you point out as you and Kevin are about to leave from the record shop. You go to it, admiring the dark brown wood and fingers ghosting over the ivory keys.

“Do you know how to play?” Kevin joins you in the corner of the shop that houses the piano.

“Gosh, no.” You pause, your middle finger hovering over a black key and tilt your head towards him. “Do you?”

He nods, taking a seat on the bench and patting the spot beside him for you. He starts playing a song you don’t recognize but one that manages to sound vaguely familiar anyways. Like it was playing in the background of a movie you can no longer remember the name of, or like you met the song in a dream and memorized the melody in your sleep before waking up the next morning.

And maybe it’s because you know this song without having ever heard it before or maybe it’s because the chords have been sitting in your soul every night since that forgotten dream but something about the song and something about this moment, makes you scoot closer to Kevin and rest your head against his shoulder.

He stops, barely, for the tiniest of seconds, fingers hesitating above the next key, then continues a breath later. And sometime between the end of this song and the start of the next, you feel his head lean back against yours.

—

You and Kevin decide to get dinner after leaving the record shop, choosing the first place you can find to fill your empty stomachs.

“Let’s ask each other some questions.” You suggest while you’re waiting for the food to come out. “One to help us get to know each other better, and we have to answer one hundred percent honestly.” 

“Okay,” he nods, “I’ll start. Favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Gold.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Up.”

“Howl’s Moving Castle.” 

You both continue like that asking each other for even more favorites: favorite food, favorite show, favorite holiday, favorite city. Vancouver, Kevin had answered to which you scoffed complaining that choosing his hometown is cheating. He only shrugged. You move onto firsts after: first phone, first kiss, first childhood memory, first job, first celebrity crush. 

“You’re turn to ask.” You remind, hoping to quickly move on after confessing your childhood obsession with Chad Michael Murray. 

“Okay,” Kevin hums, contemplating a new question and twirling his drink around, “how about… first love?” 

“Oh, uh,” you scratch a spot on the table, “I’m not really sure I’ve ever been in love.” You pause there, expecting Kevin to say something. He does not. “Like I’ve dated before,” you sputter out quickly, filling in the empty space left by his nonexistent reply, “seriously, too. But I don’t think it was ever actually love.” 

His mouth parts, chest inflates slightly, as if the words need a minute to boil in the back of his throat. They must never come, you think when his mouth closes and his chest deflates, lips tightly shut. A silence crashes over the table, awkwardly taut. 

“What about you?” You return the question, cutting through the silence with what you hope is nonchalance. 

“Oh, me,” he chuckles sheepishly, “probably freshman year band. I fell so hard for this oboe player.” You give him a look at the confession, sucking in your bottom lip and biting back a laugh. His face twists with confusion. “What?” 

“I just can’t believe I got off a train with a band geek.” 

“Hey,” he defends, “better than a serial killer.” 

You shrug. “Not by much.” 

— 

It was Kevin’s idea to rent a boat to ride along the canal in. “The little foot pedaling ones,” he had requested, pointing them out. Luckily, you were able to find one before they shut down for the day. And the late timing of your activity made for a picturesque backdrop, the sun beginning to set as you drift along the canal, the sky immersed in varying hues of pink, yellow, and blue. Kevin had paused pedaling for a second to take a picture of the sunset which was fine until one picture turned into fifty. 

“You know when you said you wanted to boat along the canal I sort assumed you were gonna help me pedal.” 

“Last one.” He mumbles, the small shutter of his phone camera clicking before he shoves it back in his pocket and resumes pedaling with you. “More favorites?” He offers when the silence lingers for a little too long. 

“Please, no. I know way too much about you now.” He laughs at that. “New topic.” 

“Do you ever think about dying?” 

You whip your head towards him. “Morbid much?” 

“Yeah, I know, but seriously.” He says, brows lifted to further prove the sincerity of his question. “Do you?” 

You turn back to the front. “I mean I’m alive, so yeah, sometimes. You?” 

“Probably think about it too much if I’m being honest.” And there’s something that sounds distinctly like exhaustion in the way he says it. 

“Would you rather know how you die or when you die?” You ask suddenly. 

His answer comes just as quick. “When. Definitely when.” 

“Why?” 

“I feel like if I were to be told how I die, I’d spend the rest of my life avoiding it or trying to stop it. But there isn’t anything I can do to avoid the passing of time.” 

“Profound.” You mutter, unable to figure out if you’re surprised or shocked by how well-thought his answer sounds. 

“I told you,” he says, with a breathy laugh, “I think about death too much.” 

“What about a goal in life?” 

“What about it?” 

“Have one?” 

He considers the question, eyes trained on the water rippling in front of him. “To make a difference in someone’s life maybe.” He shrugs. “To be happy. I don’t know.” 

“Being happy used to be mine too.”

He frowns. “Used to?” 

“I used to be obsessed with this idea of happiness,” you tell him, nodding, “used to spend all my time avoiding whatever made me sad. But whenever I chased happiness, I was also the most dissatisfied with my life.” You stop for a second, check Kevin’s reaction, and find a frown still imprinted on his face. “I kinda see it like clouds now. They’re pretty from afar, but when they’re up close, we call it fog. Even when happiness was placed right in front of me, it never felt like enough. Most days, I’m still teaching myself that happiness is not a permanent state of being; it’s an emotion, and it comes and goes like the rest of them.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Silently pedaling the boat along the canal. Then finally— 

“Damn, who’s the profound one now.” 

—

You and Kevin find yourself on a bridge that overlooks the canal after renting the foot pedaling boat. The sun is barely visible, taking its last dip in the horizon before disappearing altogether. You hold out your hand to hover in one of the last golden rays of light, shivering at the warmth. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re running out of time?”

“Running out of time for what?” 

“To experience life.” Kevin further explains, with a heavy exhale. “I feel like there’s this sick pressure and expectation created by romanticized coming-of-age movies that my youth is supposed to be the best years of my life. Like I should be living every second of it to the fullest. And then I end up spending all my time wondering how I’m going to live up to my youth instead of actually living it.”

“So, is that why you did it?” You pull your hand back in, tucking it under your chin. “Did you ask me to get off the train with you so that in ten years you can look back and feel like you made something of your youth, like you didn’t waste it.”

And something about the bluntness of your question must spread through the air and tug at the end of his lip. “Well, that’s a harsh way to put it, but,” he frowns, inhaling mid-sentence, “I don’t know. Maybe—yea, maybe it was part of the reason.” He pivots around, back pressed to the railing, elbows propped on the ledge, and face turned away from the last sliver of setting sun. You study his face: the point of his chin, slope of his nose, and high set of his cheekbones. He’s pretty. Too pretty, even. A realization that lands as heavily in the pit of your stomach as it did the first time you noticed on the train. And perhaps it’s just that: a realization. Or perhaps, more terrifyingly, it’s something closer to attraction. “Well, why’d you do it?” Kevin asks, turning his head slightly and catching you watching him, something you’ve both done too many times at this point to keep count of. “Why’d you get off the train with me?”

You swallow. “I thought about that couple from the first car. When you asked me to come with you, I thought of that arguing couple and saw my future flash before my eyes. I felt like I could see myself fifteen years from now. Could see myself falling in love, getting married, and somewhere along the way falling out. I could see myself sitting and fighting in the middle of a train. And a part of me just knew, that if I didn’t go with you, if I stayed on that train and continued to Paris, I’d spent the rest of my life regretting it, wondering what could’ve happened.”

You turn away from the sinking sun, swivel your head around to face Kevin again and find him differently than you had left him. Head tilted and biting at the inside of his cheek. Side pressed against the bridge’s railing so that he’s facing you directly. You straighten up, position yourself to face him as well, another asymmetrical smile growing on his face while you do.

“I’m really glad you decided to get off the train with me.”

You step closer, and when your hand knocks against his, he catches it, fingers curling around yours. “Me too.”

“Although, I do hope that if you’re married in fifteen years, it’s happily and that you’re one of those sickeningly in love with each other couple that everyone hates.”

He doesn’t look at you as he says it, watching your intertwined hands with a shy smile instead. And it’s somehow, oddly intimate when he squeezes your palm while wishing you a successful, hypothetical marriage. You feel suddenly breathless, and more prominently, fearless.

“I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes snap towards yours, pupils dilated and darker than normal. He doesn’t say anything.

