#(note: by the article it just seems like she just wasn’t getting the attention she wanted—not that they were actually mean)

[shipsonmymind]

Abolish the Republican Party.

[shiny-jr]

how to steal a heart (I)

[ a dummy's guide on how to steal the heart of a poor pathetic man ]

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Female reader.��

- Note: This has been an idea (heavily inspired by Howl's Moving Castle) I had in my docs since fall 2022. I was talking to a mutual about how writing on Tumblr vs Quotev feels very different. If I leave something unfinished on Quotev, I feel incredibly guilty which prevents me from posting new stories. However, on Tumblr, I don't feel as guilty. Not sure why. Anyways, I know most of my followers here don't care for my ocs, and I've been wanting to post this for so long. So instead of posting on Quotev, I'll post it on here just to get rid of the urge to share this story (might delete this later). This is the same story I posted that little screenshot of not too long ago, and that screenshot was basically just the prologue chapter. So yeah. Hope you enjoy?

IN WHICH THERE IS A SEAMSTRESS . . .

Black smoke concealed the window like a thick veil as the walls around her shook. It was a sure sign that the train was inching by. The screech from its whistle and clanking against the railroad tracks, so loud that it must’ve been heard over a mile away, only confirmed her guess. Her hands continued to cut smoothly through the linen fabric, separating enough to fulfill another order placed this morning. As the young woman worked to separate the colors and gather more material, the corner of her eyes caught sight of the smoke concealing her perfect view. 

The train’s fading motion and clanging against the tracks was eventually replaced by chatter just outside her workshop. It all became background noise, as she began to utilize the sewing machine. Lines formed over the cloth, blending it and connecting so they formed an article of clothing. Needles, pins, and scissors cut and dug deep through the cloth. Buttons of all shapes and sizes were neatly organized in little boxes, so she could easily take what she needed. Time just seemed to fly as she worked so quietly and efficiently, oblivious to the hours ticking by. Any other noise fell on deaf ears, even as a knock resounded on the firm wooden door that happened to be wide open already. 

A pause before the person tried again, knocking a little louder again. “(Y/n)?” 

Snapping out of her efficient trance, the tailor snapped to attention and straightened her sitting posture. Gazing at the door and back the window where the sun was much lower than before, it took her a moment to figure out what exactly was going on and what time it was. It was later in the day, and the woman at the door was Dalena… Well, everyone called her Ma Dalena because she was a kind older lady who tended to see the young female tailors as her own children. At least, most of the tailors. 

“We closed up five minutes ago. You can go now.” Ma Dalena gave an encouraging smile that displayed the dimples on her skin, showing signs of age evident by the wrinkles. Judging by her long dress and small woven handbag hanging from her wrist, it was probably safe to assume that she had evening plans. “Why not spend the rest of the day with us?” 

Us. Correct she was again. As welcoming as the invitation was to join Ma Dalena and the other tailors, she wasn’t willing to join them anymore. Not after the first time when she dared to venture with them. After shifts, the tailors had a tradition of going out into town. Not that it was a bad thing. But they used their time cafe hopping, searching for flirtatious men to satisfy their need for affection. Oftentimes, they would get caught up with the pushy kind. And ever since some troops from the military have returned from their duties, well… encountering a bunch of men who hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in months, was not ideal. At least for her. 

Taking her foot off the pedal to pause her work and silence the sewing machine, she pretended to consider the invitation before mustering a polite smile with a shake of her head. “Hm… It sounds nice. But I promised the client I would finish this so they can pick it up tomorrow. So I’ll stay, but have fun. Have another drink in my place, alright?” 

Ma Dalena merely nodded in understanding, her polite smile turning somber as she turned on her two-inch heels and began walking to the front entrance. The chatter of the other tailors ready and eager for the rest of the day off, went quiet as she announced, “We’re leaving now. Hurry now if you’re coming!” 

The chatter resumed, accompanied by the sound of more heels tapping quickly against the wooden floors in an effort for the straying members to catch up with the group. They complimented each other's outfits they spent days making by hand, discussing various fashion trends, gossiping about clients and others in town. 

In a way, she did and she didn’t regret accepting the invitation. It may have been nice to have good company for once, but it never felt right when she was present within their clique. It was as if she were trying to forcefully add a puzzle piece to an already complete puzzle, which is why she stopped forcing it. She wouldn’t want to sit there awkwardly during tea, unsure what to say as they spoke so confidently and loudly. It felt as if she were an imposter, someone trying to disguise themselves to blend in. It was why she worked in a small separate room, away from everyone else. That, and because she was the fastest tailor there. Part of her wondered if Ma Dalena was beginning to dislike her since she turned down invitation after invitation. But how was she to explain what she was feeling, when it would only sound like whining? 

Drowning out her thoughts with work to occupy the space in her mind, she pressed her foot against the pedal and began sewing once more. The loud hum of the machine filled her ears as it worked against the red cloth under her fingertips. This was the way it was supposed to be. Mindlessly spending her waking hours working at a craft she didn’t excel at, but was decent enough to earn wages in. All while wondering what could’ve been, and secretly hoping that maybe soon there is something that can be–– 

“Look! Look out there! It’s Reyes’ temple!” 

“Reyes?!”

“Where? I don’t see it!” 

“There! Over the hill!” 

Now that was something you don’t see everyday. Everyone retreated back to the window, desperate to catch a glimpse, even Ma Dalena. Halting her work once again, (Y/n) too was the tiniest bit curious. 

In truth, magicians failed to interest her, not that she had an opportunity to see them much anyways. But all those in Etére knew to be cautious of two particular magic wielders: La Bruja de Bruez, the Witch of Bruez, and Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, Reyes the Thief of Hearts. The pair were like the local boogeymen, tales of their horrendous deeds spreading and becoming bedtime stories for children in order to scare them into good behavior. 

Ever since her youth, she heard stories of La Bruja de Bruez. It was said that she was a wicked woman who’s lived for over a hundred years. A slight against her is taken seriously, and she curses those she comes across. But she was no mere fairytale. The witch has been a thorn in the country’s side for a long time, as she terrorizes the towns she visits. There hasn’t been much action taken against her, because she’s so powerful that hardly anyone stands a chance and she’s so elusive. Besides, the royal family don’t particularly care if the witch curses a random citizen every month or so, as long as they don’t have to risk pawns in their own arsenal of magicians just to take her down. 

Only a few years ago, a second magician with fearsome spells and a horrible reputation, appeared. Reyes Ladrón de Corazones, or more commonly known as Reyes, was another brujo many feared, although not as much as his counterpart from Bruez. There were rumors, yes, but they were more lighthearted with little evidence to ever back up the claims. While the Bruja de Bruez spared no one, it was said that Reyes chose to pursue only young beautiful women. If you asked around town, half of the population would consider him a threat, while the other half would giggle and whisper about his rumored good looks. Maybe that’s how he lured them in? With charms. Either way, he was a cause for concern. It was said that at a young age after abandoning his position as apprentice under the royal sorceress, the most powerful known magician, he not only challenged her but won and stripped her of her powers. Of course, no one can neither confirm nor deny it, as the king kept a tight lid on the situation and supposedly those who approach Reyes meet a terrible fate. But his abode was proof enough of his sheer strength. It was like a castle, a temple wandering on mechanical legs, rumored to not only be fueled by magic but also made of it.

Through the mist and low hanging clouds, just over the rolling hills on the horizon she could make out the distinct shape of a temple. A magnificent temple that appears so small from so far away. But she knew that it was a beast, a titan wandering the wilderness where very few dared to venture. It prowled around on its mechanical legs, spewing black smoke as the only trail it left behind. Reyes’ moving temple disappeared behind the clouds, seemingly vanishing from sight. Onlookers within the tailor shop could only awe and wonder aloud what the brujo was like, what was true and what was not, their minds creating horrible fears and outlandish fantasies that would take root as rumors. 

Lowering her gaze back to her work, she resumed once more, but the rumors overpowered the hum of her machine until their words reached her. The other tailors proceeded back to the front entrance, marveling about what they just witnessed. Was he hiding from soldiers practicing their flights just outside the town? Did you hear that he literally steals the hearts of women, but only beautiful ones? Someone said that a pretty waitress on the other side of town had her own heart torn out and stolen by Reyes just last week! 

The door was shut and she was alone, left with her work and the noise outside. Swiftly she worked, able to repair tears and wears with ease and create other things. Able to get lost in the work for much longer, until she felt the ground shake and the screech of another whistle. The afternoon train. It’s smoke covering her window once again. It was getting late already. Not wishing to waste the rest of the day by continuing work or go to bed with a book she had already read twice, she switched off the machine and organized all the tools back into their places. Brushing off all stray strings from her dress, she then rearranged her completed work thus far and prepared to have a different kind of day. 

Today, she would try to make it a can be sort of day. Even if it meant just visiting a close friend like Lía at the bakery. Just putting out the effort to go out today was more than she was usually willing. Although wishing it would be something special, a proper can be day without even trying, was like wishing to be acknowledged by a person you admire but never once talked to, it was much like winging it on a test without studying and praying you would get a perfect score even though knowing that it’s almost near impossible. But it isn’t statistically completely impossible, so you cling to that thin shred of hope that’s as taut as a piece of string. 

The whirring of small planes buzzed overhead, the flying machines brandishing their flags like the proud and numerous soldiers. On nearly every home and business, there was the flag hanging over the door, a symbol of patriotism and support of the war effort. (Y/n) quickly crossed the streets and reached the trolley station that would take her further into town. Right now there was not a soldier in sight, but that was sure to change the closer to the center of town she got. She only prayed that there wouldn’t be any trouble with them. 

The trolleys were full, people all going towards the center of town, in the same direction the planes overhead flew towards. If she had to guess, most of the people within the trolley were likely friends or family of returning soldiers. All giddy from the victory high of a major battle just won. 

While watching the scenery go by, she wondered how Lía was fairing. 

It was because of Lía and her family that she now worked in a tailor shop. (Y/n)’s parents had met an unfortunate end while traveling outside the kingdom. They were doctors dedicated to a good cause, determined to stay in dangerous war torn lands to heal and treat the poorest of folks. While she was busy with school and often alone but checked on by family friends, her parents were saving people an ocean away in a faraway land where Milavi’s war had spread. They had been too close to Milavi claimed territory, likely mistaken for doctors healing rebels, and were thus punished for their good deeds. With no one left to turn to, her family’s closest friend, Señor Obregón, adopted (Y/n) and treated her as one of his own. 

Señor Obregón was a quiet but respectable man that spent his time either working or with his family. He was the one that taught her how to sew, knit, and tailor, after she became curious of his skills. There were two other girls, Lía and Cova, a few years younger than (Y/n), which is why she became the oldest sibling. Lía was the beauty admired all throughout their childhood and still beloved to this day. She most resembled her mother, but she wasn’t half as vain. Cova was the youngest and somehow the smartest, as she was able to quickly grasp the concepts from lessons even in (Y/n)’s class, despite being a few grade levels apart. She mostly resembled her father and his own wits. Then there was her, (Y/n), who had… whatever was left. Of course she never held any resentment toward her sisters, since they were always well behaved but perhaps a bit annoying with their squabbles. Lastly, was Señora Obregón, Rosita, who she just called Tia Rosa for short, was never rude or dismissive to her. Tia Rosa was actually very outgoing and talkative, but she was the sort of woman that wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something from last season. She desired the finer things in life and settled for no less, which is probably why Señor Obregón ended up in an early grave due to working himself to death just to try and afford the luxuries his wife craved. 

Immediately after the funeral, while they were still dressed head-to-toe in black and their eyes were puffy from crying, Rosita sat all three of her daughters for a conversation about the future. It would be impossible for her to keep them all in school, especially considering she hadn’t worked a day in her life. However, she wasn’t cruel enough to just toss her young girls out into the streets with nowhere to go. So, she devised a plan for each girl. Cova would be able to best utilize her smarts in a challenging field full of promise, which is why she was sent to a good witch in the next town over, to become an apprentice in magic. Lía was already very popular around town, she would thrive in a social environment like the bakery on main street where to this day men constantly asked for her hand. As for her, (Y/n), she would stay here in Obregón’s tailor shop, where Tia Rosa deemed was best fit. Afterall, she did know how to carry on the business, she had even helped their reputation grow substantially as more people came in every day and profits increased. Although, she hardly had the time to spend the earnings on herself, that’s what Tia Rosa was there for. Rather, never there for. She’d collect earnings from the business (Y/n) ran and would disappear for weeks or months at a time to another town or city. But that's besides the point… 

By now, the trolley she was on was near the center of town that happened to be within blocks away, the streets became crowded with people walking on foot. On roads below bridges, there were lines of military tanks rolling by. Not much further in, the sidewalks were jam packed with hundreds, upon thousands, of people. Confetti rained down, banners and flags were strung from every corner and door. Every window was occupied as citizens cheered and waved at the parade of temporary victors, a show of military strength. Soldiers in their crisp uniforms marched in unified lines, cavalry on horseback carried large flags. 

As the density of the crowds increased, and the volume of cheers and the parade along with it, she felt her heart beat louder. This was too much, it was too loud, she couldn’t even think…! But she had come this far, to go back home now when she was so close would be a little pathetic. Avoiding the commotion like a plague, she decided it best to take the maze of alleyways to calm her nerves. There were hardly any people on those backstreets, just the occasional stationed soldier. Focusing her gaze on the war propaganda posters on the brick and clay walls underneath window boxes filled with colorful flowers, she pretended to carefully study them as she increased her pace from a calm stroll to a quick speed walk, examining the items as if they were the most fascinating objects she ever saw. Really, she’d rather not make awkward eye contact with the soldiers on guard that watched her like a hawk, which is why she hurried along until they were out of sight.

Now that she was alone, with the crowds and their entertainment separated from her by walls of homes and businesses, she felt relief as the once loud sounds melted into background noise. For now she could concentrate on the address scribbled out on the folded piece of paper in her hands, and her anxiety could be replaced with confusion as she attempted to navigate these small hidden paths. This was only the second time she was on this path, since (Y/n) barely had time to ever go out due to work and her own incompetence. The first was on a holiday some weeks ago when the shop closed early, which granted her a few hours to venture on the main roads to the bakery where her friend worked. This was the second time, and she’s never taken the back roads, which was why she couldn’t tell left from right here. 

Just in time, she looked up from her note to stop her feet from moving, as she came face-to-face with an obstacle. It wasn’t another dead end, this obstacle wore clothing and golden pins, and had a head that could easily look down from his height and see the top of her hat. Immediately she stiffened up and took a step back, hesitantly forcing her eyes to look up at the smiling soldier that casually leaned against the wall. 

The young man only appeared amused as she jumped a step back in surprise. (Y/n) noticed that delighted sparkle in his eyes, as if her skittish self and startled reaction was his entertainment for the afternoon. Before she could open her mouth to mutter an apology and force her head down to continue ahead, the man leaned just a few inches closer to get a better look at her face hidden by the rim of her colorfully embroidered sun hat. “Huh, just like a mouse. Are you lost?” 

A mouse… A skittish field mouse. Would that then make him a rat or a predator? Holding her tongue so not as to speak her mind, she merely shook her head. Offending a soldier would not be good. Not that she had the confidence to say the quick comeback that came to mind anyways. “No… I’m not lost.” That was a lie. 

The young soldier persisted, refusing to move off the path as he continued to block her way. “You look lost. Say, what do you say to an invitation to tea? Afterwards, we can go over directions and escort you to where you’re heading.” Even his partner in patrol, an older gentleman, also a soldier but likely more experienced by at least a few years, moved from his post and approached in curiosity. 

As the second man stepped closer, she could distinctly hear his polished shoes tapping in a steady rhythm as he stood beside his friend. Her own heart rate easily outpaced his steps, and it wasn’t increasing due to excitement, it was due to growing unease. Yes, she knew rationally that these soldiers likely meant no harm and merely wanted to flirt, but her mind could only conjure up the worst possible scenarios as she reminded herself that they outnumbered her, they were stronger, and they had their long firearms strapped to their backs. Keeping her head down, she replied, “Thank you, but no. I’m supposed to be meeting up with someone.” 

Just like the first did, the second soldier bent down a bit to peer at her features. Just like his accomplice, he wore an amused smile as he shook his head and remarked. “A mouse? That’s not very nice. Don’t worry, you’re much better than a simple little mouse.” 

Rolling his eyes, the younger soldier only continued, “If you’re old enough to drink, we can go to a bar if that’s more your style? Do you live around here?” 

This was getting ridiculous. Did they never learn to accept rejection? No means no, even children could comprehend that. But for now, she was at their mercy, no one would come to help her here. It would be up to them to decide she was no use for any fun and let her go, or continue to persist for their selfish desires. “No. Please let me pass.” 

Barely phased by her firm reply, the younger of the two turned to his partner and scoffed, “See? I told you the girls don’t like the beard you’re growing out. It scares them.” 

It’s as if her plea went through one ear and out the other, not swaying them in even the slightest bit. The older gentleman merely rubbed the stubble on his chin, “It makes me look better. Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t mind. She might even prefer a man with facial hair.” Actually, the word gentleman did not describe him well. 

In that moment she was wondering, would she truly risk it all just to snap back in reply? It must’ve felt so satisfying, but was it necessary? Later, would she come to regret her decision or revel in it? Would she seriously use this sprouting frustration, minimal not only compared to her current fears but also in the grand scheme of things, to temporarily push past her anxiety and say something…? Probably not. As annoying as these men were, like the constant buzz of a pestersome fly, they hadn’t caused any harm except to waste a bit of her precious free time. 

“Ah, there you are, mi corazón. I was worried about you.” A smooth and silky voice interrupted.

[bibiwrld]

Coworker Stephen Glass!— “𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚” pt.1

Pairing: Stephen Glass! x Black Fem Oc!

Content warning: Stephen Glass isn’t a manipulative liar in this, jealousy, fluff, OC is a bit of a bitch. (It’s kinda short, but I finally decided I wanted to make multiple parts for this)

Summary: A young journalist working at New Republic, wants the attention of journalist, Stephen Glass, only on her.

Mary-Anne’s POV

I watched maliciously from the blinds of my office, as Francesca got up for the 5th time to use the bathroom.

My grin got wider.

Maybe if she stopped eating my lunch from the office fridge, she wouldn’t have vomiting and diarrhea.

My officer door suddenly opened. “Mary-Anne.” His sweet voice pulled out of my conniving trance.

I remember when he first said my name.

“Mary-Anne…that’s a very beautiful name. You don’t hear names like that anymore. It really suits you.”

The first compliment he ever gave me and it’s been stuck with me ever since I started working at New Republic 2 weeks ago.

He thought it was cute that I was named after my great grandmother, and I thought it was cute how he adjusted his round glasses and ran his fingers through his dark curls as he read my notes for an article I’m planning to publish , but I couldn’t say that— he’s basically my boss.

Out of everyone in the office, Steph is the only one I could call my friend. We weren’t extremely close, but close enough to have a relationship outside of the office.

“I’ve read your work, and it’s just..amazing. A freelance journalist with your talent coming to work for New Republic, is a dream come true.”

He stroked my ego that day two weeks ago. I was a smiling and giggling mess. How could one man be so funny, charming and beautiful all at the same?

But then there was his over friendliness that I hated, he treated everyone in the office the same. Giving out compliments to all the women in the office like god damn candy.

“Did you do something with your hair? It looks gorgeous.”

“I think your necklace compliments your eyes.”

I internally rolled my eyes in disgust at my thoughts and looked at the angel before me.

Stephen Glass. Even his name was perfect.

“Something wrong, Steph?” I batted my lashes and slightly pouted my lips.

“Are you okay?” The concern in his voice matched the look on his beautiful face. He closed the door behind him, taking quick strides to my desk.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” I tilted my head to the side, fiddling with my pencil.

“Francesca seems very ill and I hope it’s not something going around, everyone in the office could get sick.”

He was such a caring guy, busy wondering if everyone was okay and comfortable. I hate him. I hate him for how kind he is, but how could I stay mad at him? That perfect face, sweet voice and charming personality, I could never do that to him.

“I’m sure she’s fine and it’s probably nothing airborne. Stop worrying yourself, Steph.” I sighed, leaning back in my seat.

His body seemed to relax at my words. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I studied his face well, he looked like he wasn’t getting any sort of sleep. His glasses weren’t hiding anything.

“When was the last time you’ve had a good 8 hours?” I leaned forward. “You look exhausted Steph, you have eyebags.”

He sighed deeply, looking away. “I’ve b-been working overtime.”

“You’re not a machine, you need sleep.” I tried hiding my anger. He was always there for everyone, but who was there for him? Not one of them, just me, and I’m fine with that.

He was mine after all.

“You’re on break, right?” I glanced at the watch on my wrist.

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered, looking back at me.

“You can take naps in here on your breaks if you want.” Maybe that was too much, but who am I to hide my attraction for him?

“Mar—”

“It can be our little secret, plus, you can’t be fired for sleeping on your break.” I slightly shrugged my shoulders. “Just a little recharge in the middle of the day and your office doesn’t have a couch, so just use mine.”

He hung his head in defeat then looked back up with a smirk. “You’re very persuasive Mary-Anne.”

It took everything in me not to bite down on my bottom lip at his words. “ I know.”

[alwritey-aphrodite]

A Bitch Not A Baller

Chapter 4 of There’s Nothing Like This

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem!footballer!reader

Warnings: vague mentions of mental health

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: there’s slightly less Jamie in this one but it’s all about the buildup, baby!

Walking into Nelson Road for training on Monday morning, you can immediately tell the energy is different. Normally, you can hear your teammates chattering from down the hallway, but it’s nothing but silence today as you and Mackie make your way to the dressing room.

As you push the door open, you can’t help the rush of deja vu that overcomes you as you see the rest of your teammates huddled around a newspaper. You grab at it immediately, staring at the title that reads Richmond’s Bitches, and you hear a “how fucking original” from somewhere over your shoulder. You know you should drop the paper and walk away, but you can’t help the way you read further and further, your eyes darting down the page and taking in snippets of the article.

… uninspired and boring…

… upsetting to watch…

… nothing is as surprising as their win…

… exhausted excuse of a captain…

It’s with that last sentence fragment that you finally slam the paper down and turn away, heading towards your locker. Mackie is only a moment behind you, quick to place a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You are pretty exhausting,” she tells you and you can’t help but to smile at her stupid joke, knowing that was exactly what she wanted.

The rest of your team disperses as Roy storms into the dressing room from his office and snatches the newspaper off the table in the middle of the room and throws it into the trash, and it’s then that you notice the trash can is already overflowing with newspapers. You can handle one negative review, one shitty opinion of one shitty reporter, but knowing it wasn’t just the sports reporter at The Independent that has it out for you makes your stomach turn.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy, knew people weren’t lining up to support the team when Rebecca revealed no one wanted a coaching position, but the fact that reporters were giving you such blistering reviews even after a win made you want to throw up. If this is what you get when you win, what’ll the articles be like if you lost?

Roy turns back into his office and shuts the door without another word, leaving the team desperate to take your minds off of the fact that everyone seems to be hoping for your downfall.

“On a more positive note, how was your little date with Jamie?” Elena asks and you slam your head into the top of your locker in your shock and struggle to turn around.

“What are you talking about?” You ask in return, baffled at how she could possibly know you were with him yesterday and wishing the floor could swallow you up as the rest of the team stares at you with rapt attention.

“Jamie talks to Sam, Sam talks to me,” Amelia adds with a shrug, as if she’s being nonchalant despite the giant grin on her face. Really, it’s unsurprising that it’s the boys who’re spreading all this gossip around, and now it’s up to you to set the record straight.

“It was the farthest thing from a date,” you clarify, knowing the girls would never let it go if you turned and left the locker room the way you wanted to, “we wandered around Richmond and then I ate dinner by myself in my pajamas.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Mackie says as she tugs her shirt over her head, changing for practice and setting everyone else in motion as if they’d momentarily forgotten the reason you were all here. The conversation breaks off and chatter starts up around the room, but you finish changing in silence, trying to ignore the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Leave it,” you tell Mackie as you look up to see her staring at you with a disbelieving expression, as if she’s expecting you to confide in her something you wouldn’t share with the rest of the group, “we’ve barely moved up from work acquaintances.”

She just keeps staring and you can’t help but to laugh at how ridiculous she is, slapping your balled up t-shirt against her shoulder, “I promise no one could ever take your spot.” She seems pleased with this, as if Jamie Tartt could ever boot her out of your best friend position, as if spending an afternoon with anyone would dislodge years and years of happy memories, would eliminate all the memories of her.

It’s easy to be silly and playful with Mackie, but sometimes you wonder if she knows how much she really means to you. You know the deepest, darkest parts of her and she’s held you as you cried and you know she’s as close to a soulmate as you’ll ever get, but you can’t help but to wonder if she recognizes the way you care for her.

Now, though, is not the time to sit Mackie down and remind her of how special she is, so you try to focus up for training, putting all thoughts of shitty journalists and Jamie Tartt into the back of your mind. Training is as thrilling as ever, and you spend most of your time trying not to focus on the pain spreading through your foot.

While your teammates shower and change and head home, you’re grabbing your headphones from your locker and making your way to a treadmill: just because you’re in pain doesn’t mean you get to quit. You’ll do a slow-paced incline walk for an hour, an easy workout compared to what you’d typically do.

Your plans are thwarted, though, when you see Roy entering the gym only a few minutes into your walk, and you slip your headphones off as he approaches.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, coming to stop in front of you. You glance down at the treadmill before you look back at Roy.

“Walking?” Your response sounds more like a question than a statement, confusion clouding your voice.

“We all saw you fucking in pain out there, go the fuck home.”

It’s still surprising to you how embarrassed you get whenever someone points out your injury, points out that you’re walking with a limp or you seem a little slower than normal or that your face is screwed up in a wince because you thought no one would notice. Even now, when you’re putting in double the effort, trying twice as hard as everyone around you, they can still tell that you’re behind.

You want to stay, want to stand your ground and prove that you don’t need to rest, don’t need to be babied, but you feel a lump rising in your throat and you’d rather die than cry in front of Roy Kent, when anyone from the men’s team could walk past. Instead of being strong and standing up for yourself, you turn off the treadmill and duck your head and leave without saying another word to Roy, trying to keep your tears at bay.

Stuffing your headphones into your bag, you practically rip it out of your locker in your rush to leave, not even bothering to shower or change or take a second to breathe. You plow ahead, walking so fast you're practically running as you leave Nelson Road with your head ducked, and you’re wondering how far you should get from the stadium before you start crying when you run into someone.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Jamie says with a small laugh as he reaches out to steady you, his smile dropping as he notices your red-rimmed eyes and your continued sniffling, “are you crying?”

“No,” you reply, even though your voice is hoarse and you reach up to swipe at your eyes, double checking that no tears have fallen.

“Do you want a ride?” He asks then, turning slightly to survey the parking lot, as if he’s double checking that you truly don’t have a car.

“I’m fine, I’ll just walk,” you reply, even though every second you spend with Jamie makes walking home alone seem less and less appealing.

“Are you sure? Me mum always says you shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling shitty.”

He looks hopeful, desperate to do something nice for you, to make you feel better even for a few minutes so you swipe at your eyes again and you nod in agreement, feeling lighter already when Jamie smiles at you. He opens the car door for you, slamming it shut once you’re safely inside before jogging around to the driver’s side.

There’s music playing softly, some song you don’t recognize but it isn’t unpleasant, it feels gentle and calming and perfect after the day you’d had. Jamie asks for your address before falling silent, the two of you sitting next to each other with nothing to say and it’s nice. There’s no internal push for you to fill the silence, to ask about his morning or his thoughts on the weather, you’re able to sit in a comfortable silence and it’s wonderful.

When Jamie pulls to a stop in front of your house, though, you can tell there’s a question on the tip of his tongue but he’s restraining himself for reasons unknown to you. You decide to do the polite thing and answer him anyway, the sight of his inner turmoil playing out across his face making your chest ache.

“I’m fine, really, I think I’m just tired,” you try to smile at him as if your eyes aren’t still all puffy and red.

He nods back, seemingly content with your answer and looking much less conflicted. You reach for the door handle while searching for something else to say, reluctant to leave the wonderful little bubble of Jamie’s car.

“Thanks for the ride,” is what you settle on, even though you want to thank him for everything he’s done for you, but that seems a little intense.

“Yeah, of course,” his eyes are darting around as if he’s unable to look you in the eye.

The two of you sit for another moment, the silence suddenly begging to be filled, so you say goodbye and thank him again before leaving, waving once more as you open your front door. You can’t help but lean back against the solid wood after you’d closed it, needing something to keep you upright when all you want to do is fall to the floor.

Once you feel like you’re not going to crawl onto the floor, you ignore the throbbing of your ankle and the dull pain of blooming bruises and push yourself off the door and towards the bathroom, stopping to throw your bag onto your kitchen table. A long, warm shower works wonders in calming you down, in reminding you that one bad day doesn’t mean the end of your career.

Feeling better, you heat up some of the food Elena had brought over when she’d joined you for dinner a few days earlier to reminisce on your time together at Chelsea, however brief it was. While you wait, you fire off a text to Jamie, to thank him again for the ride home, and another to Roy, to apologize for being weird and intense and a little overdramatic.

Happily in your pajamas with dinner in hand, you settle in front of the TV to watch a few hours of mindless television to turn off your brain instead of spending the night mentally beating yourself up over everything that has gone wrong today. Setting your empty dishes to the side, you check your phone, seeing texts from Keeley and Mackie and the Greyhound groupchat.

Scrolling through the notifications, the words ‘gala’ and ‘fancy as hell’ and ‘free drinks’ pop out at you, and you grow more and more confused until you reach Keeley’s message, the first one to come in a few minutes ago.

Hey babe! Just wanted to remind you of the gala Friday night - attendance is mandatory and the dress code is formal but drinks for players are free! Remember to be on your best behavior

The message closes with a winky face and an abundance of hearts, and even though your mind is spinning at the idea of buying a formal dress you can’t help but to smile at Keeley, as if she’d need to bribe any of you with free drinks, as if the team wouldn’t die for her if necessary.

You check Mackie’s message next, more to avoid the chaos of the groupchat than anything else, and it’s a demand that the two of you look for outfits after training tomorrow. Rolling your eyes, you reply with a sounds good, thanks for the option to say no before you brace yourself for checking the team groupchat.

It’s a constant stream of messages, one after the other and no time for you to read any of the previous texts. It’s mostly full of complaints and anxiety and the general desire not to go, so you know it’s your duty as captain to rally the troops despite your desire to never add onto the endless messages.

We’re doing it for Keeley, remember?

As a flood of responses come in to agree with you, you try not to become preemptively stressed about your second match on Thursday and a fancy, mandatory event on Friday. Hopefully, once you find an outfit you can push the gala to the back of your mind and focus on nothing except winning and proving everyone wrong because now that you know what people say about the team when you win, you’re determined to never lose.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @buckychristwrites @benedictscanvas @whimsical-roasting @sokkigarden @guccilongboard @onceuponaoneshot @presidential-facts @yepyeahuhhuh @loveslide @allthefandomtherapy @gibby31 @buddyjuststop @ellietartt @cancvr @brianandthemays @sonyume @aiyaiy @captainfrisbee @dalebo3 @theloud-yet-quietone @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @rockchickrebel @legobatmans9thab @curlypeter @lostinwonderland314 @yokolesbianism @jamietarttdodo @fan-goddess @innocentbi-stander @skewedcherries

[b4tasquad]

✭ JERSEY: GAVI

Authors note: a really short one that just came to my head and i just had to write it out. also sorry because I know most of the people following me are here for the beta squad content��� and it’s coming😭

Warnings: none

…

For the past 90 minutes you had been grinning as you sat in the stands of the football match. When being invited to a Barcelona match by your cousin, the last thing you expected was to catch the eye of star player- Pablo Gavi. But exactly just that, you had managed to do.

From the moment he walked onto the pitch, getting ready to start the match, he had noticed you. It first started with occasional glances thrown between you too, but during the last minutes or so, you could see him look at you after everything he did.

Almost like he wanted to… impress you?

It was fun to say the least. He was the golden boy, with dozens of titles to his names, getting girls left and right. But he had for some reason chosen to pay attention to you, for the 90 minutes he played at least. Of course you were going to entertain it.

What you hadn’t expected once the game ended was for him to walk towards where you were getting ready to pack up and leave. You and your cousin were giggling to each other about the whole ordeal when her eyes suddenly widened at a sight behind you, as you were too busy picking up your purse from the seat.

“Y/n.” She for some odd reason whispers, and you look up questioningly. When she doesn’t answer you turn to where she’s staring and words get caught in your throat.

In front of you, a half naked Pablo Gavi was grinning as he held tightly on to his jersey. The barrier stopping the stands from the pitch made it impossible for you to stand close to each other, but he could still throw over the article of clothing easily. You heart was beating like crazy as he tossed it in your direction, a smile on your face as you got ready to catch it.

It seemed as though the universe wasn’t on your side because the jersey was snatched out of your hands the second it landed in them. With the most baffled expression, you whip your head to see a girl around your age, gripping it to her chest, a teasing smile on her face.

“Hello?” Those weren’t even the words you intended to come out, but you were just so shocked at the fact that she would take it from you like that, and smile as if she accomplished anything. “I was holding that.”

“It was obvious he threw it to me. Don’t be jealous.” Her voice almost makes you want to hurl, because it’s so high pitched. The lack of empathy in her tone angers a part of you so much, but you still try to be the bigger person.

“I think he threw it to me.”

She cackles, actually opens her mouth and lets out the loudest cackle you’re sure the whole stadium can hear echo around. “Why would he throw it to you?”

The look she gives you is nothing but mocking. Asking you why he would ever give his jersey to someone like you. Well, damn. No need for that one, you thought.

“Do you have problems digesting the most simplest things? It was obvious he threw it to her, he was legit looking at her while he did it. Stop being an insecure bitch and just walk away before you end up on the news for embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of people.”

The girl just huffs, but still holds onto the clothing. In the midst of the situation, you had completely forgotten about Gavi. Talking about him, the guy stood with his mouth slightly open in shock, as his plan had totally not gone the way he was hoping it would go.

Seeing his troubled expression, you only shake your head with a motion of your hand to let him know it was okay. As you convince your cousin to just leave, you’re finally on your way out when you hear someone calling for you.

“Wait.” Gavi screams behind you, as he jumps over the barrier, probably breaking a few rules as he does so. He walked up to the railing and you lean down to hear him. “Do you have a pen?”

“A pen?”

He nods. “Yes, a pen.”

Rummaging trough your little hand bag you actually find a discarded pen in there. Giving it to him, you eagerly wait as he just motions for your hand. You’ve lowkey figured out what he was doing by now, but you still find some entertainment in acting clueless.

When he’s done and gives your hand a quick peck, you don’t even have to question what’s written on it. His smug expression alongside his next words telling you everything you needed to know.

“Call me.”

[vanya-evergreen]

THANK YOU FOR 100 NOTES ON HOW TO REMEMBER.💖💖

I am over come with joy by how much people have been enjoying it! I was working on the next part when I noticed haha!

So in celebration I give you a small look into the next chapter 🥳

*it might change a bit in the final draft!*

“Welcome the 9 pm GBC News, we are currently following batman and robin while they pursue-” Click

You were hanging upside down on your coach, clicking through the local news channels trying to find the best view of the chase. Your laptop was discarded besides you. It’s open to an article about Dick Grayson ‘soaring through’ the annual charity ball on the chandler when he first was adopted into the Wayne family. There were multiple other browsers open, all on the Wayne Family and their lucrative businesses and charities, along with their scandals too.

You said you would do your research.

Your attention was taken away from this ‘research’ as a new alert about Batman and Robin chasing some nameless villain, who had kidnapped some poor boy, on founders island came up. No new station could find a good angle, you were annoyed.

“Damn you!” you toss the remote to the other side of the coach, quickly you flip yourself around and get off of the coach. You mumble about how they do it on purpose, they were trying to make you read their shit article. You had to wait for social media to do its thing of supplying you with clips of your favorite heroes (well not absolute favorites). Your apartment was nothing to overlook, always seems to have been updated without you knowing. It always had the latest tech, or trendiest look. You have been rich for 7 years now and still can't seem under it.

You walk over to the floor to ceiling windows, looking down you see people walking home or to a club, taxis and cars driving in opposite directions. Slowly the news faded to the back of your mind.