You know he heard you, know—slightly less confidently—that he wants to kiss you as much as you want to be kissed. So you step towards him again, tugging at the end of his sleeve.

“Kevin.”

His gaze drops to your lips. “Yea.”

“Kiss me.”

And rationally, you know soulmates don’t exist. But there’s something about the way his lips fit perfectly against yours that almost makes you reconsider the belief.

—

“You know when I suggested we play pool, I really wasn’t expecting to have my ass handed to me like this.” He groans, staring at the five of his balls still left on the table.

“Next time suggest darts.” You tell him, voice raised to be heard over the loud pub.

You put the pool sticks back and seat yourselves at one of the empty tables.

“Okay, I have a question,” he says, leaning forward against the small booth table. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Definitely not.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised.

“You do?”

“Well…” he hesitates, tongue darting out between his lips, “I don’t know if I believe it but I also don’t not know that I do.”

Your face contorts at his wording. “I don’t think—”

“Okay, yes, I know, but like have you never fallen just a little bit in love with a complete stranger?” You shake your head slowly. “Like you’ve never had a barista compliment your jacket or your eyes once and then spent the next week thinking about them?”

You place a hand to your heart. “I genuinely had no idea this was a common occurrence.”

“You know what, no, I take it back, never mind,” he quickly says, the tips of his ears turning red and hand waving in the air to dismiss the thought. “New topic.”

A breathy laugh escapes from between your lips. “Alright, new topic,” you hum, nodding your head along to the music playing in the background, “do you believe in soulmates?”

He smiles at the question. “Yes and no.”

“Explain.”

“The term ‘soulmate’ has this implication that love will fall into place between two individuals, that they won’t have to work for it, and that it was chosen for them instead of by them. But isn’t it so much more special to look at someone and decide to love them specifically. Decide to love them on purpose. But more than that, the general idea of a ‘soulmate’ relies too heavily on the understanding of love as a feeling. And it’s as you said before about happiness: emotions come and go, and feelings fade. I imagine, more accurately, that love is a choice as much as it’s a feeling, one that you have to get up and make every single day. So yeah, I believe soulmates are real, but I don’t think they’re found; I think they’re made.”

And after his whole spiel, the only thing ringing throughout your head is: holy shit.

He looks up at you, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he starts timidly, voice suddenly lacking the immense clarity it held just a second ago, “what do you think?”

“I think,” you swallow, a lame attempt to digest everything he just said, “that I’ll never look at love the same again.” 

—

By the time you and Kevin leave from the pub, it’s completely dark out. Streetlamps now lit up and the roads less crowded with only a few whispering groups around each corner. You walk mindlessly around the city’s twisted streets, deciding when and where to turn on whims. And somewhere along the way, while you’re making a comment abput the closed antique store, Kevin’s hand finds its way into yours. You squeeze his palm, a silent affirmation, when he does.

“Wait,” you exclaim, halting suddenly in the square that you and Kevin have stumbled upon, “I think I’ve been here before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, dragging him towards the fountain in the center, “I came here with my family once. I remember seeing this fountain and wanting to throw a coin in.”

“I mean are you sure? Fountains are pretty common.”

You shove his arm. “I swear this is the same one.”

“Here,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket, fishing out two coins, and placing one in your palm. “make a wish now.”

You hold the coin to your lips, closing your eyes while conjuring a wish and then toss the coin in the fountain. Kevin tosses his in a second after you.

“Hey, look,” you take a seat on the ledge of the fountain, pointing at the church across the square, “there was a wedding there today.”

“You know, I learned in school, I think, about Quakers, and,” he starts, sitting down beside you on the ledge, “they have the most interesting weddings.”

“What makes it so interesting?”

“Well for one, there’s no officiant. No handing off of anyone. What’ll happen is the couple walks in, stands in front of the entire congregation, and just stares. And it’s silent too, no one speaks unless they feel compelled to do so. Then after an hour or so, that it; they’re married. Just like that.” 

You turn on the ledge to face him. “Okay let’s try it.” 

His eyebrows waggle. “Getting married?” 

You look at him unamused. “Just the staring part.” 

He nods. “Okay, ready?” he shuts his eyes in preparation, “3, 2, 1, go!” 

Your eyes open at the same time as his, and you nearly laugh at the sheer amount of competitive spirit radiating off Kevin at that moment. And when you mention it, he shakes it off, muttering something about how you’re supposed to be silent. 

When you start leaning in towards him, it’s to mock him and his competitiveness. Or at least, it is at first. But somewhere along the way, you lose track of how close you get to him. Lose track of time as well. Too distracted with studying the concentrated furrow of his brows and the flecks in his eyes to notice whether you’ve spent one minute or twenty getting lost in them. And it’s a cheesy thought, yes, but there’s something about him and the black hair falling in front of his forehead that makes it so hard to care. 

You inhale. “I think I feel compelled to do something now.” 

“What?” 

You close the distance, pressing your lips to his for a brief moment, then pull away. 

“I won,” Kevin murmurs, a smug smile painted across his face, “you closed your eyes first.” 

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous; you know that right?” 

“I do.” 

“Good.” 

You kiss him again. 

— 

“Kevin, what are we doing?” You ask for the third time as he pulls you into the red telephone booth and shuts the door. “You do know that these don’t actually work anymore right?” 

He shushes you, pressing a finger to his lips and picking up the receiver. “I have to make a call.” He clears his throat, holds the receiver up to his ear, and makes the ringing sound. “Come on, Jacob, pick up.” You stare at him waiting for the punchline. It never comes. Instead, he fixes you a look and nods his head at your empty hand. 

“Ah, I see,” you hold out a fake phone in your hand, clearing your throat and putting on a fake deep voice. “Hey, Kevin. Long time no talk. How’s Europe?” 

Kevin gives you a funny look. “Hey, Jacob. Europe is great, but why does your voice sound like that?”

You clear your throat again returning to your normal voice. “My bad, I just woke up.” 

“That’s better. Anyways, I called to tell you that I met someone on my very last night in Europe.” 

“How’d you meet them?” 

“On the train to Amsterdam actually. They were sitting by this really annoying couple, so they got up and sat right across the aisle from me. What are the chances, right?”

“Probably, low.” You begin, a familiar exhilaration filling your stomach at what you’re about to confess. “Unless, of course, it wasn’t by chance at all. Unless they saw you getting on the train, thought you were really cute, and used the couple as an excuse to sit by you.” You smile as you say it, finding the way Kevin looks at you after the admission utterly swoon worthy.

“Well, even if that’s true. I think I sort of blew it with them in the beginning. They saw me rereading ‘A series of unfortunate events’ and probably thought I was so lame.” 

“Nah,” you mutter, smiling at your feet, “they probably found it endearing.” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I got a good feeling.” When you meet Kevin’s eyes, he’s still watching you, and you find it humorous, almost, how you can barely keep your eyes off each other now especially considering how impossible it felt to do so in the beginning. “So what happened after that?” 

“Oh well, I asked them to come to the lounge car with me and guess what?” 

“What?” 

“They said yes.” 

“Incredible.”

“Then, we got to talking, and, Jacob, everything they said sounded so smart and composed; I felt like a bumbling idiot in front of them. I mean, you wouldn’t believe how incredibly brilliant they are, not to mention gorgeous, and...” his voice trails off, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You lean towards him a bit, as if that’ll get you closer to hearing the rest of the sentence. 

“And what?” 

“And I think I fell in love with them right then.” 

For a second, you forget to breathe. 

Kevin hangs up the fake phone call, handing the receiver to you. “Your turn.” 

You take the phone from him, pretend to dial the number, then make the ringing sound while you wait for Kevin to pick up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Chanhee. It’s me. I have to cancel on our lunch plans tomorrow.” 

“Oh no. Why? Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, no, everything is fine. I just met someone on the train and—god, I know this is going to sound insane—but I got off the train with him in Amsterdam.” 

“That is insane,” his eyes widen dramatically as he says it. “What made you get off the train with him?” 

“Well, for starters, the arguing couple.” 

“Right, and of course, I, Chanhee, know exactly what that means.” 

“See, I knew you’d understand.” You laugh. “But other than the couple, you know, we started talking on the train and he was so sweet and really cute in this clumsy, flustered sort of way. I don’t know. I think a part of me had already decided to get off the train with him before he ever asked.” 

“That sounds…” he falters there, as if he’s still searching for the right word, “special.”

You nod. “It feels special too.” 

“So what now?” 

“I’m not sure.” You answer honestly. “He’s from Canada and has a flight back there tomorrow morning.” 

“Well, do you plan on seeing him again?” 

The question comes like a slap to the face from the palm of reality itself. One that you probably should have anticipated; a question that probably should’ve crossed your mind at least once. But somehow, you’ve neglected to wonder what’s to come of this fling past tonight.

You hang up, and the obnoxious clatter of the receiver falling back into place rings throughout the booth. 

“I guess we should talk about that.”

“Yeah, I guess we should.” He mumbles, something in his demeanor changing with the words. 

A silence overcomes both of you, and it feels like you’re in the listening booth of the record shop again, avoiding each other’s eyes and waiting for the other to make the first move. 

“Well it’s—“ 

“I think—“ 

You both start at the same time, words crashing together in the air. He laughs, gesturing for you to go first. 

You exhale sharply, tugging on your fingers and already nervous to hear how Kevin will respond. “I just don’t think we should fool ourselves here and make this out to be anything more than it is.” 

“Yeah, no. I was gonna say the same thing.” He nods solemnly, visibly gulping as if the words are hard to swallow. A smile fights its way onto his lips but doesn’t manage to meet his eyes. “So what now?” 

“Well, we have tonight,” you begin, stepping closer, finding his hand, and twirling his pinky finger with yours, “I say we make the most of it.” 

“In that case,” he returns the gesture, capturing your hand and pulling you a little closer, “I have an idea.” 

—

Kevin’s idea ends up with you standing awkwardly off to the side of a bar, quite literally twiddling your thumbs. You reach for Kevin’s necklace that’s now secured around your neck and wonder what part of his plan explains why he gave it to you before entering this establishment. You sneak a few glances at Kevin who's speaking with the lady behind the bar. The lady finally nods, smiling cheerily and heading around the bar. Kevin swivels around, shooting you a thumbs up before receiving the bottle of wine that the lady had retrieved for him. 

“How did you do that?” You ask once you’re both out of earshot, exiting from the building. 

“I told her that I just proposed.” 

You look at him unconvinced, wiggling your left hand in his face. “No ring.” 

“That’s what the necklace was for.” 

“And it worked?” You say, disbelief seeping into your voice. “She believed you?” 

He scoffs. “I don’t know why you look so shocked when you’re literally the one I convinced to get off a train with a complete stranger.” 

And, well, he makes an excellent point. 

— 

You end up at a park, laying on your backs and making silly comments about each star. You have jackets laid out on the grass beneath you and another draped over both of you acting as a blanket. 

“Have you ever heard of that theory?” You say, turning to lay on your side. “About how people fall out of love for the same reason they fell in.” He turns to lay on his side, nodding. “It terrifies me.” 

He frowns. “I think love alone is pretty terrifying.” 

“Did you mean it?” You reposition yourself with an arm under your head. “Back in the telephone booth, did you mean it when you said you fell for me on the train.” 

He stares at you for a long moment then smiles, whispering a small but sincere ‘yes’. 

“Can I tell you a secret then?” He nods. “I think I fell for you too.” 

“When?” 

“Guess.” 

“On the bridge?” You shake your head. “During dinner?” 

“Before that.” 

“In the museum?” 

“You’re getting colder.”

“Ah,” he sighs in understanding, “the listening booth.” 

You nod. “It was while we were listening to that Italian song, ‘Il Mondo’. Each time I felt you looking away, I would look at you. Then you’d turn your head back, and I’d pretend like I wasn’t staring. That moment—well, I guess it was pretty mundane. But, I don’t know, it still felt a little like magic.” 

“Mundane things can be quite magical.” 

“Which one is love then: magical or mundane?” 

He shrugs. “Both, I think.” 

There’s a silence, and it lingers for long enough to remind you of the awkwardness between you and Kevin after getting off the train. However, this silence is so much more different than that other one because it’s the kind that only comes when two people understand each other.

Kevin is the one who ends up breaking it, cutting through the night’s overwhelming quiet with a soft voice. 

“I feel like that painting from the museum right now.” He recalls the title: “‘Lover’s Embrace’.” 

“Is that what we are?” You question, a bit of misplaced insecurity dipping into your voice. “Lovers?” 

“Is there any other way to describe this?” 

“I don’t know.” You inhale. “Strangers?” 

He waits a beat, then offers: “Soulmates?” 

You’re reminded of the conversation you had in the pub, and his gut-wrenching, life-altering definition of the term. You meet his eyes steadily. “Do you believe that?” 

He smiles. “Do you?” 

And there’s something about the way he says the question that makes it sound like a dare, like a request. As if he isn’t asking if you believe it, but rather, he’s asking you to believe it. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug. But it’s a lie, you do. 

“The way I see it,” he begins, scooting closer, “if someone were to give me an ultimatum: I’d marry you right now. And I know it’s insane, I know that probably just sounds like some grand romantic bullshit, but I’m serious. With how I’ve come to feel about you tonight, I could wake up every day and put in the work of choosing to love you.” 

“And what about the couple on the train?” 

“What about them?” 

“What happens when we become them? What happens when we hate each other so much, we blow up in public?” 

“Who says we will?” 

“But hypothetically,” you insist, “what happens then?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s gonna sound stupid.” 

“Just tell me.” 

“I wouldn’t mind.” He lets the statement sit for a second, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I’d accept the inevitable arguing in the middle of a train if I was doing it with you.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“But that’s the craziest part,” he lets out a breathy laugh, “I actually do.” 

“How?” You huff. “How can you sound so certain that you’ll love me despite all the things you’ll come to hate me for?” 

“Because you got off the train with me,” he says, shaking his head like the answer is obvious. “And at this point in the night, I’m pretty convinced that you’re the only person in the world who would.” 

And yeah, you think laughing, he’s probably right about that part. Because who else would be insane enough to get off a train with a complete stranger? Who else would fall in love on a train and while listening to an Italian record? Who else but you and Kevin Moon? 

“You know what they call that?” 

“What?”

You raise your brow, something terrifying hanging off the tip of your tongue: 

“Soulmate culture.” 

— 

You used to love sunrises. Loved how golden they are. How they coat everything in sight, lighting up whatever darkness was left by the night. You always saw them as a promise of something new, a new day and a new beginning. But today, when the sun does finally rise, you can’t seem to remember why you used to love them so much. Especially not after you spent the entire night dreading this particular one.

The walk to the train station had been quiet for the most part, a solemn and groggy acceptance that it was your final stretch of time together. And now standing with Kevin at the platform, you’ve never hated the arrival of a train more.

“I should probably get on the train now.”  

“Right,” Kevin mutters, chewing on his bottom lip and bouncing on his heels. He laughs, awkwardly, rubbing at his eyes. “God, I hate goodbyes.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I hate this one.”

You hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face between his neck and shoulder. He hesitates for a second, as if he’s shocked by the gesture, then tightens his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. And the only thing you can think about while hugging him is how this is the first and last time you’ll ever do so. 

You pull away, give him a small, sad smile, then grab your things, stepping onto the train. You give him a wave before disappearing into the car. From the window by your seat, you can still see him. He finds you, giving you a smile and another wave. And when he turns around, beginning to walk out of the train station, nothing has ever felt more wrong.

“Kevin!” You shout, unlatching the window and sticking your head out of it. He whips back around. “Let’s just do it! Let’s see each other again!”

It takes a second for Kevin to react. Too long, your brain convinces you already wishing the words back. But it’s as you sink back into your seat that he breaks out in the most brilliant grin. “Fuck it, yeah, let’s do it! Where?”

You laugh at the absurdity of this moment and how unreal it feels. “Here! Amsterdam, at this train station, on this platform.”

“Okay, here. In one year?”

You shake your head. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Me neither.” He laughs, an exhale of pure joy that you can see even from the train. 

“Six months from today.” You tell him over the train whistle as the wheels start to move, pulling you away. “See you then.”

He waves goodbye again, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “see you then!”

You fall back in your seat, immediately burying your face into your palms. Your hands trail down, rubbing at your neck, clutching the part of your chest that falls over your heart, and—what is that?

You look down, recognizing the object around your neck and lifting it up with the pad of your thumb. And as you stare at the pendant of Kevin’s forgotten necklace, your smile grows.