Nights in Gotham were always busy, especially near Old Gotham. It was rich with history and culture, and also money too. When you first woke up in this world you wanted to visit every place possible. You went to museums, office buildings, the GCDP nearby, and shops you had never even heard of. You used to stand out on the corner of the street watching the luxury cars pass by, while your ‘Assistant’, Val Miller, carried bags from the toy store you frequented, or the candy stores you couldn’t help but indulge in. Yo had never really had a childhood, but looking back you weren't as grown as you thought. You looked up at the neighboring building, the neon lights danced in your eyes. There was one that always caught your eye.

You went into that office building, or what you know as Wayne tower, once. You were dressed like a typical kid or preteen, you wouldn’t stop looking at all the expansive interior. The front desk workers thought it was the funniest thing that a kid was excited to be there. They gave you a small tour of the base floor level and let you answer some calls. It was great for you. You were just a kid when you came here, and even now you are just a kid. Everything was new and shiny to you.

This place is a far cry from your home near the east end of gotham. There was a high rate of villain bases and criminal activity in your area. While it wasn’t the safest environment for you as a child, it is what you knew. It’s where you learned to survive, how to live. So you tried your best to protect your small place of peace, your shabby second floor apartment. Full of splitters waiting to happen and ready to cause a concussion at any moment, it was far from ideal, but it had running water, gas, and occasional heat. You lived with your mother, she was a brilliant flash of light in the darkest corner of Gotham, but she wasn't alway there for you. While she wasn't the perfect mother, she did what she could with what she had for the both of you.

[testingthewatersss]

I never lost him Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture,  etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort ft. Steve Rodgers. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 8 2560 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Post TWS Steve realises that he's not the only one looking for Sargent Barnes. Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced.

“That went great” Y/N says instantly, "Well done, Buck"

The praise washes over him like water, soothing the frayed edges of his soul like a balm.

He relishes in the soft swell of affection for a moment, nuzzling down into her embrace until he feels like he might be able to speak without his voice cracking;

“‘days not over yet, doll” he murmurs eventually, “’s only the afternoon— still plenty of time for me to ruin’ it”

“Don’t be ridiculous” she counters, “You’re here, with me— there’s no way you could ruin anything.”

He scoffs, holding onto her a little bit tighter.

Y/N can feel the way he’s clinging onto her waist with both of his hands, clutching onto her t-shirt like a child who’s afraid of being abandoned.

Her heart is aching, behind her ribs. He’s clearly trying to catch up with the reality of everything that’s just transpired, and she doesn’t really know if she can do anything to help.

Holding him seems to be doing something, at least.

So, she decides to just keep doing that, stroking circles across the back of his ribs.

“I can’t believe he went to the deli dressed like that” she murmurs, “I bet it makes the news.”

He smiles a little at that, small and hidden against her shoulder.

“He… he wasn’t wearin’ his dog tag”

That hurts.

It hurts more than she’d have expected it too.

“I asked him where it was” she tells him, “He says he lost it, y’know? In the ice”

That sounds reasonable, he’d been prepared for a similar answer, but, she doesn’t sound sure. There’s something about her tone, that makes him furrow his brow;

“You don’t think he did?”

“I might be wrong” she sighs, “but, I could’ve sworn I saw it in one of Peg’s old boxes”

It’s why I recognised yours so quickly, she thinks.

“If… If it was in Peggy’s stuff, maybe he did lose it, but she, she found it?”

“Maybe” Y/N agrees, “Or maybe I never saw it at all”

‘Excuse me, boss’ FRIDAY inserts politely, ‘But Bucky is right, I can confirm that when Captain Rodgers was first brought to SHEILD headquarters he was booked in, and his dog tag was noted along with his compass and original suit in the documentation regarding his personal belongings.’

That catches her attention, she tilts her head and hums,

“Was… was he awake when you brought him here?”

‘No’ FRIDAY replies, ‘He remained frozen until our medical officers felt confident in their ability to bring him round without complication’

“But he had it on him when he arrived?” Y/N cuts in, wanting to clarify, “Do you have any record about where it went?”

‘Yes, boss.’ the AI agrees, ‘And whilst there is no official mention of the article after that initial reference, I can use the archived security footage to speculate that Agent Carter may have retrieved it from him during one of her regular visits.’

Oh—

“Well there we go…” Y/N murmurs, stroking Bucky’s back again, “…mystery solved.”

“She…” Bucky says, clearing his throat, “… Y’think she took it?”

“Probably” she sighs, “she loved him, it’s not a stretch to think she’d want to try and keep a piece of him close, ‘specially… ‘specially when she realised that he probably wouldn’t be wakin’ up any time soon.”

Bucky thinks that’s awfully sad.

Sometimes he forgets how unfair fate was to Steve. He forgets that it wasn’t just him who lost everything in ice.

“I think we should get it back to him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s voice makes his head lift up, away from the crook of neck.

He’s starring at her, trying to read wether or not she’s being serious.

“You… you think we can?”

“Of course we can” she chuckles, stroking his cheek, “Baby, if Peggy kept it then it’s here— After she died a lot of her stuff was archived, y’know, for security— Tony and Sharon agreed that the tower was the best place for her personal belongings, since it’s real easy to protect, and, if I saw it before got scooped up, then I’d wager it’s still exactly where it was back then.”

“So” he murmurs, “We… We really could get it for him?”

“Sure” she says, “We can go grab it ourselves, or I can ask Tony or Nat to go and find it?”

His face shifts into something terribly conflicted. For a moment, she thinks that he might speak, but instead, he just ducks his head back down into her shoulder, burying his face against her like hiding might erase the burn of shame he’s experiencing because he just can’t volunteer himself to go and retrieve it himself.

It doesn’t.

Her arms wrapping back around across his body helps though.

So does the way she presses her lips against the top of his head, hushing him before she says,

“FRIDAY, can you message Natasha discretely for me? Do it in Russian so she knows it’s private— ask her to go down to the archives and use my override to get into the safe in room 12, tell her that I think the tag is somewhere between boxes 1-8 under one of Peg’s old dresses. When she’s got it, ask her to bring it up here, don’t let Rodgers see.”

‘Yes, boss’

“I- I’m sorry” she hears Bucky whisper, voice melting against her throat, “I just can’t-“

“It’s okay” she soothes, “Baby, it’s fine, Nat loves snoopin’ around down there, she’ll get it for us, and then you can double check, make sure it’s right before you give it to him.”

“Before-“ he gulps, “before I give it to him?”

“well, yeah” she says, smiling, “Sweetheart, unless you don’t want too?”

“I- I do” he blurts out urgently, “I-I just, thought maybe you-”

“No, baby” she murmurs, “I think it’ll mean more if it’s you.”

‘Ms Romanoff is on her way to the archives now, Boss— she asked me pass on a message to Bucky on her behalf’

“Oh?” Y/N scoffs, pressing another kiss against his head, “What message would that be?”

‘Dobro pozhalovat' domoy, serzhant’

Welcome Home, Sergeant.

That makes a smile bloom across her face.

The recorded greeting being laced with a genuine tone of kindness is enough to make her affection towards her old friend swell in her chest.

“She… Is, is that her voice?”

‘Yes, Bucky- I can relay messages to anybody you like.’

“Could you reply for me? could… could you tell her ‘Thank you, and I- I’m sorry, for— for fightin’ you, and for- for shootin’ you back… back in Japan.”

“Sure I will.”

“Sweetheart” Y/N says, “you know she’s not angry, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter” he counters weakly, “It doesn’t matter if she’s angry, doll, I— I’m still sorry.”

The silence that follows doesn’t last long, but it’s still long enough for his words to make Y/N’s chest ache again.

“C’mere” she purrs, settling herself back against the arm of the couch, guiding him up, so he’s back in position between her thighs, “Grab that blanket, baby, are you sure you’re not hungry?”

He lets one of his hands snake out so he can pull the covers out from underneath his legs, whispering out an “I- I can eat if… if you want me to?” as he passes it to her.

“It’s not up to me” Y/N says, arranging the quilt across his back, “what do you want?”

“…To stay here for awhile?…”

He means in her arms. He means against her chest, where he finally feels safe, and there isn’t a single thing in the world that could convince her to prise him away. Not with the way he’s looking at her, wide eyed and touch-starved.

“Then you can stay here awhile.” she tells him, one hand snaking up to cup his cheek, “You can stay right here for as long as you want”

“Excuse the interruption, but Miss Romanoff has sent a reply, Bucky, would you like to hear it now, or shall I store it for later playback?”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a moment, and he pushes back into Y/N’s hand as he gulps;

“Can I- Can I hear it now?”

‘Ofcourse—

Zabud' ob etom. Vy byli pervym chelovekom, kotoryy ustroil mne dostoynyy boy za desyat' let. My provedem match-revansh, kogda tebe stanet luchshe.’

Forget about it. You were the first person to give me a decent fight in a decade. We'll rematch when you're feeling better.

There’s a laugh in her tone that makes Y/N scoff, eyes rolling as her old friends voice floods the space.

“See?” she whispers, pressing a kiss against his lips, “Don’t worry about Nat”

His smile is tight and anxious, and she can tell he wants to hide again, so she reminds him that he doesn’t need to reply, and that is when he surrenders, nodding and retreating to her chest.

“We’ll eat later” she says, “You, you just get comfy, it’s been a hell of a mornin’…”

It has, it has been a hell of a morning.

“I love you” is the response he settles on, “I- I love you so much”

That makes her laugh, but it’s sweet, it’s happy and girlish, and he’s beaming into the skin of her throat.

“Baby boy” she coos, “I love you more.”

“’s not possible” he counters, because he can’t not, “doll, It… it’s like you hung the damn moon”

“We’ll argue it out another day” she whispers, feeling him sagging against her, “you’re exhausted.”

He is, he is exhausted, he’s emotionally drained and the heat from her body is drawing him in, making it easy for his breathing to synchronise with hers, deep, and slow.

His eyes are closed and her fingers are in his hair.

God, he feels like the luckiest man alive.

and then, he’s asleep again.

Y/N spends more time showering him in gentle touches, this time. She plays with the curls that are hanging loose across the back of his neck. She presses her lips against his brow and then finally drapes one arm across the back of waist so that she can pull up the STARK internship paperwork that she’d mentioned filling out earlier with the other.

In two hours, it’s early evening and she’s half way through the file.

In three, she’s still half way through, but now Natasha has let her know that she has the dog tag, and she can bring it up whenever.

Now might be the best time, she considers, whilst he’s sleeping— maybe we can avoid another introduction.

She relays her thoughts to FRIDAY who quietly, and politely agrees with her theory, and tells her that ‘Ms Romanoff will be with her in a few moments.’

It’s been just over five minutes when Natasha lets herself into Y/N’s suite.

Unlike Steve she’s used to dropping by, so, there isn’t any cause for her to stop to survey her surroundings.

That is, until she spots her best friend, curled up on her couch with the very same super-solider that had been deemed as ‘HYRDA’s most dangerous weapon’ passed out between her thighs.

That is definitely worth a double take.

Y/N’s eyes roll at the look on her face, and she uses her free hand to beckon her towards her,

“He’s sleeping—” she tells her helpfully, “— and thank you for finding it so quickly”

The dog tag is already in her outstretched palm. Natasha’s smile is curious more than anything else, so Y/N finds herself mirroring it, quirking a brow and murmuring out a “what?” that makes the other woman chuckle, quiet and tempered into the air between them;

“This isn’t just a hook-up is it?”

“No” she replies, “No, I don’t think it is.”

The red-head nods, and her face morphs into something only approving.

“You met him whilst you were away?” she checks, waiting for Y/N to nod before she continues, “So you’ve been, together, for awhile?”

“Yeah” Y/N agrees, “better part of 5 years.”

“Well” Nat sighs, “I hope he deserves you.”

“He does” she’s quick to tell her

“good” the other woman replies, “if you trust him, then that’s good enough for me, just let him know that if he breaks your heart then it won’t just be Tony he has to watch out for.”

That makes Y/N snort, childish and happy as she nods, curling her fingers through Bucky’s hair again.

“Speaking off” Natasha murmurs, “Is he okay? With this whole thing?”

“I think he’s more than okay” she says, “Honestly, I didn’t expect him to be so good about it, y’know? but he’s really gone out of his way to make this easy on us.”

“He can probably tell how happy you are” she replies, “and if somethin’ happens and you need me then-”

“I know you’ve got my back” Y/N swears, “You always have, Nat- ya tebya lyublyu”

I love you

A genuine smile blooms across the red-heads face. She’s beaming as she leans in to press a kiss on Y/N’s brow, and she’s still sporting the same grin when she starts towards the door.

“Do you think he’ll mind if I stop by tomorrow?”

“I don’t know” Y/N says honestly, “I doubt it? If he isn’t ready then I’ll slip out and catch you before training”

And then she’s gone, and Y/N finds herself tucking the dog tag into her pocket so that she can return her attention to the papers she’d been working on before.

Bucky doesn’t stir for another hour. By then she’s actually almost finished. She’s so focused on the task at hand that she only notices he’s awake when he moves, rolling onto his side so he can peer at the glowing hologram she’s typing on.

“Hey, love” she purrs, “Sorry, I thought I’d try and get this finished whilst you slept.”

“Don’t be sorry, doll” he replies, voice cracking with disuse, “Have I been out long?”

“3 hours, maybe 4?” Y/N answers, looking at the clock, “it’s about 8 now, Nat’s been and gone.”

That catches his attention, he paws at his eyes, and then at his chin, all whilst using his metal arm to support his weight so he can stare at her face.

“What?” she presses, typing the final sentence of her conclusion with impressive speed, “Did you want me to wake you?”

“No” he admits, “I- I just didn’t think she’d be able to find it so quick”

The papers are finished so Y/N hits submit, dismissing the screen with a flick of her wrist so that she can give him her full attention.

“It wasn’t hidden” she reminds him calmly, “Do you want to see it?”

His lip quirks as he nods.

She shifts her hips pulling the silver, age-stained trinket out of her pocket before letting the charm drop, so that its where he can reach out and grab it.

He does, turning it over in his flesh fingers as his eyes scan the engravings again and again.

“Is it the right thing?” she wonders, already suspecting from the look on his face that it is, “I’m pretty sure, but-”

“Yeah” he says, “Yeah, it- it’s right— can I give it to him now?”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | x | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

[pinkacadessays]

Jackie, Marilyn, and Elle: Comparing and Contrasting two ICONS to remind us that Warner was WRONG

Too BLONDE?? An Introuction

Elle Woods’ iconic journey in Legally Blonde is prompted by Warner Huntington III breaking up with her.The comments made are how Warner needs to be “serious,” and the deep blow of how if he’s to be a senator, he needs to marry “a Jackie, not a Marilyn.”

While in the musical, the scene adds an implication that Warner thinks Elle is “tacky,” Elle’s thought process leads her to summarise Warner’s viewpoint as being that Elle is “too blonde.”

Warner sees Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy as being two polar opposites- one the sultry actress knows for ‘bimbo’ film roles, and the other the respectable wife of the President of the United States.

But Elle can’t fathom differences between these women aside from their appearance.

Let us analyse what can be compared and contrasted between two iconic women.

In the climax of Legally Blonde, Elle discovers that Chutney Wyndham is the real perpetrator due to her knowledge of hair care. As Elle notes, “any Cosmo girl would’ve known.” It is Elle’s feminine knowledge that guides her to victory in her very first trial. With that in mind, let us examine the feminine knowledge of Marilyn and Jackie as our real-life role models to Elle Woods, and uncover just why she sees so little difference between these fascinating women.

A note before we begin: this is not a competition. But Warner sees it that way, and the purpose therefore is to remind him just how wrong he is.

Marilyn Monroe: Political Powerhouse

Firstly, Marilyn Monroe is known to most as either the glamorous actress of 1950s films- such as the notorious Gentlemen Prefer blondes, which certainly could have influenced Elle’s mindset, especially with the pink drama of the Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend sequence. Others may know her from regularly recreated images, such as her holding her blowing-up skirt from The Seven Year Itch, or the pop art portrait by Andy Warhol.

Either way, the most prominent images in the heads of many in regards to Marilyn Monroe are glamorous, sexy, feminine- and blonde and pink, of course.

Famously, like Elle, Marilyn’s femininity and sex appeal lead her to being boxed into roles of the comedic blonde bombshell, though the fought to be out of her typecasting.

After the success of “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” and “How to Marry a Millionaire,” Marilyn was offered what would have been a third ‘dumb blonde’ in “The Girl in Pink Tights,” she not only refused, but CNN’s article ‘How Marlyn took the male-led film industry and flipped it on its head” notes that she reportedly labelled it “Trash.”

In that same article, Mira Sorvino is quoted. “She was the main attraction,” the actress notes, saying “she was the reason people flocked to the theatre. So it was insane that she wasn’t in a more powerful position in terms of salary.” The reference here is to Marilyn’s discovery that Frank Sinatra, her would-be co-star in “The Girl in Pink Tights” was offered $5000, while Marilyn was offered $1,500- a third of Frank’s pay.

The article points out that Marilyn’s contract was changed after the snub, showing Marilyn to be valuing her feminine charm and wiles that made her studio so much money and garnered them so much attention. Is this why Warner does not wish for Elle to see Marilyn as aspirational, given she was something of an upstart?

Not to mention, Warner doesn’t seem like the biggest advocate for equal pay…

A lesser-known contribution that Marilyn made to her society was in the civil rights movement, drawing attention to Ella Fitzgerald.

The Biography article by Sara Kettler titled “Ella Fitzgerald and Marilyn Monroe: Inside Their Surprising Friendship” opens with a photo of the songstress and the starlet smiling together in conversation. Kettler notes how Marilyn helped Ella get a gig in Mocambo, the famous LA nightclub. Marilyn “promised to come every night” that Ella was booked, and to “bring along other celebrities.” With this promise of publicity, Ella was granted several weeks employment at the famous club.

Kettler also notes that, despite Ella’s success, some clubs would hire Ella, but still have her enter through the side door “due to the colour of her skin.” In order to combat such prejudice, Marilyn “refused to go inside unless both she and Fitzgerald were allowed through the front doors.

Marilyn may not have been dying on the front lines of the civil rights movement, but she was using her status to forward the career of someone directly affected by said movement.

Marilyn used a name built as a blonde bombshell in order to be an influential activist, just as Elle Woods being a Cosmo girl is what won her her first legal trial.

Have we emphasised enough that Warner doesn’t know his rear end from his elbow when it comes to powerful women? Perhaps Warner doesn’t want a Marilyn, not because she’s blonde, but because she was an upstart who knew her own mind and fought to make her own way in the world. Is that just too much for him to handle?

Jackie Kenney: First Lady of Fashion

On the side of Jackie Kennedy, later Jackie Onassis, she is of course best known due to her time as First Lady of the United States. She was from a respectable family, studied French literature in university, and is perceived largely as classy, elegant, and educated. To this day, she is cited as an image of grace, with This week in Libraries magazine writing “In the realms of elegance, poise, and grace, one name reigns supreme- Jackie Kennedy.”

While Jackie’s other accomplishments are not to be overlooked, let us focus on traditionally feminine aspects of life that she has embodied to remember the value of both aspects of her, and of Elle.

As Vogue writes, “Before Jackie graced the halls of the White House, she trod those of this very magazine,” referring to her job as junior editor of Vogue, immediately showing that, like Elle, Jackie not only had political potential, but fashion icon potential early on in her life.

It should be noted that Jackie “quit by mid-morning,” as the environment was not suited to her goals, however, she is still heavily associated with the magazine as she contributed to salvaging the Temple of Dendur, which has played host to the Met Gala, as noted by Vogue.

This Week in Libraries also notes Jackie as a “Style Icon,” praising her boucle suits, pearls, and, of course, her pillbox hats- the latter being described as “synonymous  with her name.”

It’s also not just her connection with Vogue that cements Jackie’s name in the world of fashion, as countless articles have addressed her style as “timeless” or “iconic,” so why exactly does Warner have such an issue with committing to a woman with a degree in fashion merchandising?

Town and Country’s list “11 Brands Jackie Kennedy Loved” notes how Gucci named the Jackie bag after her, and I wish for that kind of influence for Elle Woods, which I thibk highlights just how much of an influence that Jackie would have potentially had on Elle.

Warner, your Jackie was in front of you all along.

And of course, while steeped in tragedy, it is nonetheless fair to say that one of the most iconic images of Jackie is of her pink suit on the day of her husband’s assassination. Loathe to overlook the horrors of such an event, but be that as it may, it emphasises that Jackie Kennedy is just as pink and pretty as Marilyn Monroe.

In the Legally Blonde sequel Red, White, and Blonde, Elle even sports a tribute to this suit, which really sends home how far Warner is from the mark.

On that note, let us now discuss beautiful pink outfits worn by Jackie to intensify how connected Jackie can be to Elle. Firstly, the aforementioned suit became an iconic moment of defiance as Jackie bore the bloodstains, cited as saying “let them see what they’ve done.”

She also had a similar sleeveless suit designed by Oleg Cassini, as well as a matching coat and hat worn in New Delhi.

One of her other beautiful pink moments was a floor length, strapless Dior gown worn with white opera gloves. Other pink outfits include a dress with a unique pink bow detail by Joan Morse, and a high-collared suit by Oleg Cassini. The point here is not to simply list pink outfits, but to remind us that a woman- such as Elle- can be fashionable, elegant, and bright pink, AND be a force of change.

Elle Woods knows that Marilyn and Jackie had it all: fashion girl status, and cultural and political know-how; and frankly, it’s lucky for her that Warner knew less about these iconic women than she did.

Always have Faith in Yourself

And to my masculine girls, you’re the real winners here, because Warner would probably be threatened by your vibes. Not only are you valid, but take comfort in not attracting Warner Huntington III.

Let us remember to value our own self worth, just as Elle did when she shows us all how valuable she could be- and she did it in a playboy costume.

WE DID IT!! To Conclude

In conclusion, my place is not to overlook one woman, or pit her against another; it is not to overlook one woman’s achievements and put them against the achievements of another woman; it is not even to claim traditional femininity as a pinnacle of achievement, or to explore what it means to be a feminist, or anything so grandiose.

My intention here is just to remind us all, whether we relate more to the story of a Marilyn or a Jackie, to always have faith in ourselves, and to always remember that the Warner Huntington III we have in our own lives is a bonehead.

[basu-shokikita]

Kloktober 2023 Day 20

Original character or self-insert

I'm not much for OC content but I do have an OC called Molly Rttengerlrtn that I created at the beginning of the year. And today's prompt is a great opportunity to introduce more people to her :) She's a silly little girl. <3

Below is an illustration of Molly, drawn by my friend! This entry also features his OC, Klokateer N°479 :D

It had started so long ago. Four years ago and 6 months with 2 weeks and 1 day to be exact. Molly had been dragged by her friends to this metal band, Dethklok or something. Apparently they were big but Molly wasn’t really into metal. She liked vaporwave music and 8-bit music, so when Dethklok started playing, she was convinced it wasn’t for her.

In her boredom, she tried to hunt for any signs of homoeroticism within the band. If she wasn’t going to enjoy the music, at least she could try to entertain herself with some good old fanservice. 

Unfortunately, these Dethklok guys were really devoted to their instruments, barely paying attention to each other. Vocalist and guitarist were such a classic duo with lots of tension in between them, however neither the huge black-haired guy or the tall blonde seemed to care about anything besides looking hardcore as hell.

She did notice, however, that there were two guitarists in the band, which piqued her interest just a little bit. Wasn’t sharing instruments totally gay? It also, sort of seemed like the brunet guy was copying the poses of the tall blonde, though she wasn’t sure. From then on, she zoomed in on the guitarists and stopped paying attention to fuck-else. 

And then, the blonde one started playing a solo and she could not help but gasp. No, she didn’t care about the solo, that wasn’t the point. It was the fact that the brunet was looking at the blond with almost bitterness in his eyes. Bitterness and…jealousy? The brunet looked away and Molly could not be entirely sure because of the distance but she could’ve sworn he had rolled his eyes. And she felt it.

Like the second coming of Jesus.

Like the ascension to Nirvana. 

She had found her new life’s purpose. 

And it was…to ship these two guys!

From then on, it had all happened so fast. She urged her friend to tell her more about them and learned that their names were Skwisgaar and Toki, and that they were Scandinavians. She also learnt that Skwisgaar was the band’s womanizer and also the most popular amongst women. On the other hand, Toki was the youngest band member and also regarded as ‘the cute one’. All this information was incredibly fascinating and only fed her growing obsession.

When she got home, she started watching band interviews and found out that Skwisgaar and Toki’s English was pretty poor and that Skwisgaar was quite arrogant vs Toki’s more friendly manner. She took notes, she studied it all. 8 hours of footage and no sleep later, Molly felt like she was starting to get a grasp of these guys. However, the music was a fundamental part of their relationship so she started listening to her albums. Turns out, it was a lot more bearable now that she was doing it with a specific goal in mind. And, man, was the way their guitars complemented each other absolutely gay. 

She kept researching for the rest of the weekend: theories, fanforums, articles, random comments under their performance videos, anything she could find. She even found out there was an already shipping fanbase and that the name of the pairing was Skwistok. 

On Monday morning she faked having a fever so she didn’t have to go to school. As soon as her mother left the room, she grabbed her laptop and started typing furiously. A few hours later, Molly posted her first Skwistok fanfiction online. It was a short little story about Toki having a secret crush on Skwisgaar. It was a massive success, with commenters asking for more and linking to their own stories and drawings.

She had found her people.

From then on, Molly kept writing more and more and befriending fellow Skwistoks, with whom she shared her own theories and ideas about the nordic guitarists. SSoon enough, she realized the Skwistok community was not only pretty big, but also that a lot of them lived in California. And so, Molly decided to found the first Skwistok club ever, based in LA. They met every second Sunday of the month to discuss their findings and artworks. 

Life continued, some of them grew apart, some of them died (Dethklok fans died a LOT during concerts), but new people joined too. Molly finished high school and got a part job at a smoke shop while taking Scandinavian studies during the day. Even when life was busy, she always had time for Skwistok. 

One day, while looking at her commenter’s section on her latest fic, she noticed someone under the name of ‘anon479’ had written the following: 

Hey skwistokfujo420

Your works are great. 

I have something you might like.

Message me.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Molly immediately opened the commenter’s profile and wrote him a ‘hi :3’. Less than 10 minutes later, 479 replied to her, claiming to be Klokateer for Dethklok and that he could give him inside information on Skwisgaar and Toki if she agreed to write really specific stories about Murderface. 

Understandably skeptical, Molly asked for proof that he indeed worked for the most famous band in the world. 479 shortly after sent her a picture of Toki’s underwear drawer and Skwisgaar sleeping in the infamous Mordhaus hot tub, guitar on his lap. He claimed that he was putting his life at risk with this, but he was truly desperate.

It was a no-brainer, Molly accepted and 479 sent a long detailed list of kinks that he wanted to see Murderface subjected to. In exchange, he would report any interaction between Skwisgaar and Toki he had witnessed, as well as send any pictures she wanted. Molly asked why he had chosen her out of the hundreds of Dethklok shippers out there and 479 said that he had been scurrying the fandom for a long time but didn’t like any of the Murderface content she saw. In his desperation, he had started reading stories of other ships. When he stumbled with one of Molly’s fics, he grew enamored with how perfectly in-character he was, and thus decided to deposit all his dreams and hopes in her. Molly was flattered, but mostly she felt very lucky.

And like that, started the most productive business relationship of Molly’s entire life. They talked every two weeks, in which Molly would deliver her latest story featuring Murderface and a brand new kink, while 479 would dump all the footage he had been able to collect, as well as gossip on Skwisgaar and Toki’s lives. It was fascinating really, she was now able to see facets of the men that she would’ve never gotten to otherwise. Evidently, it affected her writing as her characterization now had to take in account Skwisgaar and Toki’s behavior behind the public lens. She didn’t tell anyone where she was getting it, though, both because she knew they wouldn’t believe her and also because she didn’t want to share. 

Eventually, 479 and Molly became friends too, casually chatting about their everyday lives.

skwistokfujo420: yoooo

anon479: Hello.

skwistokfujo420: whatcha up 2

anon479: Just cleaning some coworker’s blood. He got accidentally impaled by Sir Toki last night.

skwistokfujo420: oh noo :((

skwistokfujo420: was he cute while doing it at least? :3

anon479: He panicked for about 30 seconds until Murderface tripped with the blood. And then they all started making fun of him.

skwistokfujo420: LOL

anon479: It gave me a new idea for a story.

skwistokfujo420: oh??

anon479: I’ll send the concept later.

skwistokfujo420: oki

skwistokfujo420: a costumer just said my skwistok shirt is rlly cool :3 

anon479: Is it the purple one?

skwistokfujo420: nop, the pink one

anon479: Oh…the purple one is my favorite.

anon479: I gotta go, Sir Nathan is screaming that his chips are too salty.

skwistokfujo420: bye bye!

anon479: Talk to you later.

Molly put her phone back in her pocket and glanced at the time. With delight, she realized her shift was almost over, so she packed her things and waved his coworkers goodbye.

The customer that had praised her shirt earlier was sitting at a bench right by the entrance. She waved at Molly, walking up to her in a hurry. “Hi, I wanted to ask you about something, if that’s ok.”

Molly raised her eyebrows and then readjusted her glasses. “Sure.”

The girl glanced to the sides and then leaned in to say. “I’m a Skwistok shipper too…” She pulled back hesitating before talking again. “I heard there’s a group in LA…do you know anything about it?”

Molly’s face turned solemn. “I might. But I need to make sure you’re not a spy.” Over the years, Skwistok antis had tried to get in the club for their own wicked purposes so Molly had developed a security test before letting anyone new in.

Nervously, the girl stood straight. “I’m ready.”

Inhaling, Molly took a long look at the girl. She had long brown hair, wore oval-shaped glasses and was dressed all-in-black. “Favorite Skwistok fact?”

“That Skwisgaar accepted Toki into the band!”

“Top or bottom Toki?”

“Both is good, but I prefer top!”

“Dom or sub Skwisgaar?”

“Dom all the way!”

“Is Skwistok mutual or unreciprocated?”

“It’s complicated but it’s mutual! They’re meant to be!”

“Name your favorite Skwistok fic!”

“Skwisgaar’s Not Good, Very Bad Time with Tentacles and Other Kinks by jizzgaar!”

Molly smirked. That was her friend’s epic Skwistok erotica. “Any Skwistok merch?”

The girl searched in her backpack and pulled out a Skwistok pin.

“Stand down!” Molly said and the girl stood straight again. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“C-Clara!” The girl stammered, her eyes on the front.

“Well, Clara…” Molly shoved a card inside her hand. “Hope to see you this Saturday.”

Clara looked down at the card, where the exact address and time for the bi-monthly Skwistok club meeting would take place. She gasped with excitement, her free hand covering her mouth, eyes welling up with tears. “Thank you…”

Smiling, Molly patted her shoulder and turned around. “Skwistok canon!” She shouted as she walked away.

“Skwistok canon!” Clara repeated behind her.

Molly rubbed her hands, an impish grin on her face. The Skwistok family had gained a new member. 

[paradise-in-k4]

The Gap in the Evening, Entry 2: “Alarm the Aya”

With our thoughts aligned, we started making our way to the Human Village from the junction before getting jumped by what looked like a flying girl with a camera. It was exceptionally difficult to keep track of her movements since she was moving at mach speeds, something that could only be achieved with jet aircraft. At the same time, she could’ve easily been able to achieve warp speeds and we would still not be able to tell the difference. That’s just how fast she was. She could keep up with the JSDF’s latest fighter jets if she wanted to, which says a lot about how researchers are slowly breaking down barriers between fantasy and reality before reclassifying last millennium’s fantasies as our reality or simply fiction. It wasn’t until she stopped to review the photos she snapped of us that we could get a grasp on who she was… mostly because she introduced herself as Aya Shameimaru the tengu, and then started to press us for an interview like any other pushy journalist trying to comprehend the ongoings of our modern world. She asked me what we were doing as we walked to the Human Village, under the assumption that we had recently arrived in Gensokyo and somehow ended up in Youkai Mountain’s foothills. We didn’t really say much about our investigations, but she somehow eventually figured us out as she walked us to a vacant building in the village where we could stay overnight.

It was there when she promised us that she wouldn’t do anything rash with the information that she’d gather from the impromptu meeting. So we told her everything we knew about what we now considered the Parallel Satellite Incident… until she said that she’d publish it in her public newspaper. At that point, Maribel did the only thing she could do and kept quiet, much to Aya’s surprise. Seems like she’d try every trick in the book to get the rest of the story out of us, but she didn’t want her real name to be associated with this article. None of us had any room to settle this matter financially, and we surely didn’t want to draw more attention to ourselves than we already did as impromptu investigators from another universe. But after a long night of negotiating and a bit of light banter coupled with a promise to meet again at a local lamprey vendor, we did the only thing we could think of to find a middle-ground between our proposals, and asked her to keep this issue as low-profile as possible if she were to publish our findings.

She agreed to the terms with the condition of limiting the amount of newspapers containing this interview with us to her boss, a couple shrine maidens, four wise people that Marisa had called the Sages (of whom we had assumed were authority figures), and a few other people who Aya said had resolved similar incidents in the past. Chuckling about how she had this scoop and someone else named Hatate (probably a rival coworker) didn’t, we shook hands and went on with our interview. It wouldn’t be long until we would emerge onto the radars of many notable people that lived here. Was this a kind of fame we sought out? Perhaps as much as the fame sought out by scientists and detectives unknown when they find a major breakthrough in a case that they’ve been unable to fully understand for years. Perhaps then, we could begin establishing a sort of long-term forward office where we can conduct our research on the Parallel Satellite and other notable sites with the help of the local public without any further delay…

-Renko Usami

——————————

Muse Notes: Aya Shameimaru

Title: Traditional Reporter of Fantasy

Universe of Origin: L1

Size (headcanon): Average, 5’7”

Species: Youkai, Crow Tengu

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 1,000+, exact age unknown

Personality: Aya is good-willed and often gets along with humans and other youkai, especially when they subscribe to her newspaper, although she has a disinterest in the rigid tengu hierarchy. At times she can become overly opportunistic to get big scoops for her newspaper to make herself known as a reputable news source that reports the truth, even if the words are sometimes twisted to lie through omission (or just outright lie), slander/whistleblow others, publish opinionated/sensationalist articles, or fulfill another of her motives. However, her interests also lie with the wellbeing/protection of the Human Village as part of her role as a tengu, as they are sometimes seen as mountain-dwelling protectors of humans. To this end she fulfills this role by cooperating with others to resolve incidents, and sometimes publishing somewhat-altered news to keep the Human Village from descending into mass panic during crises and incidents.

Occupation: Owner and Writer of the Bunbunmaru Newspaper

Home Region: Youkai Mountain

Abilities: Capable of manipulating wind

Wind: Aya’s innate/inherent ability as a tengu. Both with and without her fan, she can create, control, and disperse high-pressure winds at will. She could even create tornadoes if she wanted to, although that is more of a last resort deal for her. Many consider this power to be among some of the strongest abilities in Gensokyo, although Aya prefers to prevent fights if/when possible. She almost never uses this power to purely show off, much like other tengu.

Speed: Tengu as a species are really just that fast, left unmatched by many humans and youkai alike. Aya alone declares her claim to being “the fastest” in Gensokyo, even being capable of out-speeding a speedy vampire like Remilia Scarlet according to Marisa.

Skills: Aya is a skilled photographer, interviewer, and writer, all necessary skills to facilitate a one-tengu newspaper that could be considered a prominent source of information. At the same time, she is proficient in combat with nothing more than her fan as both a melee weapon and a means to use her wind ability. Just like almost all tengu, Aya’s drinking tolerance can rival that of most oni.