—

SIX MONTHS LATER

The train station feels so much more different than how you left it. The weather now colder, and the platform decked with lingering holiday decorations. You get off the train and look around, praying for a familiar face.

“Hey.” The voice comes from behind you. You pivot around, so quickly your head spins. Or maybe the spinning sensation has something to do with how euphoric it feels to see Kevin again.

“Hey.”

“You came?” He asks, not bothering to hold back his elation.

“Well, yeah,” you reach into the pocket of your coat and fish out the necklace he left six months ago, “you forgot this.”

“Funny coincidence, huh? Unless, of course, it wasn’t a coincidence at all.” He hints with a smug grin. “Unless I left it on purpose so that you’d have a reason to come back.”

“If that’s the case, then you spent six months without your necklace for nothing.” 

“Oh, and why’s that?”

You step closer, smiling. “Because I already had a reason to come.”

a/n: i had way too much fun writing this,, also the translation of the italian song is half google and half me kind of assuming what the lyrics mean so idk how accurate that translation is

[ahtsumu]

hc/scenario with akaashi, oikawa, & atsumu slow dancing to the beat of your hearts, in the quiet stillness of the night. ❤

slow dancing hcs with akaashi, oikawa, and atsumu

genre(s): tooth-rotting fluff

warning(s): nope!

a/n: i hope this is what you were picturing in your mind !! thanks for the request :)

[ akaashi ]

it’s almost midnight when you and akaashi finally step out of the local cinema hand-in-hand, the rom-com you just watched still fresh in your minds

it’s been raining all day and the puddles in the road look more like mirrors reflecting the glow of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk

the two of you live in an apartment just 10 minutes away so you decide to enjoy the beauty of the city at night and the cool evening air by walking home

you’re chattering on about how romantic the male lead in the movie was

and although akaashi’s listening and nodding to everything you say, on the inside he’s like… wait but that guy literally slayed a mf dragon for her?? is that the new standard ????!!

akaashi isn’t very loud with affection in public–– he’s always been the kind of boyfriend who keeps things subtle and prefers to simp out in private–– and because he’s aware of that, now he’s wondering if this is your attempt to tell him to be more open with pda

tbh you don’t really mind since he’s so affectionate when you’re alone but at the end of the day you’re still a sucker for grand romantic gestures and nothing can change that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

anyway it’s been a good 10 minutes that you’ve gushed about this fictional man now, and he’s had e n o u g h

he’s not mad, just kinda jealous irritated

something in him is like “I CAN BE ROMANTIC TOO !!!!! >>:((” but since he’s mr. cool calm and collected, he starts scheming and he actually comes up with a pretty solid plan

ngl he stole it from another rom-com you made him watch LMAO

akaashi starts humming the song from the end credits of the movie you just watched and lifts his arm up, suddenly twirling you under it

which shuts you right up because you’re STUNNED that he’s doing something so sweet like this

and when he sees your entire face light up by this one tiny gesture, he’s like wait why have i never done this before

so, still humming the same tune under his breath, akaashi closes the distance between you, placing his free hand on your upper back

he leads the dance, stepping forward and sideways then backwards again, staring into your eyes with the utmost adoration

you get so lost in your own little world that neither of you realise when the humming has stopped and the two of you are just dancing around pools of silver underneath the streetlamps at midnight to the sound of a city at rest and the gentle drumming of your hearts

[ oikawa ]

a knock at the door at 2 am was the last thing you’d expected that night, placing right behind a follow-back from guy fieri on twitter and the live-action avatar movie being wiped from humanity’s collective memory

thankfully, it’s not an axe-murderer waiting outside your door. through your security panel screen you see your boyfriend standing in the dimly lit hallway with his suitcase beside him, home one day earlier than the day he originally told you

without hesitation, you fling the door open with the widest smile your face can sustain, briefly forgetting how tired you are

“tooru!!”

“hi,” is all he breathes out before he encases your body in a bone-crushing hug

when his arms finally loosen around you, he explains that he came straight to you from the airport instead of stopping at his own place because he couldn’t stand the thought of being without you for another day

and when you tease him for being clingy (he knows you love it though) he huffs and says, “i spent one whole week without you–– you can deal with one night with me” AS IF THAT’S A BURDEN LMAO HE KNOWS IT ISN’T

after you let him into your apartment he rolls his suitcase off to the side before plopping down on the sofa with a groan

“c’mere, babe,” he murmurs, stretching his arms out in your direction

you try to pull him off the sofa and make him shower so that the two of you can go tf to bed–– you can tell he’s tired by the bags under his eyes 

but once he’s upright, he snakes his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck

“but i missed you so much :( i don’t wanna go to sleep just yet”

“then what do you have in mind bc it’s 2 am tooru i’m not going to make couples’ tiktoks with you like last time”

but his original train of thought vanishes and all of a sudden he’s Vulnerable Oikawa™ because it’s Sad Boi Hours

“i miss you every time we have to leave to play a game”

“i know”

“and even when we’re in the same country i miss you”

“…”

“i’d miss you a lot less if you moved in with me”

you are s p e e c h l e s s

moving in together is something that you guys have always discussed but no one’s ever said it with so much conviction

obviously you want to say yes IMMEDIATELY but also you wanna make him sweat a bit

so you say, “hmmm i don’t see the appeal” with a cheeky cheeky grin

“for starters,” he says with a chuckle, interlacing one hand with yours and pressing the other against the small of your back, “we’d be able to slow dance all night”

just fyi you melt

time flies right by as you two spin in circles slowly around your living room, the only light in the apartment coming from silvery moonlight pouring through the windows, the last sounds heard throughout the apartment being a gentle “yes”, a relieved chuckle, and then a kiss

[ atsumu ]

“sorry i ruined prom for ya”

you remain silent atop the hood of his car with your out-of-focus gaze on the city below, legs swinging back and forth lightly

“y/n?” atsumu leans forward, resting one arm on the opened car door and the other on the roof. “ya there?”

finally, with an uneven voice, you say, “it wasn’t your fault”

atsumu sighs and, although his ego is like don’t you dare do it don’t–– he reluctantly says, “i shouldn’t have shoved him into the punch fountain”

at that, you look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for the first time since the two of you were thrown out of the neon-lit, streamer-littered gymnasium in a spectacularly mortifying manner

“it wasn’t your fault,” you say again, but this time you actually mean it because you aren’t sad that your prom experience has been ruined by your best friend shoving your prom date into the punch fountain… you’re sad that you even agreed to go with said prom date in the first place

because then, you think wistfully, fighting the urge to look backwards, maybe–– just maybe–– you could’ve gone with someone else

suddenly you hear atsumu rummaging around in his car and seconds later, the faint sound of a guitar strumming pulses gently through the speakers

as he steps out from the driver’s seat, he cups his hands to his mouth and announces in his best impression of your PE teacher and prom chaperone for the night, “ATTENTION STUDENTS! this is the last slow song of the night so don’t miss yer last chance to dance with that special someone”

and then he’s standing just inches away from you with his hand stretched out between you, brown eyes peering hopefully into yours

“well... ya heard the guy”

and you’re like “what?” special someone?

“stop bein’ a blockhead and do me the honour of lettin’ me have this dance,” atsumu teases with a smile on his face but on the inside he’s like omg... am i rlly being rejected rn

your heart is about to COMBUST but you somehow keep it together and slide your hand into his with a completely lovesick grin

he pulls you off the hood of his car, tenderly cradling your head against his chest in one hand and wrapping the other one around your waist

the two of you stay with your bodies intertwined, gently swaying against the backdrop of the city below with your head tucked into his neck, even after the song fades into nothing, even after the nighttime breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, even after the only sound that can be heard in the clearing of the hill is your two heartbeats syncing into one

[cinnonym]

kiss me or we'll never know (we can blame it on the mistletoe)

Written for Day 7 - Tree/Mistletoe of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

The first time it happens, it’s actually an accident.

One of her employees must have put it up, because they thought it would lighten the mood or because they had a crush on a co-worker, Lena doesn’t know. All she does know is that when she stops to talk to Kara during her daily check-up on CatCo, someone yells “kiss” and the whole bullpen falls silent.

That includes Kara, who freezes mid-sentence, then turns crimson, before she, very slowly, lifts her eyes to the ceiling.