Possessions:

Hauchiwa fan (hand fan made of bird feathers that can generate wind)

White blouse

Black short skirt

Red token (hat that doubles as a divination cup)

Tengu geta (clogs or other footwear with one extra-long tooth on the bottom)

Camera (tengu-grade camera that can take pictures and sometimes erase bullets)

Bunkachou (tengu notebook used by Aya to record information)

Orange reporter’s armband that reads “Shuzaichuu” (“collecting material/the scoop”)

Muse-Specific Headcanons:

She likes to say “Ayayayayayayaya” in many situations as both a catchphrase and a reaction to others

Aya has a number of youkai crows under her supervision, but not a whole lot. Probably about 4 to 6 at most on a normal day, but that doesn’t equal a hard limit she can call upon in certain circumstances (see Crow Sign “Daymare in the Dark Night”)

Aya can fly on her own just fine, but she can also fly by using her crow’s wings that she can summon at will or conceal from sight

The newspapers she sells are typically free, although super-limited editions go for about a hundred yen or more each depending on the contents

Futsubasa no Rei helped Aya get the Bunbunmaru Newspaper off the ground before she departed elsewhere

Blog-Specific Lore Notes:

Previously unaware of the Parallel Satellite Incident, she planned to publish this incident alert in her newspaper after being informed of it by Renko and Maribel. After their vehement refusal to disclose further details after realizing that she would publish it, she made a compromise to instead print a special limited edition that she would only send to a dozen or so “important” people of Gensokyo. Among them included the Tenma, the sages, the two shrine maidens, the usual incident resolvers, and prominent residents of the Human Village

She has attended the 2nd Multiverse Fighting Tournament as a journalist alongside Alice to gather information for a special edition of her newspaper

Aya has joined in the investigation of the West Mountain

Aya is aware that an alternate Marisa has come to her Gensokyo following Rei’s initial investigation of the West Mountain

Aya was the one to spot and report on another Marisa attacking the Scarlet Devil Mansion, easily making a headline for it

Spell Cards:

*Intended purely for close combat

**Can be used for close combat, but also meant for longer range danmaku duels

Wind Sign “Wind God’s Fan”

Gust “Wind God Girl”

Crossroad Sign “Crossroads of Heaven”

Crossroads Sign “Saruta Cross”

Wind God “Wind God’s Leaf-Veiling”

Wind God “Tengu’s Fall Wind”

Wind God “Storm Day”

“Illusionary Dominance” (“Taking Fantasy by Storm”)**

“Peerless Wind God”

Blockade Sign “Mountain God’s Procession”

Blockade Sign “Advent of the Divine Grandson”

Blockade Sign “Terukuni Shining Through Heaven and Earth”

Whirl Sign “Autumn Leaf Fan’s Wind”*

Tornado “Guidepost for the Advent of the Divine Grandson”*

Headwind “Route Forbidden to Man”*

Thrust Sign “Tengu’s Macroburst”*

Wind Sign “Opening Wind of the Tengu Realm”*

Demon Beast “Sickle Weasel Veiling”*

Squall “Sarutahiko’s Guidance”*

Whirl Sign “Fluttering Fey Fan”*

Whirlwind “Torii Whorl-Wind”*

Wind Sign “Tengu Newspaper Deadline Day”*

Crow Sign “Daymare in the Dark Night”*

Reporting “Aya Shameimaru’s Coercive Reporting”

Telescoping “Candid Shot”

Snapshot “Fast Shot”

“Crow’s Darkness” (Spell Card Bomb shared with Reimu in Subterranean Animism)

Last Words and Impossible Spell Cards:

Photography “Quick-Shooting Tengu Scoop” (Impossible Spell Card)

“Instant Shot Journalist” (Impossible Spell Card)

Wind Sign “Tengu Rainstorm Gust”

Shutter Chance Izuna Drop (Last Word from Lost Word)

Giant Shellfish of Azaka (Last Word from Lost Word, A9 Aya)

[ramblingroommate]

Watching 9-1-1 for the first time

Ok the canonically bi firefighter got me. I’ve been seeing gifs of “the gay firefighter show” for around two years and I gotta be honest… I never gave it a chance. It was fun seeing people post about the show here and there but I mentally categorized it as “yet another queer coded queerbaiting show tumblr goes crazy for… been there done that”. But making one of the characters from the main ship (from what I understand) CANONICALLY queer after SEVEN SEASONS? A MONTH BEFORE PRIDE? Okay now I just have to watch it.

So here I am. Watching it for the first time and writing about it. This is more exciting than I expected tbh. Oh! Just to make it clear: I have never seen a single episode of this show but I have heard quite a few things about the characters over the years. But I never paid that much attention? So I’m not even sure what I actually know… I’ll figure it out when I get to it I guess.

Episode 1x1: Pilot

I like that straight off the bat the VERY FIRST thing they say is that there are two types of emergencies: the immediate abrupt ones and the long term slowly corroding ones. This character (Abby?) is a 911 operator and has a mother with Alzheimer so she’s pretty familiar with both types of emergencies. What a way to introduce a character! Also I like her voice, it’s soothing.

Here they are! Nice to finally officially meet you guys. Oh, I guess that’s something I know: I know all the characters names even tho I can’t really match most of them with a face. I obviously recognize Buck. And I know Eddie gets introduced in season 2. I’m guessing the older guy that seems to be in charge is Bobby? I think he’s like their boss or something? I hope the bits and pieces of info I know won’t start to mix in my head.

Also those are the worst compressions I have ever seen in my life. Can we put a little more effort in this cpr?

I mean… yeah? Mmmh. Okay that line threw me off for a moment. On one hand, of course they hang up after help gets there, that’s why they called in the first place. THEY are the ones in need, it’s about them not about you.

On the other hand, I think I understand what they’re trying to say… it has to be hard to not know if you actually helped or not, not have that closure. A nurse, a doctor, a firefighter know if the person they were called in to help was actually saved or not. Whether it’s good or bad, at least they get the closure of knowing. A 911 operator might be there for the worst part and then that’s it. On to the next one. Never thought about that before.

Oof that’s not gonna work. I mean I understand why he would say it and i remember an article talking exactly about this but… that’s not something that’s gonna help her in the moment.

… yeah

Tho I gotta say… they actually showed her fall, I didn’t expect it. It shows the kinda budget this show has, doing a stunt like that for a character you see for 3 minutes. Maybe a bit cold on my part to focus on that but oh well

Mmmh… a black book with names written inside. Either this has suddenly become Death Note or he has a Secret Past TM. There are also numbers… probably the number of people he couldn’t save in some tragic accident and somehow feels responsible for? And now he wants to make up for it by saving the same number of people. If that’s the case then it’s peak tv drama.

Ok wait wait slOW DOWN THERE, I CAN’T KEEP UP. Twenty seconds of conversation and I learned Bobby is a devout christian ex addict (alcohol and painkillers) who got in trouble with the department and spent ten years in and out of rehab AND has only been back for 18 months??? I wasn’t expecting to be told so much backstory so soon.

And then they immediately cut to Buck… is he a sex addict? Is that what they’re implying here? Gonna ignore everything else that happens on screen because firehose? Really?

WAIT A FUCKING SECOND

THIS SHOW IS MADE BY RYAN MURPHY?!?!???! AND BRAD FALCHUK TOO, THE TWO GUYS WHO ALSO MADE GLEE?

WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUUUUUUU-

Okay so I have much more to say about this show than I thought so I’m gonna split my comments in more parts (part 2 here)

[lightofraye]

You said that people pleasing is an issue Jensen deals with. How did you come across that belief?

Hi anon!

Ohhh. That’s a hard one. Keep in mind, this is purely speculation from observing his behavior and listening to how he answers questions.

This link (Non-Paywall) helped me put it into words. The article’s author also consulted a psychologist, so keep that in mind as you read my answer.

I first looked at Jensen’s childhood. Psychologists often say the middle child is the most neglected when it comes to family order of attention, and so fall back into people pleasing to get some positive attention, even at the detriment of their needs.

Jensen has described his father as being abusive (even if he didn’t use the word ‘abuse’). Jensen said his father beat him with a belt, making Jensen himself choose what kind of belt—thus Jensen learning that thicker belts hurt less than thinner ones. Plus, his father would describe it as “doing it out of love”. Talk about making the worst kind of associations here!

Sure, Jensen might’ve had a nice living—nice clothes, a home, food in his belly, but how about his emotional needs? On the whole, it seemed he suffered a great deal in that regard. Someone—perhaps Jensen himself?—had said that Jensen cowered before his father when his father showed up as an extra on a Supernatural episode Jensen was directing. His own father berated him and said he didn’t have to listen to Jensen, even though Jensen was the freaking director and the one with the better acting career than Alan Ackles. (Note, this article also is great in explaining how Alan is an emotionally immature parent and absolutely failed Jensen.)

People pleasing stems from fears in childhood. That alone, what I outlined, would make a people pleaser out of Jensen. Out of anyone, really. (Someone I know personally, once I shared what I’ve learned, said she herself had the same issue—and she’s just a few years younger than me. She still fights against people pleasing tendencies to this day, even though her abusive parent has been deceased for nearly two decades!)

In the Insider article I linked, there’s a notable paragraph that I’d like to emphasize:

Most people-pleasers aren't bending over backwards "because they're weak people or because they're trying to curry favor," Gibson told Insider. "They're doing it because they were trained that way."

I’ve been accused of saying Jensen is weak. This paragraph states I was right in pointing out that, No, I wasn’t. (Critical thinking, people!)

Another excerpt:

If you realize you're always on the lookout for potential conflict in social settings, also called hypervigilance, it could be tied to how you grew up, according to Gibson.

In many cases, people-pleasers "learned to be extra sensitive and vigilant to other people's discomfort or disapproval," she said.

Often, this can come from a parent reacting poorly to opposition or criticism during childhood.

"If they had a parent like that, they can learn that they have to step in and get that parent back into a good mood," Gibson said. Over time, that behavior can transfer to all social situations, even around people who are emotionally safe to be around.

Yes, I write essays because essays are essential to explaining the points.

But if you want the TL;DR: Jensen’s abusive childhood made a people pleaser out of himself to survive and it is a difficult habit to break.

[lady-assnali]

Modern Anarcia!! Well, it’s Anarcia coded. Marcia seeks advice from her big sister Jan because things seem to be moving along with Anetra, and Marcia’s kind of a mess in the romance department. This is what happens before they all get to meet Anetra

(Set in the teacher/baby model/manhattan au. Somewhere before I know i said said they were cousins, just ignore that. I’ll find it and change it later bc it’s truly drag queen fanfic it’s really not that deep)

“Janny!” The blonde looks up to find her sister standing at her door, staring down at her with her big, restless eyes

“How’d you get in?” 

“Rosie let me in on her way out!” She saunters into the bedroom like she owns the place, as she’s apt to do in any given situation. Marcia’s a flurry of pastel and a wide, giddy grin. She’s holding two cups of iced coffee, extending one to Jan with a flourish. 

“What do you need?” The older sister is amused, but knows this routine enough to understand that Marcia will probably be leaving here with an article of clothing or a snack that she didn’t have before. Her tone is kind yet pointed, but Marcia is barely phased by it. She flops onto Jan’s bed, lays on her back with her phone clutched to her chest. 

“What if I told you that the girl I’ve been seeing wants to come to the show next week?”

Jan perks up at this, putting down her work in favor of giving her undivided attention to the blonde on her bed. Marcia’s blushing, holding her phone above her face with both hands while rapidly tapping on the screen. 

“So it’s going okay?”

“Oh, it’s going more than okay.” Marcia smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. This piques Jan’s interest; Marcia’s been a hopeless romantic from the moment she understood what romance was, a bit naïve about fat no matter how much her older sister has tried to keep her down to earth. Since her last heartbreak, she’s been uncharacteristically reserved. While it’s nice to see Marcia’s giddy smile back, alarm bells are ringing in her head. She lays down next to her sister, prying at the texts on her screen. She makes out lots of pink heart emojis on Marcia’s end before she flicks out of the app, scrunching her nose. 

“You don’t need to see my texts!” 

“I do if you’re thinking about bringing this girl around! I need to know more about her; you’ve barely told me anything!”

“I’ve told you plenty.” She retorts, sticking out her tongue. 

“Yeah, that she’s ‘soooo hot’ and she writes little hearts on your coffee cup now?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“And you have nothing else to say to me?”

“Just a question.”

“Okay, good. Yeah. That’s what I’ve been expecting. What’s up?”

“What about holidays?” Marcia sighs. She thumbs aimlessly through Instagram, careful not to like any of the posts the further back she gets. 

“What?”

“The holidays! She’s from Vegas, she’s not from here! She’s just here helping a friend get her business off the ground, then she’s leaving. Mom and dad will have a fit if she wants to spend Christmas in Vegas, and I can’t get in the middle of that because of course I’m going to choose our family. But have you seen her?”

She hangs the phone over her sister’s face, a more recent picture up on the screen. It’s cute enough; she’s pouting at the camera, stuck in a huddle of friends all wearing merch from the same dance studio. Jan makes a mental note to stalk the page further, to look for more intel while her little sister’s prying eyes won’t suspect anything. 

“Jan, waking up next to that on Christmas morning?”

“Whoa, Marsh. Listen to yourself for a minute! You quite literally just met this girl. Like…yesterday you met her.” Jan pushes the phone back to Marcia, who cradles it in her hands for a moment before dropping it on the bed. She huffs, and Jan can practically feel her rolling her eyes.

“We met last week, actually. And I can’t visualize a future for myself but you can act the way you did around Jackie because…”

“Because  I wasn’t creating scenarios in my head instead of just going for it.”

“What if she’s not into me?”

Jan laughs then, shifts over a bit to stare her down. It’s not every day that her infallible little sister gets shaken up by something, and it’s humorous to imagine a world in which somebody wouldn’t be charmed by her. She’s cute; thin, blonde, and talented. They were born and raised in a family where charm and charisma were practically taught before any basic life skills, so she knows that Marcia carries herself in a way that makes people love her instantly. It’s the same kind of charm she’s been lucky enough to be told that she has; just that something. If that something isbeing born into money and made to go to all kinds of boring parties and play a part in the family dynamic? Sure, genetics play a big part of it but money definitely helps. Nobody actually needs to know that, though.

“Mar, honey, look at yourself in a mirror. If she’s not into you she’s an idiot.”

“Maybe I’m just not her type.”

“Well, you won’t know until you shoot your shot hun.” She sits up then, crosses her legs and turns to face Marcia. She’s serious now, all the humor and jests set aside. Marcia meets her eyes, then has to look away. She’s giving her the ‘sister stare,’ which she’d used only a few times before; when Marcia had come out to her, when she’d been busted sneaking out to the club, and when she’d gone through her first real breakup. All three events had Jan buckling in to this higher powered sisterhood, and Marcia’s not sure she can emotionally handle a big speech right now, especially when she has to start thinking about how to prepare Anetra for meeting her sister. It doesn’t matter. When Jan’s on a heart-healing tangent, nothing can stop her.

 “I need you to tell yourself you’re worth it and to do something as soon as you can. Because what happened when you had your lesbian awakening with Aura wasn’t cute or fun at all. We’re not gonna make a habit out of making scenarios in our head and destroying our hearts when it  doesn’t work out. That’s not you.”

“Okay, ouch.”

“I’m your sister, I’m here to give you the truth even if you don’t want to hear it. And all I really meant was that you’re way too smart and confident and hot to let this get into your head.”

“So tomorrow I just do what…walk up to her and say ‘hey I think you’re super hot and I’m really into you.’ And see how long it takes for her to run?”

“Just be yourself. Be yourself, but flirt. You’re not asking her to marry you you’re just looking to date and see how things go.”

“What about Christmas though? I was serious.” Jan throws her hands in the air, then thinks twice and grabs one of the fluffy throw pillows on the bed. Chucking the pillow isn’t enough; she hits Marcia a few times, playfully groaning in frustration.

“Oh my god, Marsh. We’ll talk about that if we need to. You don’t even know if she celebrates Christmas, or what her family’s even like! If this goes well I’ll have you talk to Crystal about it. She and Geeg have been doing long distance for a little while now and they haven’t had any problems, she’ll know what to do.”

“So…”

“So stop making this a big deal! Jeez! You meet this girl tomorrow, you do your little date. Worst case scenario you get a good meal and a nice walk and you get to look at her ass for a couple of hours. Best case, you walk out with a girlfriend. Either way, it seems like a pretty solid day to me.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll take the advice. Just know that if this goes south I’ll be here right after to wallow for a few days.”

“If it goes south, you deserve better anyway. You’re not going to wallow because you’re probably too good for her anyway.”

“I don’t think I am, though.”

“I’ll let you know when this goes well and she comes to the show. We’ll put her through the test, don’t even worry about it.”

“Yeah, the tone of your voice is super promising.” Marcia kicks her legs over the side of the bed, gets up with a renewed sense of pep in her step. She flings her hair over her shoulders, shooting off a text with one hand while gathering her bag. “Thanks, Janny. I’ll see you this weekend for rehearsal?”

“You’ll text me the second you get home from your date.” The older sister narrows her eyes in warning, to which Marcia just laughs.

“Okay, mom, I’ll text you.”

“Good luck!”

“Don’t need it!” Marcia leaves with one last wave through the door and Jan can only shake her head at her sister’s antics, glad that her nerves seem to have died down a bit. 

An hour before Marcia’s set to leave for her date, Jan’s pacing around the kitchen with seemingly no agenda whatsoever. From the living room, Jackie watches as the blonde takes out several ingredients only to put them back in the cabinet moments later. Then she stands, hands on her hips, and flips through the one cook book they have before reassembling the same ingredients in a neat line across the counter. It’d be endearing if Jackie didn’t know Jan for what she was underneath all of the positivity and her sunshine smile; a worrier. 

Jan takes out her phone, types and retypes until she settles on something to say. There isn’t much time left. She pictures her sister standing in the teeny little bathroom of the cramped student housing she and Jax share, probably blasting some Ariana Grande remix while she’s getting ready. She can feel the excitement, the hope, the anxiety. It makes her want to rush over there and hug her. She settles on something simple instead.

Have fun, be safe. Love you! 

The text bubble pops up and leaves twice before Marcia’s message rolls in, Jackie peeking over Jan’s shoulder to read along with her.

Hopefully not too safe! ;) love you too sis

“She’ll be fine.” Jackie hugs Jan from behind, presses their cheeks together. Her mission is accomplished when the blonde tips her head back to kiss her, holds Jackie’s hands in place.

“If that girl says one wrong thing to my sister,”

“-then we’ll deal with it. She’s going to make mistakes before she finds out what she likes. We didn’t find each other on the first try.”

“Nope.” Jan scoffs, pops the p to emphasize just how wrong the mere idea of finding Jackie right away is. She’d been through her own circles of lesbian hell before she’d stumbled upon her, and she’s positive that the timing was fate playing its game the right way.

“Wasn’t it worth it?”

            “Can’t you just let me fantasize about taking this girl out before you get all sappy with me?”

            “Not a chance. We’re saving the kicking ass fantasies for if this doesn’t go well.”

            “I really hope it does.” Jan spins around in Jackie’s arms, kissing her sweetly. “This was definitely worth it.”

[docholligay]

13. United Kingdom

This is one of my daughter’s favorites, because she’s two and also europop trash. She seems (seems) to like Israel slightly more, but she’s a toddler and can’t quite use the ranker yet. I also knew @verbforverb was going to like this the SECOND it came out.

I have mentioned that I try very very hard, and sometimes fail, at letting the personalities of the singers get to me in any measurable way, because I’m not asking someone to be likeable, I’m asking them to sing.

I ABSOLUTELY fail with Mae Muller. There are so many things I hate about this song. I hate the accent levelling* until the JARRING jump where she talks like a person in her Spice Girls Spoken word moment, I hate that the song sounds like a 3 minute commercial jingle that you can’t get out of your head (as jetty put it), I hate the lyrics, I hate it all.

But goddamnit. I LOVE Mae Muller. I HATE that I like her so much. She did a pretty terrible job in Barcelona, really, and immediately the next day put out a short of her running through the airport that said “Me fleeing Barcelona after [twitterid] said my vocals flopped last night (I’m sick!)” and I laughed and I hated that I laughed. She is funny and engaging on stage, and she is honestly like, sorry verb you’ve been replaced by a new British Jewish mess I’d like to get drunk with (Actually, come along, i think it’ll take both of us to wrangle her). She’s tacky and I KNOW she’s a sloppy drunk and I am SO MAD about how much I like her and I want her to do well. DESPITE HATING EVERYTHING ABOUT HER SONG. RAGE.

And she was fucked from the word go by TAP music, who, so there was this huge rumor that Rina Sawayama was going to be tapped to be the Eurovision rep. It was never going to happen. It was a FUCKING PIPE DREAM. Rina has actual things to do with her life (affectionate). This was rumored even to be her song, I think it JUST hit the line for being viable:

Would I have loved that? Yeah, I absolutely would have. But it was never going to happen, and of course Rina played along, and they took WAY  too long to announce Mae, and honestly...they could have just candidly said, “Okay we promise it’s not Rina, we can’t wait for you to see who we picked” ANyway Mae was IMMEDIATELY thrown into a situation where she was a disappointment, which is SO UNFAIR to an artist no matter how I feel about them.

And she’s basically just made it her business to charm the shit out of every human being who comes into contact with her. I worry about her some, in that I fucking wish she would stop trying to dance and sing. She can’t do it. She loses her breath. Like, work on your cardio, but for now, STAND STILL. I doubt she’ll flop, but she’s closing the whole show and I would hate for her to put in a disappointing result (BECAUSE SHE’S CHARMED ME) because no one is paying attention to her actual abilities. She’s also changed the Spice Girls Moment and I don’t like the revamp as much.

*Every time I say this, someone says this isn’t a real thing, and this is just what singing is like, and, no, it isn’t. I have linked people papers and articles and I’m tired of doing that for shit you can hear with your own ears. It’s a noted observable fact in music, particularly mainstream music, it’s called accent levelling, and it is true and real even if that fact annoys you because maybe you or someone you love do it subconsciously. It’s a strange midwest-atlantic American mix that’s been more and more codified since the 80s, and, I also do it and I don’t care for that either! Look no further than singers like Billy Bragg or Steve Earle or Dave Carter, or to use a better known example, Lily Allen, to see it doesn’t actually have to be that way! It’s due to a series of media based and sociocultural factors, and also pressure from mainstream record companies to ‘sound mainstream’ but it’s not just how people sing. I said I wasn’t going to link, but here’s a very straightforward article from the guy who literally wrote the Cambridge Dictionary of the English Language and also was chair of his department in Reading for ten years, also wrote a great book about English pronunciation. Link.

[yutaholic]

suck my kiss (M)

PAIRING: Mark (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: There's a lot of tension between you and Mark, but neither of you seem brave enough to do anything about it.

WARNINGS: strong language; alcohol and marijuana use; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 8.1k words; this is part one of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot

Pittsburgh, 1991

I knew we would be best friends forever when some douchebag made a comment about me having three holes and the boys jumped him for it.

Mark lowered the notebook and arched a brow. “That’s how you’re starting our memoir?”

“It’s the truth,” you said with a shrug.

Amused, Mark gave you a look over the rim of his glasses and kept reading.

You made yourself comfortable and pretended to skim through a magazine, but you were actually staring at Mark. It was early, around noon. Which wasn’t early to most, but when you played gigs until four in the morning, it was like the crack of dawn.

Mark’s eyes drooped sleepily, but he still agreed to review what you’d scribbled into your notebook thus far. Three weeks had passed since graduation; the end of high school and the beginning of a long, crazy summer of traveling and performing, so you didn’t have that much written down yet.

Your plan was to document the trip, and add as many dirty details as possible. Part of you hoped there could be a potential novel buried in there somewhere, but you weren’t holding your breath. Writing was a hobby usually reserved for lyrics. Music was your forte and your mistress.

She would get all of your time and attention. Or at least what was left over from the boys.

Mark sipped the hot cup of coffee you’d made for him. His black hair was fluffy and overgrown, and you desperately wanted to comb your fingers through it. He didn’t have the energy to shave his stubble yet, having just woken up, so he was scruffy, much to your delight.

Something about soft, disheveled Mark made you go insane. Although to be fair, Mark in general made you weak in the knees. His handsome face, his gorgeous smile, and that obscenely sexy voice of his. Take your fucking pick.

Nibbling on your lip as your thoughts turned lewd, you kept flipping pages absentmindedly, missing an article aptly titled The Perfect Blow Job, and stared at Mark like a total creep to the point you almost leapt out of your skin when Jeno banged his fist loudly on the door.

“Babe,” Jeno whined, appearing in the open doors of the van wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Where’s the soap?”

“It’s in the nice little bag of bath stuff I packed for you, dear,” you sang back, matching the obnoxious, high-pitched tone he reserved for you. You pointed at the black bag sticking out from under the passenger seat.

“Thanks.” Jeno gave a little wave and headed back inside the rest stop for a shower with the bag in hand.

Hotels were expensive and what little cash you got from gigs went to fuel and food. Rest stops on the highway became part of the regular routine thanks to their well-stocked vending machines.

The vast majority had showers and clean bathrooms. A few had beautiful scenic views with picnic tables, where you and the boys could eat lunch with the ambience of loud semi-trucks peeling off onto the highway.

You almost laughed. “Did he really walk all the way in and get naked before thinking about soap?”

“That’s Jeno,” Mark replied dryly.

You bent your knees and wrapped your arms around them, and said, “I’m just glad he’s bathing. Shit’s been smelling real fresh in here.”

That’s why the doors were open, letting the van ventilate. The crisp Pennsylvania breeze was doing her best.

“We warned you about hitting the road with three guys.”

“I must have missed the memo that ownership of a penis exempts you from bathing.”

Mark glanced over at you, wanting to giggle at how nonchalantly you said penis, and fussed, “Hey, I’m clean.”

“You are the cleanest. I’ll give you that.” You continued before you could stop yourself, “You actually smell really good.”

His brow crooked up. “Do I?”

“Keep reading,” you mumbled, heat flooding your cheeks.

Mark grinned and did as told, but his gaze couldn’t help but wander from your worn-out notebook to your pretty features. As usual, your hair was tied up in a messy bun on your head, out of your eyes. You barely made a sound when you yawned and Mark thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen; the way your nose scrunched up and you dramatically raised your arms over your head, making your shirt ride up and give him a short glimpse of your tummy.

That made his eyes fall. Goddamn her, Mark thought. You always wore tiny, flimsy tank tops that hugged your breasts. Not that anyone blamed you. It could get downright stuffy in the van. But Mark was humiliated that the mere suggestion of your nipples’ existence made his brain take a pause and made his body want to take a bow.

Mark had noticed you only wore a bra outside of the van. You didn’t care about free-boobing it around them. Why should you? Home for the time being was a 1989 Chevrolet G20 that Jeno managed to snag for a bargain. The four of you split the cost evenly and customized the interior for the road trip.

There was a bed against the very back that you piled high with blankets and pillows. A small storage cabinet was bolted to the side, hoarded with snacks and coffee. Haechan found some shaggy tan carpet and Jeno nailed it to the floor, while Mark put hideous curtains on the windows that kept out the bright morning sun.

In the past few weeks since the trip started, the van had become a cozy little living space for you and your bandmates. Most evenings Mark spent on the floor, playing guitar while you sang quietly along and let lyrics come to you. A few more songs were written while Jeno drove and Haechan caught up on sleep.

So, why wouldn’t you be going braless? It was your home, after all. You were supposed to be comfortable with your boys. Mark was just a guy with regular guy-like hormones that saw boobies and thought, Whew. I really like those.

Mark made himself focus on reading your draft until he could say, “I’m finished.” He handed you the notebook and took off his glasses to rub his eyes, adding, “Pretty good so far. I especially like how boring I am.”

You gawked. “You’re not boring!”

“I’m just not wild like the rest of you,” he grumbled, but wild was the wrong word. Mark knew that. He meant brave.

You and Jeno were downright fearless. Even Haechan didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of him. Meanwhile, Mark was painfully cautious. In life and love. He was raised that way and no matter how much time he spent with the band, his parents’ influence didn’t wear off.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you assured him, stashing the notebook. “We need a designated driver.”

“But what if I want to cut loose every once and a while?”

“Just let me know and I will cover for you. Problem solved.”

Mark leaned forward and asked in hushed tones, “Cover for me how?”

You shrugged. Did you really need to spell it out for him? “If you want to drink, I’ll drive. It’s not a big deal.”

“And what if I want a girl?” Mark pressed.

“Oh.” You blanked. Your heart stuttered to a stop at the very brief mental image that flashed across your eyes of Mark falling into bed with a faceless girl beneath him. A girl that wasn’t you.

Fuck.

“I… I, um, yeah,” you stammered, swallowing down the bitter taste in your mouth. “I could help with that, I guess. If you wanted me to.”

Mark stared you dead in the eyes, waiting.

You stared right back, wondering what the fuck he was up to. Was he clueless or was he intentionally tormenting you? You shook your head. There wasn’t a mean bone in Mark’s body. He wouldn’t jerk you around for fun. No, he was definitely unaware of how much the suggestion killed you.

It wasn’t Mark’s fault you were in love with him.

“You’ve just never seemed…,” you trailed, finding your voice again. “Interested in any girls. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet, but if you do, I can cover for you. What are friends for, right?”

“Dude.”

“What?”

Mark shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

What do you want from me? That’s what you wanted to say, sniping at him with venom, but you stifled it. You were more than a little frustrated by the exchange - frustration was preferable to heartache - and it showed on your face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Nope,” Mark said, grabbing his bag and heading into the rest stop to shave, much to your disappointment.

You rubbed your arms and started rethinking this whole summer. Watching Jeno be dragged away by girls did nothing to you. When Haechan scored a one-night stand, you gave him a high five for it.

But Mark? Seeing a girl lead him away with her, knowing she would get to know how he kissed, how he touched, how he felt. That would probably kill you.

Snatching your notebook, you flipped violently to a new page and began scribbling about what a rambling idiot you were. Not to mention an enormous loser for crushing on somebody that didn’t even bat an eye in your general direction. You were just another one of the boys to Mark and that shit hurt.

“He meant you.”

You jumped for the second time that day and whirled around with your hand over your racing heart. “Fuck’s sake. How long have you been standing there?”

Haechan was propped against the side of the van, beside the open doors, his hair still damp from the shower. “Long enough to hear you stutter like a moron. ‘Oh, Mark, I didn’t know you like girls.’ Really?”

You scowled. “What was I supposed to say? He’s never asked me to play wingman like Jeno does.”

“Because he wants to bone you, you idiot.”

“He does not,” you huffed, but hope sprung eternally in your chest. “Mark has never hit on me.”

Haechan clambered into the van, making himself comfortable across from you, rubbing at his head with the towel around his shoulders to dry his hair. “He’s scared of you, methinks. You’re a force of nature, you know.”

You shrugged. Haechan always did that; a constant push and pull. Calling you an idiot with one breath and a force of nature the next. Typical Gemini. In a small voice, you said, “Mark doesn’t like me.”

That was all you could bring yourself to say. You had undeniable proof by way of a night you shared with Mark last year, when you had him in your arms and he turned you down. Haechan didn’t know all that went down and you weren’t going to bring him up to speed.

It was too embarrassing. The sting of rejection still felt fresh in your mind, bitter on your tongue.

Haechan decided this was the perfect time for humor. “Mark stares at your tits.”

“All of you stare at my tits!”

“They’re there. And they’re fantastic.”

“Thanks,” you said, glancing down, happy with the switching of subjects. Anything but Mark. “They are pretty great, huh?”

Haechan took your face in his hands and squished your cheeks together, locking eyes with you. “Do you want to fuck Mark or not?”

“Of course I wanna fuck Mark. Don’t you?”

“I’ll pass. Now tell me what I gotta do to get you two together.”

“I have an idea,” came a familiar voice behind him. Both of you looked to Jeno, his skin glistening from the shower.

You glanced between them and asked, “Are you planning to pimp me out?”

Jeno smiled. “Yes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into a frown.

I couldn’t bring myself to say I wasn’t good enough for Mark. He was the perfect boy next door, with a good family on the right side of the tracks. He was kind and gracious, and the most giving person I’d ever met.

I, on the other hand, was his opposite in every way. The self-destructive girl with a shitty home situation on the wrong side of the tracks. The girl who tied her own worth to her boys and her mental health to her music.

The fact I offered myself to Mark on a silver platter and he turned me down only sealed the deal on the distance between us.

“Mark is out of my league,” you said nonchalantly, hoping that would be the end of it. Jeno sniffing around would be dangerous. Haechan would be lethal.

“Are you insane?” Jeno exclaimed. “He’s a guy.”

Haechan was studying your face, and the stitch in your brow and the sadness in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. In the next second, he got his arms around you and tackled you to the floor. You giggled in surprise before hooking your arms and legs around him, returning the hug.

This was very normal behavior for you and your best friend. Haechan never hesitated to show you affection, especially when it was sorely needed.

But of course, Mark chose that moment to come back and whine, “Can you guys stay off her for five minutes?”

Haechan’s words were muffled against your neck. “She was sad. I’m comforting her.” Leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek that made you smile, Haechan sat up and said, “You should try it sometime. She won’t bite you.”

“Unless you’re into that,” Jeno quipped.

Mark was not amused. He climbed into the van and shut the doors behind him, snipping, “Can we just hit the road already?”

Jeno turned to you and you gave him a nod, letting him know you were alright. He slipped behind the wheel, firing up the engine without another word. Haechan found his way to the bed and a moment later, you could hear the familiar music of Super Mario Land on his Gameboy.

The tension with Mark was more than your heart could handle, so you hid yourself in the passenger seat, taking in the beautiful sunny day in Pennsylvania as Jeno cruised the I-76 toward Pittsburgh. Occasionally, he would reach over and touch your hand or your knee, and you would smile.

None of you were surprised when Mark began strumming away at his acoustic guitar. You leaned your head back, closed your eyes, and sighed contentedly. Every now and then, he would sing a little, but always quietly. Mark wasn’t confident in his vocals yet, which was a shame, because his voice was beautiful.

You couldn’t resist anymore and you turned around in the seat, calling to Mark softly, “I love your voice.”

Mark blushed and lowered his head, long fluffy hair shielding his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, shy as ever. He was a sucker for compliments, but had no fucking clue how to take them.

“Maybe by the end of the summer, you’ll be singing with me.”

Mark snorted. “I can’t hold a candle to you.”

“I can,” Haechan announced, mashing at buttons.

You chuckled, but sobered immediately when Mark followed with a barely whispered, “You’re way out of my league.”

No, you’re out of mine, you wanted to roar at him. Had he forgotten that night?

Your heart hammered inside your chest. It was pathetic as hell; pining for a boy that was too good for you.

You said nothing, pretending you hadn’t heard his comment. It was for the best. The time for humor had passed. Now there was only tension again, and not the good kind.

Jeno checked you out of the corner of his eye. He knew better than to rock the boat with his quips. Although that was his favorite pastime, he could tell by the look on your face it would hurt.

Meanwhile, Haechan rolled his eyes in the back of his head. These kids. Mark would have to tattoo your name on his forehead before you even considered having a chance with him and you would have to shove your tongue down his throat before Mark would pluck up the courage to ask you out.

The van grew quiet again, save for Mark’s gentle strumming. You watched him for a bit, wishing you didn’t love him as much as you did. The van glided down the highway and eventually, Mark’s hushed singing and the swaying of the drive lulled you to sleep.

Haechan’s vigorous shaking of your shoulder woke you. “Wakey wakey,” he sang, pinching your nose between his fingers until you opened your eyes.

“How long was I out?”

“A few hours.”

“Mmph.” You struggled to rouse yourself and heaved a big yawn as you sat up. There was a stiff kink in your neck and you turned your head back and forth to free it up, to no avail.

Mark walked with you into the club, but neither of you could bring yourselves to make small talk. You weren’t sure when the tension with him escalated to this point, but it was miserable. You wanted desperately to break the ice. Among other things.

This was only month one of three, after all. How the hell were you going to get through this summer?

You walked into the dressing room to find a shirtless Jeno fastening his outrageously tight leather pants. Slipping the backpack off your shoulder, you rifled through it for your clothes. Haechan was the last to arrive to the dressing room as you stripped down to your underwear, having made sure all was set up with the venue.

“Alright, who’s in charge of the pep talk tonight?” Jeno asked in a taunt.

Mark put his back to you, because seeing so much of your bare skin made his dick twitch in his pants. Fuck’s sake.

“Not me,” you told Jeno, slipping into your shirt.

Haechan marched right over to you and said, “I want you to take all that teenage lovesick angst you’re feeling and channel it into singing your stunning little ass off.”

Jeno clapped. “Inspirational.”

You made a face and deadpanned, “I’ll do my best, master.”

Haechan left a single sweet kiss on your nose before strutting out of the room. To your surprise, Jeno then proceeded to shoo you away.

“What?” you whined as he steered you to the door.

“I need to talk to Mark. I love you, but get out.”

Jeno slammed the door shut behind you and you let a few choice swear words pass before heading after Haechan.

Once I was on the stage, with the lights beaming down on me, all was right with the world again.

This was what we lived for.

Dressed in black leather, singing till your voice was hoarse, ears ringing from the speakers cranked way too high. The roar of the crowd sent chills across your skin.

Mark played the electric guitar like it was an extension of his own body. You couldn’t help but sneak glances of him, his fingers so expertly hitting every chord. You wanted him to play you like that.

Your eyes met and Mark smirked ever so briefly. Both of you were in your element and nothing else mattered.

When the show ended, you were still riding the high. It would linger for hours like chemicals in your veins.