And at first, Lena doesn’t understand. For one, two, several seconds, she waits for Kara to continue telling her about that new take-out restaurant she’s found. For a short, very short moment, she feels a tiny pang of annoyance at Kara’s sudden muteness, at her refusal to meet her eyes. For some, blissfully oblivious beats, she doesn’t feel addressed by the “kiss” or the silence, that is unfolding deafeningly around them.

Then she follows Kara’s gaze up. Then she notices the sprig of green that is dangling from the lamp above them. Then she realises that not only is everyone in the room waiting for her to kiss her best friend, but Kara is too, blushing and helpless and jarringly apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, low enough that only Lena can hear her, “I thought I’d memorised all the spots we’d put them, but I must have missed this one.”

And maybe it’s the trace of nervousness in Kara’s voice and the gauging expression in her eyes as she waits for Lena’s reaction, or maybe it’s the shine of lip gloss on the curve of Kara’s mouth and the fact that it has never looked more inviting. But Lena suddenly finds that as inane as she’s always thought this mistletoe business to be, she doesn’t mind it that much this time.

And so, instead of turning away with an eye-roll and a scornful smile, as she might have done two years ago, Lena straightens up.

“Don’t apologise,” she whispers back, and allows her hand to cup Kara’s burning cheek. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except when she leans in and sees Kara’s eyes widen, senses Kara’s lip quiver, hears Kara’s minute gasp – she finds that she can’t do it. Her heart rate is peaking from the closeness alone, her legs feel like jell-o. She is suddenly aware that kissing Kara might be something she will never return from. Something that will change her existence forever. Something that her body will crave until it disintegrates.

And Lena shies away. Presses her lips to a spot of Kara’s face that is not quite the corner of her mouth and not quite her cheek. Stumbles back as the office cheers and Kara ducks her head. And flees.

Turns out, it’s a big deal after all.

***

After that, things change for Lena.

Of course, she noticed Kara before. It is hard not to, when her best friend has a weakness for tight slacks, and plaid shirts that show off her shoulders just so, and a smile that lights up ball rooms. But after the incident that Lena likes to call heureka-moment in her head, well…

Let’s just say Lena is more aware now. Of too-big sweaters that really have no business looking as good on Kara as they do. Of careless touches that leave a burning trail on Lena’s skin, so potent she wonders how it isn’t visible.

Of mistletoes.

There really are a lot of them, once Lena pays attention. At CatCo especially, and the thought of Kara’s involvement in the circumstance makes Lena’s heart trip out of its rhythm. It must mean something, she catches herself thinking, over and over again. She doesn’t believe in fate, but then again, she didn’t really believe in mistletoes either.

But now she counts them. She memorises them. She recites their locations before she goes to sleep at night, and when she wakes up in the morning, she spends her breakfast coming up with excuses to wait for Kara under one of them.

Because now that she’s had time to think about it, now that there isn’t a room full of people watching her come to a conclusion, now that Kara isn’t looking at her with a beautiful melange of nervousness and anticipation in her eyes, Lena has made up her mind. She has weighed her pros and cons, tracked her thought processes, and decided that as far as life-changing circumstances go, she’s already way too far gone to go back now.

If she spends a lifetime longing for Kara, she might as well get a kiss out of it.

And so the second time it happens, it’s very much by design.

***

The day is Saturday, and the bullpen is empty safe for a few stragglers who are behind schedule with their pieces for CatCo weekly.

Kara is one of them, but only because she volunteered to help with the Christmas Extra on top of her usual articles. She’s told Lena all about it on the phone yesterday, and if it hadn’t complimented Lena’s plans so excellently that she forgot to breathe, she would have sighed fondly at the excitement in Kara’s voice.

The very same enthusiasm is laced through her every step today too, magnifies her smile, vibrates through her surprised “Lena!” as Lena strolls into the room.

“I brought doughnuts,” Lena says in lieu of a hello, and although she’s rehearsed this line in the car, her tongue trips over the words in anticipation of what she has set out to do.

It doesn’t matter. Kara has already spied the bag full of sugary treats, and her eyes light up.

“Guys!” She exclaims, just like Lena knew she would, “Come here, Lena’s brought snacks!”

“For all you hard-working souls,” Lena says, and although this is just a diversionary tactic, her heart warms at the grateful smiles she receives.

Of course, none is more grateful than Kara’s. Lena’s been counting on that too. With Kara being fully immersed in savouring her doughnut, her guard is lowered enough not to notice that Lena is gently urging her towards the nearest mistletoe.

Kara finishes chewing her last bite just when they are in perfect position. She licks her lip, sighs happily – and freezes.

Score.

“Lena…” She whispers, not even bothering to look up. Just like Lena, she knows the position of all the mistletoe in the room. Just like Lena, she’s fully aware they’re standing right below one. Unlike Lena, she probably wonders how they got there.

“Oh,” Lena says, and although she meant to sound surprised, her eyes are already so fixed on the smudge of powdered sugar on Kara’s lips that it comes out breathless and longing. “Oh no…”

And the bullpen is quiet again, not because they’re being watched, but because everyone’s too busy eating to pay them any mind. And Kara’s skin is soft under her fingers again as she all but leans into Lena’s touch, trusting, waiting. And Lena’s heart is going miles again, and now she’s stepping closer, and now she’s feeling Kara’s breath on her lips, and now she –

She can’t do it. She sways away at the last second. Kisses a spot that is marginally closer to the corner of Kara’s mouth than last time, but still a full inch away from where the sugar smudge seems to laugh mockingly at her. Jerks away before Kara or anyone can react.

And flees.

***

The third time it happens, everything is different.

For starters, they are completely alone at CatCo. That’s mostly due to the office being closed for the duration of the holidays. Lena’s a business woman, but she isn’t a monster, after all. In fact, she has personally come to shoo out the loiterers, workaholic interns that claimed to “just want to finish this one little thing, promise Ms Luthor, just this one – “

None of their defences lasted long against Lena’s warmest CEO glare.

And so she’s sent them packing, seen them out through the automatic glass doors, wished and received a hundred felicitations. Until only she is left, the key pressed into the soft plane of her hand, on the late afternoon of the 24th.

Outside, night is falling quick like raindrops, sweeping the city up in a dark embrace. Inside, Lena lingers in the bullpen, her eyes seeking out the sprigs of mistletoe in the room.

There are eleven of them, and each seems to have the shape of Kara’s smile. And although Lena has long since moved past the self-degradation, the late-night detestation of her very person, at this moment, she can’t help but curse herself a little. For missing her chances. For chickening out. For –

“Lena?”

She swirls around as if Kara’d caught her in an act of crime. For a brief second, she wonders if it is wrong what she’s doing, having this kind of thoughts about her best friend, sweet, kind-hearted, innocent Kara. But then she meets Kara’s gaze, falls into the pools of her eyes, into the longing that swirls through them, discernible even in the low light.

And how can it ever be wrong if it feels like coming home?

She’s so close to leaning in, the impulse throbs through her like physical ache. Luthors take what they want, and she’s never wanted anything like she’s wanting now. And yet she can’t. Stands petrified and breathless under the only door frame that isn’t adorned with green, while Kara Danvers smiles at her like she’s about to let her in on a secret.

“What…” Lena murmurs, and that’s exactly how far she gets. Before Kara’s fingers slide under her chin, lifting it up. Before her eyes focus on something Kara’s holding in her other hand, something green and prickly, holding it in the air right above them.

Before Kara kisses her.

And she doesn’t miss Lena’s mouth. She doesn’t flee, but pulls Lena closer, into her, until all Lena can perceive is Kara, Kara’s lips against her, Kara’s arms around her, Kara with her as she unceremoniously drops the mistletoe.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Crashing | Jurdan Fake Hating One Shot

Written for: @poeticbrownmermaid​ for my 1k celebration!

Massive thank you to: @clockworkgraystairs​ and @sweetlyvillainous​ for beta reading this and holding my hand before I posted 🥺❤️

Summary: You’ve heard of fake dating. Get ready for fake hating. It’s all very romantic.

Rating: M/E for explicit language and a short, soft focus smut scene (a steam scene, if you will). The sexy parts start and stop after the ☽☽ in case you want to skip.

Masterlist

“You taste—” I’m cut off by my own giggle, which rises to my lips like my mouth is a glass and my laugh is the Champagne they’re serving at this dumb party. “You taste like bubblegum.”

Cardan looks at me funny, then snorts. “What?”

His eyes are beguiling when they’re amused. Even more beguiling when they’re amused and looking at me. They are dark intoxication. They compete against the night sky for vastness. I could swallow them whole.

We’re on the terrace under the stars outside his fancy-pants mansion. I’m sitting on the stone railing, my knees bracketing his lithe frame. His hands and lips are breathless effervescence on me.

I’m in a daring dress of red satin that I would’ve never chosen for myself had Oriana not insisted on finding us girls a tailor. It’s an elegant, backless number with an audacious slit up the side. The whole time before this in the ballroom, I could sense Cardan’s eyes eating it up while he pretended to hate me.

In this dress, I am a femme fatale spy from a film, meeting her tryst in the secret of shadows. Which is honestly not too far off from the reality of the situation, though I am no spy.

Cardan ghosts one hand up the exposed skin of my thigh. The night air is bracing as his touch.

“Jude,” he murmurs, “Are you drunk?”

He’s in a rakish black velvet suit with two blood-red rubies dangling from the pointed tips of his collar. It is decadence and sin given form. The first hour of this hell party was just that: Hell. By the time Cardan pressed a napkin into my palm with the words “Terrace. 10 min.” scrawled on it in smeared ink, I was beginning to glare at him in earnest—if only for the way he must’ve known he was teasing me.

Now, we’re making out behind two conveniently tall potted plants.

It’s all very romantic.

“I had one glass of wine, Cardan,” I say. I slide my hands from his hair and scrape my nails lightly down the column of his neck. It is heady, watching his eyes shutter. My hands slide down his chest and take up his lapels. I give them a firm tug. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I,” he says, lips hovering over my own, “Don’t believe you.” His breath fans across my face. It really does smell like bubblegum. And not the minty kind, either. I’m talking bright pink and bubblicious.

I lean back a little and stick my bottom lip out in a mock-pout. “Why not?”

“For starters,” he says, “You’re a lightweight.” He trails that damned hand down my exposed thigh again.

I shiver. “So? I also ate like twenty of those canopy things.”

“Canapés?” Cardan smirks.

“Yeah, whatever, Your Highness.”

He flashes me a grin and I’m briefly stricken into silence. “Then, what have you to say to your unprecedented giddiness this evening, Your Majesty?”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” I grimace. “I just called you ‘Your Highness’.”

“What? Scared of the implication?”

“Uh, yeah.” My brows shoot up on my forehead. “Mainly because it implies that I’m your mother.”

Cardan’s face goes slack. “Shit, really?”

I nod and bite back my grin.

“I thought they were interchangeable.”

“About as interchangeable as a fork and a spoon.”

He sputters a laugh. “Shows what I know about royalty.”

“You realise how ironic that is, don’t you?” I say, nodding pointedly in the direction of the party.

It goes on without us, spilling its mirth in great golden shafts out onto the terrace. It doesn’t touch us, though. The air is cool, clear of the preening bullshit that so regularly lathers these kinds of events. And though he makes me dizzy, Cardan is the only real thing here.

I think I like parties better this way. From the shadows. In there, we’d have to talk to people, explain ourselves. We’re supposed to hate each other. We were always supposed to hate each other.

A smile plays at the corners of Cardan’s lips as if he’s gleaned these thoughts of mine. “You haven’t answered my question.”

I narrow my eyes. “You think I’m too giddy to not be drunk.”

“Mhmm.” He nudges his nose against mine. “I’ve never heard you giggle before.” A slender finger tracks up my spine and it takes a considerable amount of concentration not to squeeze my thighs together. Goosebumps and a flush spring to my skin, anyway. “It’s delightful,” he tells me.

“Well, maybe you should work on your sense of humour.” My voice comes out shakier than I want it to.

“Maybe,” Cardan says, grabbing the back of my knee and hitching it up. “But that sounds like effort.”

I want to roll my eyes. This is exactly the reason we used to hate each other. His laziness, his arrogance, and entitlement made me want to punch him clean across his pretty cheekbones. I know my stubbornness and sharp tongue made him hate me right back.

Yet, when our worlds crumbled around us, we found ourselves crashing into each other. Entwined in a thicket of mutual understanding. Suddenly, there was so very little to hate.

We pretend to in public to keep up appearances. Everyone knows we hated each other. If we started being friendly around everyone else, people would talk. That’s the last thing we want. Even if they’d technically be right.

In private, though, Cardan is probably my most closely held secret.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still annoying as all hell. Like right now. But I’ve always liked a challenge.

I hook my leg around his back, pulling him in. My fingers card through his hair again. “I can be delightful in other ways,” I say, biting my lip.

His eyes lower to my mouth. “Oh, I’m well aware.” Cardan’s voice comes out a rasp. He cants my chin with the crook of his finger, pulling my lip from between my teeth with the pad of his thumb. He looks at me with undiluted lust. The weight of his gaze is like a dizzying nightmare.

Then, he devours me.

Our mouths slide together, slowly at first, but building in fervor. Hot and heavy, like a fever. His grip on my thigh is bruising. His other hand splays across my bare back, crushing me to him, long fingers twining in my hair. Everything turns saturated and slow.

I invade his mouth with my tongue, determined to drink him up. He tastes like bubblegum and our reconciliation. At the same time, I hook my other leg behind him so he’s pressed flush against the apex of my thighs. ☽☽

A muffled groan rolls between his teeth. “Fuck, Jude.” Cardan is growing firm beneath his trousers. The feel of it sends a curl of sweet desire, dark and throbbing, through my core.

“You’re going to have to be quieter than that,” I tease. I’m so featherbrained on the savour of his mouth, his liquid touch. My veins feel full of amber liquor instead of blood. I know I’m not drunk, and yet I feel it.

His fingers drawl back up my leg. “The question is, dear,” he says, “Can you be quiet?” The coolness of his hands sends a shock along the heat of my inner thigh.

I realise where he’s going with this and my breath hitches. My cheeks blaze. “Yes,” I tell him, though I don’t sound as confident as I should for such a high stakes rendezvous.

“Hmm,” Cardan thrums. “We’ll see about that.”

His fingers are deft and twice as sly. He hisses through his teeth when they glide over me, exploring.

As a steady rain, he begins my unravelling. His mouth covers mine, swallowing a soft whimper that escapes my throat. I want to moan his name, to curse aloud, but I can’t if we’re to stay hidden.

The thought is both terrible and exciting at once.

Cardan keeps a torturous pace. I cling to him, panting, clutching at his arms, clawing at his back. His mouth roams my jawline. His teeth tug my ear. My mind is frenetic, frenzied, and at once thick in a viscous haze.

All I can think about is how this party is so stupid and soul-sucking, but Cardan is the farthest thing from stupid and soul-sucking. About how he makes me feel very much alive. About how I like him more than anyone here, probably more than even myself.

His other arm wraps certain and solid around me as he spins my world on its side. I lean my forehead on his shoulder. He kisses my neck. I can’t help the gasps that leave me.

My heart is racing. So quickly does it pump, in time with his ministrations, I think I might turn to white lightning in a bottle before all is said and done.

I know it when I’m drawing towards that precipice. My toes curl and flex. My legs begin to quiver. My knees lock up.

“Cardan,” I gasp. “Please.”

“Can you be quiet for me, Jude?” Cardan murmurs rough against my ear. He sounds a little breathless, too.

I am so muddled, I am so close. I can only manage a soft sob in response. Now he’s doubling his efforts and oh, gods is he clever.

I bite his shoulder to keep from making a sound as I shoot over the edge, a wondrous arc so high I’m sure I scrape the stars of their dust.

My hips writhe against his palm. I pull and rake my fingers through his hair as I spiral through the five stages of sweet delirium.

He holds me through it. Presses his lips to my hair and whispers what I think must be comforting things into my ear. I can’t tell because I’m incapable of comprehending much of anything beyond myself in his arms. He strokes soft circles over my back until it’s done. ☽☽

When everything settles, I’m still clinging to him, my forehead against the sureness of his shoulder. A sheen of sweat dewing my skin.

I’ve always hated this part about intimacy. The aftermath. Everything is too quiet. The excitement is gone. You’re faced with the reality of looking at each other without the rosy filter of lust. Maybe you’ll see each other for who you really are, and that’s a scary thought.

That’s probably how I felt once with Cardan, too. Back when we started…whatever this is. But now, in this moment with him, it feels less vulnerable and more like holding someone’s hand as you stare upon something a little terrifying.