Haechan swept you up in his arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then the other. “You were great,” he cheered, his pulse throbbing so hard you could almost feel it blend with your own.

“No, you were,” you said with a grin.

“I’m always great.”

You giggled and pulled Haechan in for a hug, clinging to him tightly, needing someone to anchor you back to the surface of the earth. Haechan rubbed his hands up and down your back, soothing you.

Normally, the four of you celebrated after a show, but Jeno and Mark were nowhere to be found, which did nothing but frustrate you. Unbeknownst to you, Jeno was giving Mark another much-needed pep talk.

When Jeno appeared in your periphery, you broke from Haechan just in time for him to seize you in his arms and press a loud kiss on your neck. “Bravo. You had every dude in that crowd so fucking hard, babe,” Jeno teased.

You snorted. “That’s my job, right?”

Jeno nodded, giving you a wink.

Mark called your name.

As Jeno released you, you turned around expectantly, but Mark caught you off-guard.

He looked sheepish, his eyes a little hazy. Meanwhile, Jeno and Haechan cleared out to eavesdrop behind the door. Not the least bit subtle.

You were too busy checking Mark over to really notice. “Everything okay?”

Mark nodded. “I think that was our best show to date.”

“Well, it was only the third,” you replied, trying to be encouraging. “Maybe we’ll just get better and better with each stop.”

“You can’t get better. You’re already perfect.”

You blinked as Mark moved toward you, closing the distance until he was only a breath away from you.

And you immediately smelled the alcohol.

“Every time I watch you on stage…,” he trailed, looking even more out of it. “I feel like I’ve seen God.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

Mark’s voice sunk further to unknown depths as he said your name. “You’re a god to me.”

Every inch of you was on fire. Given how much Mark loved Jesus, it was an exorbitant compliment and you had no fucking idea how to take it. “Mark, how much did you drink?” you asked, masking your shock behind worry.

“Jeno gave me two shots of tequila, so I could tell you this.”

That was both adorable and totally bemusing.

“Oh. Um…, thank you,” you said shyly, still searching frantically for words. Any words. None of them sounded right in your head and they dared not leave your lips.

Mark gawked. And then he walked away, completely deflated.

You scratched your head, knowing the opportunity to get Mark in your arms just passed you by. You’d fumbled the ball so hard the New York Jets were going to draft you.

Grow up, you told yourself. Just because he gave you the highest compliment of which he is capable does not necessarily mean he would have enjoyed a kiss.

Haechan came stomping over and snapped, “Really, bitch?”

You recoiled. “What?”

“He called you God and you said thank you?”

Bristling with frustration, you shot back, “What was I supposed to say? I’m in shock.”

“You were supposed to…,” Haechan groaned, throwing up his hands. “That's it! I’ve had enough. Jeno, get Mark.”

Jeno didn’t hesitate to go after Mark while Haechan grabbed you and began leading you outside to the van.

“Haechan, are you serious right now?” You struggled against him for a second or two before giving up. Looks were deceiving. Haechan felt infinitely stronger than you when he wanted to be.

Your best friend snapped, “I’ve never been more serious in my life. I can’t stand either of you anymore and your pathetic puppy dog eyes, and I’m sick of the fucking pining!”

“I’m not pining,” you said in denial.

Haechan quite literally tossed you into the van. Mark was a few seconds behind, being unceremoniously shoved inside by Jeno. Together, they closed the doors and pressed their backs to them.

You banged your hand on the window angrily. “This isn’t funny!”

Haechan yelled, “You’re not getting out until you both work through this shit.”

“What happens in the van, stays in the van,” Jeno said coyly, just as he had the day the four of you hit the road.

“This is humiliating,” Mark groaned, slumping to the carpeted floor face-down.

You looked at him awkwardly.

It’s ironic that this was a very familiar scenario for us.

At a party in eleventh grade, Haechan and Jeno threw me and Mark into a closet for seven minutes of heaven.

It turned into twenty.

We didn’t do sex, but we did other things. Really great things that felt so good I still think about them. Mark was the one to pump the brakes. He didn’t want to go farther and it’s haunted me ever since.

That I wasn’t good enough.

You shifted nervously, staring down at Mark splayed on the shaggy carpet and wanting to run your hand through his dark hair. Sitting beside him, you confessed, “This is my fault.”

“How?”

“They figured out I want to…,” you started, biting your lip. This was awkward enough and it was about to get much, much worse. “Hook up with you and I guess they’re taking the job very seriously.”

Mark lifted his head sharply and gave you the most irritated look you’d ever seen. “Hooking up with me is a job?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?”

You started wringing your hands as Mark sat up. The two of you were cross-legged, facing each other, and Mark was eagerly awaiting what you had to say. “I’m really not good at explaining myself,” you told him, your voice trembling.

Mark tilted his head. “Can you try? I’m listening. And it doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere for a while.”

You were relieved to hear he sounded more amused than angry. Your eyes fell to your hands in your lap. His handsome face was too much and those wide, sparkling eyes made your courage flee out of sight. You couldn’t look at him and you fumbled for the words.

Why was this so hard?

Mark made a noise of frustration and huffed your name. “I did my part. I told you I’m into you. Why can’t you do the same?”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, tears threatening. I don’t want you to leave me again.

After Mark left me in that closet, still sweaty and panting from his kisses and his touch, I cried. I cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

He had every right to walk away. I’ve never faulted him for that. But it hurt. Knowing he was saving himself for the girl he loved and I wasn’t - and never would be - that lucky girl.

I was too broken, too damaged. He wanted someone whole.

Shaking his head, Mark crawled over to the bed, leaning back against the side and resigning himself to the impasse you and he had created. Mark had no idea when it was built, only that he felt the effects and hated it. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

Mark felt hopelessly inadequate. He couldn’t compete with Jeno or Haechan. You were so close to both of them, physically and emotionally, but you were inexplicably guarded with Mark. Sure, Jeno was your ex and Haechan was your best friend, the intimacy was unmatched.

But Mark wondered why were you adamantly against letting anything grow between you and him.

You watched his every move, hinged on each breath he took. You’d never wanted someone so badly in your life. Swallowing your cowardice, you asked, “Can I show you instead?”

Mark lifted his head and your eyes met. His heart skipped a beat, and then another. He spread out his arms, letting them hang lazily off the edge of the bed, like he had not a care in the world. Which was deliberate and dishonest. Mark had all the cares. He wished he could steal some of Jeno’s confidence and Haechan’s arrogance.

But Mark was soft. His heart was on the verge of combusting as the silence in the van grew heavier. You hadn’t moved an inch, waiting for his answer. The look of longing on your face was already making him crumble.

At last, Mark said, “Show me.”

You crawled over to him intently, expecting he would change his mind again, dreading it. If he changed his mind now, you’d never recover. You thought back to that closet, when he left you there, alone and devastated.

All the songs you wrote together about broken hearts were about that night. And he had no fucking clue.

Mark watched as you timidly straddled his lap, his hands sliding up your thighs and grasping your hips. You held his head and danced your lips over his lips, sinking deeper into him, drowning in his warmth. Mark leaned closer, enticing you to kiss him, wanting so badly to taste you.

Instead, you buried your face in his neck and started to nibble over his pulse, sliding your hands under his shirt and getting it off of him. Mark groaned low in his chest, lashes fluttering at your lips on his throat and the weight of you on his cock.

You were attuned to every move and every sound he made. You wanted to coax him past the point of no return, to a place where he wouldn’t be able to resist you. Then, you would finally be able to relax, your heart no longer on the line.

Mark whispered your name wantonly and you broke from his neck to travel your kisses over his collarbones and across his nipples, continuing further down to tongue down his abs. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t get enough air. You followed his happy trail to the band of his jeans and started unfastening his pants.

“Please say something,” Mark rasped, cursing himself for sounding so fucked out already.

You peered up at him, dragging his boxers down and making his hard cock spring free. “I’m gonna blow you,” you said nonchalantly, but your eyes were full of hunger, pupils dilated like black oceans.

Mark sucked in a breath. “Fuck.” His head fell back against the bed again and he winched his eyes closed. He almost argued. It felt selfish having you just pleasure him, but Mark wanted you to do whatever you wanted to him. The moment your hand wrapped around his dick, he sighed in relief, aching to be touched, his cock twitching in your fist.

But when your lips suddenly sealed around the tip and your tongue flicked out to taste him, the relief was dashed as quickly as it came. Mark’s body went painfully taut. A ripple of pleasure shot through him so sharply it was almost agony.

“Fuck,” he groaned a little louder, squirming underneath you.

You wanted to laugh. You’d barely touched him. This wasn’t going to take long.

Mark dug his teeth into his bottom lip as you bobbed up and down, sucking him deeper into your mouth each time. He hoped you would slip and graze him with your teeth; that would get him away from the edge, but you didn’t. You expertly worked him, your hand wrapped around the base, moving faster and faster until the head of his cock nudged your throat.

“Shit. Fuck!” Mark whimpered, not realizing his fingers had flown into your hair until he was gripping handfuls of it. You hummed around his cock in retaliation, sending vibrations through him that radiated into his body.

Mark’s eyes rolled back. He was on the cusp of orgasm, his jaw unhinged as a long, labored moan left him.

You were having the time of your life. The ache in your core was vicious, spurned by the fucking noises he made. Mark was losing control. He tried to be quiet at first, but you were out to make him sing for you.

Tears pricked at your eyes when his cock pressed deep into your throat, making your vision blurry. Mark was lifting his hips involuntarily now, though you could feel how hard he tried to fight it, to the point of shaking. You choked loudly just to rile him up. It worked. Mark wheezed out a moan and his hips jerked in a heat-seeking thrust.

You wanted to suck him dry, wanted to swallow the goddamn soul out of him so he’d follow you around like a lost puppy for the rest of his life.

With a sudden tug on your hair, you were surprised when Mark pried you away from his cock and you asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to come like this.” His voice was shaking, strained like the rest of him.

Your heart fluttered. Did that mean… he wanted to come inside you? With you?

You let Mark pull you close and finally kiss you. His arms around you were painfully tight, trapping you to him, and his mouth on your lips was hurried and hungry.

“Mark?”

He willed himself to stop, his eyes misty and dazed. “Yeah?”

You slipped your arms over his shoulders and nibbled at your lip nervously. “Why didn’t you want to keep going when we were in that closet together?”

Mark frowned. “Do you think about that night too?”

Too? Your heart somersaulted again and again. “All the time,” you confessed in a tiny, embarrassed whisper.

That was oddly comforting. It meant things between you weren’t one-sided, after all.

Mark shifted a little underneath you, but his grip remained strong and secure. He wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon. “I was afraid that I’d finish too fast and wouldn’t make you feel good,” he finally said.

Your entire body relaxed. You let out a laugh at your own stupidity and fear. “That’s all?” You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head. “I thought it was because… you didn’t like me enough.”

Mark gawked. “Are you kidding?”

You looked at him sadly and he finally realized how much you’d been doubting him over a misunderstanding.

Mark said your name tenderly. “I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you too,” you said with a big, overjoyed smile, barely getting the words out before Mark smashed his lips on yours.

He didn’t hesitate to scoop you up and put you on the bed underneath him, and you spread your legs, inviting him in, over the moon that you were finally going to get to have him. Mark brushed his hand over your clothed breasts and down your stomach, unbuckling your pants then slipping his hand inside and cupping your sex.

Kissing all the while, you stripped out of your shirt and bra as he played with your entrance, toying with the idea of pressing a finger inside, but not quite ready.

You had no idea what he was waiting for. Your walls were aching, clenching on nothing. You bucked your hips into his hand when he teased over your clit.

“You’re so wet,” Mark whispered, his fingers sliding back and forth between your folds, gathering your arousal. His eyes were on your naked breasts and he couldn’t help but lean in and suck a nipple into his mouth.

“Mark,” you called, earning a tiny grunt in response. He had no idea he was killing you. “Take my damn pants off.”

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He withdrew his hand, sat up, and immediately went for the waistband of your jeans. You were running on empty where patience was concerned, helping him get your pants and underwear off.

Finally naked, you grabbed his hand and steered his fingers back to your pussy, giving him a quick nod.

Mark was salivating at you beneath him, your thighs spread open. He pushed his finger into your cunt and pumped inside, and when you mewled his name, he added another, feeling your walls clench on his digits.

“Shit,” he said, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to last a goddamn second in your tight, wet heat.

“Like that, baby,” you purred, gripping onto the blankets beneath you, arching your hips a little with his movements.

Mark sat between your legs and fucked you with his fingers, his free hand kneading and teasing at your breasts and nipples. You sighed out a moan and your eyes fluttered closed. As bad as you wanted sex, you didn’t want to rush him. And his hands felt so fucking good.

Mark forgot all about his performance anxiety and zeroed his attention on you. He’d forgotten how much he loved your moans and how desperately he wanted to get you off. Seeing your face stitch with pleasure made his cock stiffen even harder, so hard the tip leaked with precum. Mark found your sweet spot and hooked his fingers, picking up the pace when you moaned his name.

Your toes curled. You felt like you’d been edged for hours. Mark latched his lips around your nipple again and sucked, fucking into you with his long fingers, your pussy so slick with arousal you could feel it slipping down your folds.

“Fuck,” you swore, out of breath. You were too close, so close it was on the tip of your tongue, and you realized you didn’t want to come like this either. You batted at his hand and said, “Mark, get in me now. Now.”

Mark withdrew his hand and scrambled to his knees. His body was on autopilot as you begged for him, and he would deny you nothing you wanted. Mark spread your legs apart, bent your knees, and guided himself inside you.

You cried out his name and bowed against the bed, clinging to his arms as he sheathed himself to the hilt and started thrusting the moment he felt you open up for him.

“Goddamnit.” Mark knew he was fucked and shivered at your walls clamping down on his cock. “Shit.” Your body loved him; so tight and wet and hot around his cock. He let out a moan at finally being buried inside you and rocked his hips back and forth, sinking into you hard and slow.

You dug your nails into his back and matched his movements, drawing him into you hungrily. There was a very audible wet slap each time he pressed flush against your folds. “Fuck me, baby,” you whined, dragging your fingers down his chest. “I’m so close.”

He tossed the long hair out of his eyes and his face tensed with restraint. “If I go faster, I’m gonna come.”

“Then come.”

Mark groaned, driving his cock into you at a pace that built and built until his strokes were merciless, making you cry out with every breath you took, desperate for oxygen and release. You hooked your thighs on his hips and tangled your arms through his, lost in him, drowning in him.

“Mm, you feel so good,” you choked as he snatched the strength from your voice with thrusts that jarred your whole body. “And you were worried you wouldn’t make me feel good.”

“I’m not worried anymore,” Mark replied, looking down where your bodies met. With the way you writhed, Mark knew he was on the right track, tilting his hips to make sure he was digging at your sweet spot.

You shivered when he draped over you and you felt his lips brush over your cheek. Your breasts were pressed to his chest now and Mark hooked your leg in his arm. He tightened his hold on you, crushing you beneath his weight, and kissed you ravenously, your mouths open as you both panted.

Mark stopped drawing his hips back to plunge into you again and again. Instead, he stayed deep inside and started grinding into you, rolling his hips. You immediately peered up at him, surprised by the change of pace, but realizing he was out to finish you.

“M-Mark,” you stammered, gripping his arms. He fucked you on the squeaky mattress and made the van sway. Not that either of you noticed. Or cared.

Mark’s voice was a low, gentle growl, knocking down the last of the walls around your heart, your guard completely destroyed. “Come for me, baby.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was back; the edge, the very cusp of ecstasy. Your walls burned and the knot inside you clenched, ready to snap.

His hand tangled in your hair. His pace leveled, drawing his hips back and slamming his cock into you, never letting you recover. Mark pressed a kiss to your cheek and the corner of your mouth, then tugged on your hair. “Come. Fucking come all over my cock.”

“Oh god,” was all you managed to get out as your vision went dark and the pleasure spread from between your thighs to every corner of your body. Your own voice sounded distant as your ears rang and you tightened on Mark so hard his thrusts staggered.

Mark coaxed you through the high, keeping his pace steady, groaning deep in his throat at your pussy gripping his cock. All the nights he fisted his dick and thought of you, and nothing he’d ever imagined came remotely close to the real thing.

A mangled moan spilled from your lips and your body was finally yours again. You didn’t realize how desperately you were clinging to Mark until you came back to your senses. Your hands were on his ribs, your nails leaving tiny crescents in his skin.

“Fuck,” you sighed, blinking to clear your vision.

“Damn, baby,” Mark teased, stealing a kiss just as you began to giggle.

As you sucked on his tongue in your mouth, you reached for his hips and grinded yourself against him, earning a soft groan of pleasure. Meeting his eyes, you whispered, “Your turn.”

Mark propped himself over you and pumped his cock in your slick pussy, still pulsing with aftershocks. Internally, Mark was praising himself for not blowing his load the moment you started coming, but Jeno had been kind enough to warn him beforehand to stick with a rhythm that wouldn’t fuck him up in the vice of your body.

“Mark,” you crooned, pulling him down for a reassuring kiss. “Do what you gotta do. I can take it.”

Mark wanted to ask if you were absolutely sure about that. He wanted to be a gentleman, but he was in no position to argue with you. Knowing you were satisfied, that he had gotten you off, which was the biggest of his worries, made him hyper aware of how good you felt and how badly he wanted to find release inside you.

You bit your lip as he sped up, holding onto him for dear life. Mark gripped the edge of the bed tight as he fucked you, moaning and swearing in an endless cycle until finally he thrust in deep and painted your walls with cum, rutting his cock inside to get out every last drop.

Then he collapsed onto you like dead weight, making you squeak in surprise, but you weren’t complaining. You smiled and closed your eyes, and focused on catching your breath.

Mark began to stir and you ran a hand into his hair. Turning his head slightly, you dragged your lips over his jaw and said, “Don’t leave me yet.”

Never. Mark groaned. He dared not pull out yet, especially with how your legs were wound snugly over his, but he suddenly lifted his head and looked down at you with wide eyes. “Did we just make a baby?”

You snorted. “I’m on birth control, silly.”

Mark blew out a breath in relief. “Fuck. You made me lose my mind. I wasn’t thinking straight at all.”

“Good to know I have that kind of power over you,” you teased, touching his cheek affectionately before cascading your hands down his back, feeling him shiver as you did. Then you reeled your hand back and gave his plump ass cheek a smack.

Mark laughed and it was the most adorable thing you’d ever heard.