Which is why I’m able to look up at him and ask in every manner of seriousness, “Why do you taste like bubblegum?”

His responding laugh is gentle and he shakes his head. “One-track mind,” he says. I shrug and wait.

“They’re serving bubblegum cocktails at the bar inside.”

My nose crinkles. “You actually drank one of those?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“No, I think I’ll sleep quite soundly if I never do.”

Cardan gives me an awful kind of grin that makes my toes curl anew. “Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” he says, then tucks a loose curl behind my ear. “I happen to like bubblegum cocktails.”

I give him a dubious look. I can’t help but feel that maybe we’re not talking about bubblegum cocktails anymore.

For a long moment, we just sit there staring at each other. There’s a bloom of laughter from inside the house. The clink of glasses. His eyes trace the lines of my face. I still feel drunk on him and he’s looking at me too soberly.

So I say, “You have shit taste, then,” and hop off the railing. I side-step him before beginning the task of smoothing down my dress. If I walk back into the party all flushed and disheveled, people will know what I’ve been doing—which is almost as bad as if people knew who I’ve been doing.

“Oh, you can’t say that dear,” Cardan lilts as he leans back against the balcony with all the insouciance of someone who lives in this ridiculous mansion. And rightly so, because he does. “Not when you taste equally delicious.” Then he brings his fingers, the ones that have just been inside me, to his mouth and closes his lips around them, burning gaze locked on mine.

My eyes go wide. My jaw slacks as I watch him. I’m somewhere between affronted by his audacity and completely turned on again. Which is a confusing place to be.

He laughs at my probably very foolish expression and I turn on my heel to head back to the party. I’m not actually offended. I just can’t bear to look at him while he’s tasting me off his fingers without combusting on the spot.

Cardan grabs my wrist. “Wait, wait,” he says, still laughing.

I arc a brow and turn to face him. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and sounds earnest enough. “It’s just… you make me giddy, too.”

His words are a punch to the gut. I hadn’t realised it until he said it, but it’s true. It’s not the way he kisses me or the high of a climax, though those are surely nice things, too. It’s the way I feel when we’re together. Just his presence makes my head swim, my stomach turn flips.

He makes me feel a little bit invincible, and entirely beyond reason.

I look at him, the warm glow of the party playing off the sharp angles of his face. He’s still holding my hand, fiddling with the ruby ring I always wear.

On the crest of a breath, Cardan says, “Stay tonight.”

“Why?” I whisper, because we’ve never spent the night. I’m not sure we’d even know how.

“Because I’ll miss you terribly?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Because you’ll miss me terribly.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely survive,” I say. Even as my heart gives a squeeze. I don’t want to leave.

Not yet, not yet.

“Because you’re too intoxicated to drive home,” he says.

“I took an Uber here, Cardan,” I tell him. “And for the last time, I’m not drunk.”

“I’m not saying you’re drunk, Jude.”

He’s not grinning at me, which I think is a good sign. It means he’s not hinting at something sexual. Then again, that might also be a very bad sign. It means he’s hinting at something deeper. I’m not sure I want to get into that conversation just yet.

“Fine,” I say. I do want to stay. The thought of it sends a little thrill through me. “Hate me for an hour more. We’ll have a big argument about… something. And then I’ll tell Madoc I’m leaving.”

His hands snake around my waist. “What will we argue about tonight?”

I smile at him sweetly. “If your head is half as cunning as your fingers, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Cardan hums. “I do love it when we’re at each other’s throats.”

I roll my eyes but I’m betrayed by my laugh for not the first time tonight. Stupid punch-drunk feelings.

☽☽☽☽☽

Enjoyed this? Try:  King  |  Wicked Game  |  We’re All Mad Here

Masterlist

AN: So this was supposed to be a drabble for my 1k celebration but my hand slipped and whoops! It’s 2.5K words. I really hope you enjoyed this secret tryst one shot. I had so much fun writing it. If you liked this and want to see more from me, comments and/or reblogs are very much appreciated!

I have a tag list so if you’d like to be added to that, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! I also recently jumped on the Twitter/Instagram bandwagon. You can follow me @/rebelwriter23 on Twitter and @/slightlyrebelliouswriter23 on Instagram.

Back to the forest now. -Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Crashing- Illenium

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @doingmyrainbow​ @words-of-the-wise​ @scarznstars​ @charincharge​ @fizziefaerie​ @fateandluminary​ @tessas-herondales​ @styles-taylor​ @jyoti96​ @losssssstttttt​ @transbordeamento​ @katsemkitgostadetog @gloriouspalacebakerylawyer​ @woodsbeyond1​ @hizqueen4life​ @highqueenjudeduarte​ @m-like-magic1-blog​ @dorkzrul​ @whataboutmyfries​ @livelovereading123​ @queenofgreenbriar​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @lifeminuspickles​ @df3ndyr​ @christalpaez @aknymph​ @iammissstark​ @disco-tits1​ @star-flecked-soul​

[dropofgoldensun]

omg hiiiii i am here from cat (@luvdsc) wondering if you could offer any advice about college apps 🙏 especially about the uc piqs? thank you so much i hope ur doing well!!!!!!!!

yes yes hello friend !! 💝 miss cat directed you to me because i did my college apps last year !!! (yikes one year passed already?? why does that feel ages ago 🤧)

first of all, congratulations on making the decision to apply to college !! i know it’s been hard for a lot of people our age to figure out the college situation recently, so i’m proud of you for choosing to take the extra step this summer to buckle up and write those essays 💞

i’ve compiled a few tips on answering the PIQs (i was actually in the middle of typing this up when i received your ask haha), but some of them can be applied to other essays, as well !! they’re all under the cut (because, unfortunately, being brief is not my forte) 😊

(and for reference, the prompts i chose were #2 (creativity), #6 (subject), #7 (community), and #8 (anything) !!)

tip #1: understand the prompt.

before you even begin writing, it’s important to understand what the question is really asking. for the UC PIQs, this will look different depending on which four prompts you decide to do.

in question one, for example, they want to know about your skills in leading others, but notice that they’re also curious about your resolution abilities and teamwork experience. or in question two, they don’t want to know that you paint and that you love painting—they could be asking how resourceful you are, how you think outside the box when you have an idea.

once you know the question you’re going to be answering, you can move on to brainstorming!

tip #2: write down three (3) key takeaways.

these are like the most basic, not-even-a-sentence answers you would give to each question. so for me, in response to question eight (“what do you believe makes you stand out as a strong candidate for the UCs?”), my answers were perseverance, courage, and character. i had a story about that, so i wrote about my experience with martial arts.

i recommend you do something similar. decide on three things that you want to communicate to your audience, and write them in the footnote of your document. your goal is to cover all three points so that, if anyone were to read your essay, they would walk away understanding those three things about you.

i found this strategy really helpful for keeping my essay streamlined while writing—if a sentence didn’t relate to any of those main points, i would cut it since those words would take up valuable space in the word count. stay focused on what needs to be in this essay, and if you have extra words left in the word count later, you can add those details back in.

and once you’re done with your essay, make sure to refer back to your takeaways and check that you covered all of them sufficiently!

tip #3: highlight your stories.

i sent cat an ask a couple days ago with a few pictures of my response to an end-of-year college counseling survey that referenced this tip (you can find it here). basically i said that, when choosing what topics to write about, pick things that interest you! if you get excited talking about it, your audience should get excited about reading it, because they’ll pick up on the passions you have and then everyone’s excited !!! :D

i’ll tell you a secret: everyone you meet, everyone you see, has countless unique experiences that few others may have. me? i spend hours making mashups out of kpop songs. i earned my black belt years after a traumatizing experience during training. i get russian harry potter and spanish dr. seuss books from the library. and i created a collaborative online google photos album for my classmates that now has thousands of entries. although these aren’t necessarily unique to only me, they’re still special enough to the point where, when you put them all together, you get a better image of the person i am, and what i value.

so find a story, a habit, a hobby that makes you different, because i believe that everyone has them. give them some food for thought, or that one-liner that sticks in their brain and won’t go away. and remember: these stories don’t all have to be extraordinary—they should be about people or moments of special value to you, because that’s what matters.

personal tip: when i was brainstorming ideas, i decided that the best way to get ideas out there was to go on a rant (because sometimes it helps to just have a conversation with yourself !!) and i recorded myself, so i could replay what i said !! this was so so crucial to me finding my own voice for writing essays. notice the way you word things when you talk—a good line or two may make it into the final draft :)

i found it helpful to read sample essays as well! they give a lot of great ideas on the kinds of topics people write about. (also, it’s kind of fun, because who doesn’t love a good story?)

but the people reading your essay won’t be there to just enjoy your story; what they really want you to do is to tell them what you learned from your experience. they want to know whether you’re teachable and willing to grow both as a student and as a young adult. so make sure to take note of the life lessons you learned, experience you gained, character you built, etc.

minor tip on ending your essay: if you’re telling a story that happened in the past, then close with what you learned and how you can apply that to your life moving forward. if you’re telling a story that has no definite end yet (like a passion or dream you have), you probably don’t have everything figured out (and you can say that in your essay!), so it might be better to close with your hopes for the future.

tip #4: ask your family for help.

peer-editing is one of the most effective ways to detect errors and inconsistencies in your writing, because, after staring at your essay for so long, you might gloss over glaring contradictions. for all of my essays, i printed them out and asked my parents to help me revise them. we’d meet every other night (or every night, depending on how much time was left) to review and discuss improvements.

i actually kept some of those printed drafts (only the first and the final ones for comparison), and let me tell you from experience—you’re probably going to have a lot of drafts (i think the most i did was seven? but you don’t need to go that far!). this part of the process does take some time, so remember to be patient and kind to yourself :) these essays won’t happen overnight!

enlisting the help of others also helps keep you accountable. one of the struggles many seniors face while writing essays is just... setting aside time to do them. and even though the constant reminders from your parents will definitely get repetitive and a bit stress-inducing, i can tell you from personal experience that i’m so glad they did; otherwise, i don’t think i’d have my essays done in time :’)

while writing college essays is challenging, your family will be there supporting you each step of the way. chances are that they’ll have their own pointers to pass on to you, since they probably remember doing this process themselves! and, out of everyone in your life, they probably remember the most about you (because you probably don’t remember much when you were four or five), so they might have a couple starter ideas for topics when brainstorming. you can rely on them for their advice and their experience.

tip #5: self-editing.

here’s the part that takes the longest time.

use action words. this is probably something you’ve heard all throughout elementary school where they didn’t like you to say “said” because it was “boring”… but honestly, the difference between “doing my own version” and “infusing it with my personality” could go a long way. also, use words that you would actually use in an essay—then it’ll have your own special flair, and not sound like it’s taken from some stuffy 80s textbook!

here are some of the words i used (once again, you shouldn’t use these words if they don’t sound like something you’d write/say): potential, overlay, wrestle, launch, analogous, weave, infuse, experiment, outlet, revel, fascinate, satisfaction, pursue, expand, distinction, capture, range, archive, engage, beyond, build, adversity, cultivate, preserve, commit, explore, convey, naturally

also, be on the lookout for repeated words. i once wrote an essay without noticing that i used “hope” three times in the same paragraph. don’t do that! use synonyms :) personally, i tended to run short on synonyms, so i always kept a tab or two open on my computer reserved for searching up new words.

side note: unfortunately, during my search for synonyms, i discovered that thesaurus.com just didn’t give me what i was looking for. i highly recommend using wordhippo instead; it has so many more options and they’re grouped by the different definitions of your word! i found the synonyms i needed really quickly and it was very satisfying!

avoid the passive voice! my teacher gave me this tip for theses or any other college-level writing. here’s an example of the passive voice: “there was a large part of me that wanted to turn back.” that’s twelve words taking up precious space in your word count! instead, say something like, “i considered turning back.” you’ve just freed up eight words :)

tip #6: final revisions.

this is the step where you fine-tune your essays. meet that word count.

read your writing out loud. does it sound like you? it should. every writer has a different voice, and you need to ensure that yours is pervasive throughout your essay. feel free to use contractions—not only do they reduce your word count (this was a good thing for me, since i had a problem with getting under 350 words), but they also give a more casual tone to your essay, as if you’re telling a story to someone in the room.

next, pretend to be an admissions officer and have someone else read your essay to you. do you get excited hearing about this student who shares your name? if you do, there’s a good chance the real admissions officers will love your essays, too. this also gives you a chance to review to your essay as a whole. pay attention to the overall flow. is there a clear beginning and end? do you resolve the issues and overcome the trials you brought up? listen to it as if it’s a story, and take this time to enjoy what you’ve written. you worked hard!

final thoughts / encouragements.

oh my goodness, did we make it to the end? honestly if you did, thank you so much 🥺

okay but despite my relatively optimistic tone throughout this post, i’m still going to be honest with you—the college essay writing process is difficult. it requires you to look inside yourself and analyze the “why” behind some of the things that you love, and that isn’t easy to do at all. it’s intellectually and emotionally challenging, because not only do you need to use so much energy writing, but you also have to dig deeper to understand yourself, and that’s not easy, either.

but i wanted to encourage you, too. no matter what you may think of yourself at 12am, 2am, 4am writing these essays, believe you have a personality that others love and will love when they meet you. you are an interesting person with unique experiences who deserves to share your thoughts with others. you have so many people behind you, supporting you during these next few months. and when you find that you can’t write any more, remember to take time to care for yourself. have a warm shower. go to bed early. i could go on and on about why sleep is good for your brain but i’ll spare you the details in this post 😉

one last thing: keep the bigger picture in focus. remember, by december or january, you will be finished with most of the application process. that’s no small accomplishment. you can do it. 💝

i really hope you found tips that you were looking for, and that they’re applicable to your own PIQs and other essays !! if you have any other questions, feel free to send in another ask (i promise my response won’t be this lengthy LOL) 💘💓

oh, and if you feel comfortable enough reaching out about anything in particular, i’m only a DM away 💕 i wish you the best of luck on writing your essays and i hope you enjoy your final year of high school !! 💗🌸💟💖

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N  Know what this fic needs?  More Geillis.  No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this.   Just bear with me.   Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue.   Thanks for coming on the journey with me!  With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed.  I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic.  When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months.  When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen!  I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire.  Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me.  The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list.  Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app.  As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche...  who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested.  “The first three are for Frank.  The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him?  Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard.  Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire?  And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent.  My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas.  But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him.  Or it had.  I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts.  “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list.   And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment.  She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next.   Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here.  House of Fraser.  See?  Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling.  The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights.  The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section.  Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing.  “I don’t need a new outfit.  And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this.  Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night.  I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms.  Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these.  And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size. 

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight.   She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.  

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant.  The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings.  Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely.  I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie.  We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore. 

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze.  It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing.  Everything.  Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass.  I only want tae see ye happy.  Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber.  Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith.  It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern. 

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef.  Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams.  The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter.  Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid.  Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks.  And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached.  I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse.  Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef.  He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim.  A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him.  He looked dangerous.  It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef.  With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me.  I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin.  The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.”  His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.”  He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging.  I swallowed and looked frantically around.  Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go.  I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table.  An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued.  I tried to convince myself I needed to leave.  It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment.  Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song.  The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door.  Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant.  Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port.  A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up.  Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone.  The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist.  I couldna hear myself think in there.  Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.”  Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle.  I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.  

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming.  I told him everything.  My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability.  Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home.  And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined.  I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket.  He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face.  I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted.  I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name.  “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me.  But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.”  At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do.  But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.”  Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words.  “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist.  Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?”  The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them.  His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning.  Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things.  Regular, ordinary things, mostly.  My family’s health and happiness.  A faster bike.  My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him.  But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune.  Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands.  Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother.  We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining.  Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm.  “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned.   “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment.  “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.”  His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist.  Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast.  It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about.  We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed.  My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine.  As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket.  I laughed, although no-one could hear me.  I yelled, and only the wind yelled back.  I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat.  My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember.  I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls.  He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist.  Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow.  I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home.  Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him.  He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried?  Do you have any idea what time it is?  My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days.  You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing.  “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace.  Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

[andrcmdas]

WHERE: Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions, Diagon Alley.  WHEN: August 22nd, 2029. WHO: Dorcas Meadowes. ( @ofmcadowes )

“Am I the only one who thinks we should be cautious with those cellophones? I appreciate the idea of them, but aren’t they a little... much? And now my child won’t stop begging for one... Do you think they make them for kids, too? Like, less intense ones that wouldn’t turn my seven-year-old into an independent human being who doesn’t need me anymore?”