Eventually, he pulled out of you and flopped over at your side, his eyes still hazy. “That was…”

“Great,” you finished for him.

“Yes.”

“Amazing.”

“Also yes,” Mark said with a tiny snicker. He propped his head on his hand and stared at you excitedly. “Let’s do it again.”

“Sure,” you replied, grinning. It was such a pain that he could be so damn endearing. “What day works for you?”

He shook his head. “Now. I meant now.”

Your lips parted. “You’re hard again already?” You glanced down to see his cock standing at attention and you couldn’t help but gawk.

“Yeah?” To say Mark was happy to have impressed you was an understatement. It was your fault he started getting hard again. Feeling your skin under his fingertips, seeing your breasts rise and fall just from breathing… did he need to go on?

“Oh my god,” you growled, climbing onto him without hesitation.

Mark kissed you playfully, hands settling on your ass.

“I want to be on top this time,” you told him, pushing your hair back and rolling your hips as his cock slid between your folds.

“Oh, hell yeah. I’ve never been ridden before.”

You almost burst into laughter at that, and steered him into your entrance, sinking down on him slowly.

Outside, Haechan passed the blunt back to Jeno and smoke billowed from his lips as he said, “I’ve never felt so happy for someone other than me to get laid.”

“Word.”

The two sat on a wooden bench against the wall of the back of the club. Haechan tilted his head, watching the van rock from side-to-side, followed by Mark’s muffled moans. “We could get a hit album out of this,” he said offhandedly.

Jeno bobbed his head, taking another long drag. “You think a nut will cure his writer’s block?”

“It cured mine.”

Jeno chuckled, handing Haechan the joint.

“At least they’ll stop crying over each other. This will take the edge off all those annoying feelings.”

“Or it will make them worse.”

Haechan sighed. “You’re right. She’s going to panic after this. After she realizes they’re in love, but can’t do anything about it right now.”

“And he’s going to walk around with a broken heart,” Jeno said, cocking his head. “You’re right too. We will get a hit album out of this.”

Haechan snorted.

Eventually, the van door opened and Mark stumbled out, wearing only his sweatpants. Round two had lasted much longer than round one, which accounted for the smug yet disheveled look on his face. “What day is it?” Mark joked, running a hand through his messy hair.

Haechan offered him the joint while Jeno retorted, “How the fuck should we know?”

Mark inhaled and coughed out smoke loudly, making his friends chuckle.

“I’m thinking the next album should be called ‘Pussy Power’,” said Haechan with that mischievous grin of his.

“‘Pussy Power’,” you echoed, stepping out of the van wearing Mark’s shirt. You took the offered blunt from his fingers and tilted your head back, sighing out the smoke. “I like it.”

“You would,” Jeno said dryly, noting the wobble in your step.

“You should,” sang Mark, his eyes full of stars.

You smiled at him, brushing your hand over his shoulder before heading back into the van to get warm again.

Mark looked back to his friends who were watching him expectantly, and said, “She rode me.”

“We heard," mumbled Jeno.

Haechan added, "You owe us. Big time."

Mark’s cheeks were extra rosy. He scratched his head awkwardly and followed you back inside the van, closing the door behind him. You were surprised when he rushed up behind you and tangled his arms around your waist, steering you to face him.

You kissed him back when he pressed his lips to yours, over and over, things heating up again inside the van.

Mark thought he would be content with a kiss, but then he wanted another. His heart started to race and his pulse began to throb, among other things.

But as usual, his mouth got in the way. “What are we?” Mark blurted.

“A bunch of horny teenagers,” you replied between kisses.

“I meant you and me.”

“I know what you meant.”

Mark broke away, locking eyes with you. He wanted a real answer.

You exhaled loudly. “You can’t ask me that right now.”

His brows stitched. “Why not?”

You slipped away from him, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and answered gently, “Because we still have two months of driving around as a band.”

“The band comes first,” Mark said in defeat.

You nodded.

Mark was disappointed, but he took it like a champ. At least, he tried to. The sadness in his eyes was soul-crushing.

You watched him approach you and sink to his knees between your legs, getting his arms around you again. You took his face in your hands tenderly and kissed him. “Ask me again when we get home.”

He nodded.

You kissed him a little more intensely and whispered, “Promise me you’ll ask.”

“I promise,” Mark said firmly, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “When the summer is over, you’re all mine.”

I was already yours, Mark. And I would be yours until the day I died.

Copyright 2020-2024 © yutaholic (formerly zenyukhei) All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!

[forays-into-fiction]

When It Rains, It Pours

This is a follow up/part 2 to Why Don’t You Put on a Show as a couple people have requested (@maystecc and @edsforehead​). I hope you enjoy. This one definitely got away from me, it is way longer than I intended and a whole lot filthier too 😅

Minors DNI 

Contains: Rockstar!Eddie x Reader, Honorifics/ Petnames (Sir, Babe, Baby, Sweetheart, Princess), Not So Dry Humping, This One is A Lot Heavier on Oral Fixation, Finger Sucking, Oral (Male and Female Recieving), Cum Swallowing/Eating. Dom!Eddie/Sub!Reader, Degradation/Name-calling (Slut, Cockslut, Whore), Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Unprotected Sex, Slight Domesticity 

Eddie had told you not to read the article, it wasn’t like he had himself, but curiosity gets the better of you one day. While he’s out you sneak into the bedroom, feeling like an intruder in your own home. You know where he’s been keeping the magazine, you know he uses it sometimes when you’re not around. 

It still surprises you how much these photos turn him on, sometimes more it seems than some of the photos you’ve taken of yourself. You suppose it’s the added thrill of everyone else in the world also ogling your scantily clad frame, that does something for you too that you still can’t explain. 

He taunts you with it sometimes, about how you’re ‘such a whore… want all the guys looking at you’ as he thrusts into you with abandon more forceful with each stroke. You love how he can go from degrading to tender in a heartbeat, it sets you aflame like no one else has.

Flipping through the pages you note some sticky stains on the photos of you, hastily wiped away, though the pages still have some resistance when pulled apart. You shake your head, of course he would, you still feel a heat rising in your cheeks though. You get to the article, taking a steadying breath, closing your eyes briefly before opening them and perusing the words.

Meeting with Eddie Munson and y/n y/l/n has been an experience to say the least. We begin the interview with Munson as y/l/n is escorted away for her photoshoot, he offers up information on the band, Corroded Coffin, and their sudden rise to fame explaining how “… it’s something I never could have expected. I mean sure it’s what everyone wants when they’re in a band, right… but the response has just been mind blowing.” 

When asked about all the female attention he’s been getting he becomes dismissive, saying that “None of that really means anything… they’re only interested because I’m the new guy on the scene… it’s bound to blow over and I’ve got the perfect girl waiting for me at home…” 

He reveals that he’s been working on new material for the band, so everyone keep an eye out for the next Corroded Coffin album. He can’t say when it’ll be hitting the shelves, but assured me it will be soon. 

When y/l/n returns the two behave like a pair of lovesick puppies, high school sweethearts who can barely keep their hands off one another. Always kissing or touching in some way, but how long will that last before the strain of celebrity status brings them crashing back down to Earth. Munson is adamant that nothing could ever change and that he’s never been tempted by any of his fangirls, saying “… I love my fans, but that is never happening.” 

In relation to her celebrity status y/l/n may be quoted, “It has been a wild ride. I don’t really know why anyone is interested in me […] I’m just […] his little groupie” It is interesting to note that she thinks so little of herself, having to be reassured by her boyfriend that “[…] she is so much more than that.” 

The pair first met back in Hawkins High, the super senior Munson needing help with his studies. Y/l/n recalls a tender moment of admiration, “He was sat on his bed strumming on his guitar along to a song […] He’d said it was some new song by Metallica he was trying to learn I just couldn’t look away, I remember thinking ‘how could someone be this pretty’”

Munson begins teasing at this and the pair share a childish moment, ribbing one another. 

As to how their relationship affects the band Munson has nothing but good things to say, insisting that she is his inspiration. While y/l/n clams she “[…] just wants whatever’s best for them, whatever that entails.” and admiring their hard work. 

It is here however that the pair turn sour, inexplicably. Storming off in a rage, inconsolable. This does not bode well, perhaps indicating early signs of cracks in the relationship. At the very least it’s a sore subject, we wouldn’t want a repeat of the Lennon/Ono drama. 

With the interview coming to an abrupt end, we are left with many unanswered questions on just who Eddie Munson’s mystery girl truly is, but some light has been shed on her today. In this inescapable whirlwind of fame more details are likely to come to light soon enough. In the meantime, sorry fans your heartthrob guitarist seems to be well and truly smitten with his girlfriend. Fingers crossed they can stand the test of time.

He was right they did twist your words and make jabs at you and your relationship, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt in the moment. People can read into that however they wish, you think to yourself, deciding you’re not going to let it get to you any further than it has.

 “Hey babe, I’m home.” You hear Eddie’s voice calling out to you, closer than you would have expected.

You scramble to shove the magazine back in the drawer before he enters the room.

He walks through the doorway, tossing his jacket over the end of the bedframe. He spots you kneeling on the floor by his bedside table, you look up at him guiltily.

“Uh, babe what are you doing down there?” He grins at you in amusement before realising, “Oh, babe no you didn’t read it, did you?”

You nod biting your lip anxiously, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It’s ok… I mean it’s not like I love what he wrote about us but I can deal with it.”

“You sure?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I think it was just a lot worse in person because that made it more real, more personal. This… this is just words on a page. Who cares?” You assure him with a shrug.

He extends his hand to you, “Come on, up you get… unless…” he raises his brows suggestively smirking.

You look up at him curiously, “Unless what?”

“Unless while your down there-”

You cut him off chuckling and grabbing his hand, pulling yourself up, “God, you really are insatiable, aren’t you?”

“What can I say sweetheart…” he shrugs, “… sometimes I’ve just got a one-track mind, especially when it comes to you.”

“Such a pervert more like,” you tease playfully, “come on we should get started on dinner.”

“Oh, you wound me.” He sighs dramatically, clutching at his chest. “Am I not more than just some lowly pervert, do I not deserve your love and affection.”

You scoff at him, “Ok mister ‘love and affection’ I’ll suck your dick later.” You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, sealing your promise.

“I fucking love you.” He breathes out pulling you back in for a heated, more passionate kiss, capturing your lips between his own.

You break apart, “I love you too, now come on, my darling Sou chef we have work to do before you can get your dick wet.” You lick your lips teasingly, eyeing him up and down.

He groans, “Don’t know how I’m gonna make it through dinner when you look at me like that.”

You giggle, leading him out of the bedroom, hand clasped in your own.

You have him chopping vegetables as you prepare a pot on the stove, working back-to-back, “Those potatoes done, babe?” You call over your shoulder.

“Yep, just one second…” he scoops the chopped and peeled potatoes into a bowl, spinning around to hand them to you. As you drop them into the pot of water, he presses up against you, ducking his head to the slope of your neck kissing you softly. You lean into him for a moment before remembering the task at hand and tutting at him, “Hey, come on after dinner, ok? Get back to work.” You try to sound stern but you can’t help the grin that’s breaking out across your face, you’re just as eager to get on your knees for him. Been thinking about it since the moment he suggested it, practically dripping with need.

He smirks against your skin, “Mhmm… whatever you say babe.”

He breaks away reluctantly and you let out an involuntary whine at the loss of contact. He chuckles at you before commenting smugly, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

But, dutifully he continues helping you prep the meal.

As you place the dish into the oven setting a timer, he clings to your apron strings needily. You decide to put him out of his misery giving him his much-earned affection. He pushes into you insistently as you turn and embrace him, you can feel his thick, hard cock against you and your lips meet in a searing kiss.

You pull back slightly, offering breathily, “We’ve got forty minutes until that needs to come out, you wanna…”

“What happened to ‘after dinner’?” His self-satisfied grin taunting you.

“Well, you may have a one-track mind when it comes to me but that goes both ways, you know?”

“Awww, you can’t hold out, can you?” He teases as if he wasn’t just hovering over you ready to pounce.

You pout at him, “I could if I wanted to. You’re the one whose already hard up over nothing.”

“Oh yeah, and if I dip my fingers between your legs, I’m not going to find a soaking mess, am I?”

You blush looking away, he’s called your bluff and he knows it. Stepping closer and pushing you against the counter, you gasp as you make contact with it, your hands bracing against the edge.

He caresses the side of your face, bringing your eyes to his. His fingertips trace your jaw before coming up to the curve of your lips. He doesn’t need to say anything, you part your lips and his fingers slip in, first one, then another as you slobber all over them. Sucking and swirling your tongue around his digits he adds a third and you moan around them.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. You like that don’t ya?” His deep, rumbly voice sends a shiver down your spine and you nod in response.

He chuckles darkly, “Gonna give you something else to wrap those pretty lips around soon, you want that?”

“Mhmmm…” You mumble around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin.

He drags his fingers out of your mouth slowly with a lewd, wet slurp escaping your lips, leaving you a sloppy, drooling mess. You huff out shallow breaths, your chest heaving as his eyes rake over you.

“Always such a pretty little whore for me, love how much of a mess you make of yourself.” He hums.

You whine pathetically, looking up at him through your lashes, “Can I… can I suck your dick now, sir?”

He decides to have some fun with it, pretending to pause in thought as if he has to consider it.

You sink to your knees before him, hands coming up to rest at his hips, “Please… please, sir.” You beg with a pout.

He hums, “Well… since you asked so nicely… I’m gonna have to say yes.”

Your hands are quick to jump to his belt, undoing it hurriedly as you mumble, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou…”

Despite his cocky demeanour, Eddie still finds it hard to believe that he could ever be so lucky as to have someone like you, kneeling at his feet begging to suck his cock, thanking him for it too.

You roll down his jeans and boxers together in one motion to be met with the sight of his ruddy, leaking cock.

You admire it for a moment as he reaches down a hand to glide over it. The same one that had just been in your mouth, spreading your drool and his precum over its length. He growls lowly, “You see what you do to me sweetheart? And you expect me to wait? Nuh uh go ahead now I want you to take it all.”

You nod licking at his heavy balls for a moment before running your tongue along his length. You repeat this a few times, tracing over bulging veins before finally coming up to his tip swirling your tongue around it and enveloping it between your lips. You look up at him, his eyes half-lidded, head thrown back panting softly between pursed lips. As you take more of him into your mouth he groans encouragingly, “Yeah, just like that. Take all of it in for me.”

You continue until your nose brushes against the hair at his base, balls resting against your chin, you breathe in his musky scent. You whine around him and his hand comes down to stroke the back of your head, “Such a good girl… such a good little slut for me…”

You begin bobbing up and down along his length, breathing harshly from your nose and flooding your already wet panties. When his hips begin to thrust shallowly and you feel his length twitch against your tongue, he gives you a little warning tap on the shoulder. You know he’s close, you double down your efforts rolling his balls in the palm of your hand, hollowing your cheeks more firmly as he gasps above you.

“Babe, please I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum soon.” He pants out.

And that is in fact your goal, you want him to cum deep down your throat. You moan around him, swallowing him down greedily.

Both his hands drop to your shoulders gripping them tightly as he thrusts forward just a little more, his cock pulses in your mouth as a steady stream of cum hits the back of your throat. You gulp down as much as you can, some trickles from the corners of your mouth as he pulls out shakily. You scoop it up with a finger pushing the rest into your mouth, sucking it down with a moan, eyes fluttering closed. You suckle on your own fingers a little longer than necessary before he’s pulling you up from the ground to face him. He eases your hand out of your mouth and presses his lips to your own, tasting himself on you as your lips part inviting him in.

His forehead rest against your own as his lips break away from yours to mumble, “Fuck, that was amazing.”

You hum in response.

His hand trails down between you, slipping under your apron he teases the skin at the top of your waistband. You reach behind yourself, tugging on the apron strings until they come apart and you let the fabric fall to the ground between you. He grins, pushing his hand into your pants rubbing you over your ruined panties, “What did I say, huh… you’re absolutely soaked. Is that what sucking dick does for you? Or was it just thinking about it that got you worked up?”

You whine, squirming against his hand as he presses it into your puffy lips and circles your swollen clit.

“You gonna answer me, or are you that cockdrunk?”

You nod finally managing to speak up, “Yeah, I was wet just thinking about it… the whole time we were… we were cooking… I just… I just…”

He continues pressing circles into your folds firmly, putting on a soothing voice he whispers in your ear, “Oh, sweetheart it’s ok… I know...”

But he follows this with a dark chuckle, “I have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.” His touch recedes somewhat until he’s just barely brushing his fingertips against you.

You whine desperately, hips pressing forward searching for more contact, but he pulls away completely. Moving to tuck himself away he pulls up his pants.

“You said you could hold out if you wanted, well I think I’m just going to make you.”

Your eyes widen, your hand coming to grip his arm, “Please, no. I’ve been good, please sir.”

“Ah, ah no amount of begging is gonna change my mind. You wanted me to wait ‘til after dinner. You thought you could make it that long too. So, it stands to reason that you should be able to now, right?”

“No, please.” You all but sob out.

He caresses your cheek, “Awww, baby I think you can do it… for me?”

Now he’s gone and done it, he had to utter those magic words. You sigh, mumbling softly in agreement, “For you.”

He grins broadly, “That’s my good girl. Now the oven still has a little more than twenty minutes left, how about we clean up here and set the table.”

“Ok.” You reply, pouting and hanging your head.

Kitchen tidied, table set, you’ve been squirming the whole way, your slick cooling against you a constant reminder. The buzz of the timer going off snaps you to attention. You fumble with a tea towel moving to get the dish from the oven but Eddie stops you with a hand on your arm.

“Here let me get that, you just sit your pretty little butt down at the table and I’ll bring it over.”

You do as he says sitting in your spot, you begin rocking back and forth against the seat beneath you, almost unconsciously seeking some relief. When Eddie brings out the food he narrows his eyes at you, mouth turning down. He admonishes you, “Hey none of that now, I know you can control yourself.”

Your hips halt in their motions, you look up at him apologetically, “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“That’s better.” He piles food onto your plate before serving himself.

You protest, “Hey, that’s way too much! I can’t finish all that!”

“If you don’t finish your dinner, you don’t get your ‘dessert’.”

“But we didn’t make any dessert… oh, oooh.” You hum in realisation.

He chuckles at you, maintaining his domineering attitude “You can be such a dumb little cockslut sometimes, can’t you?”

You whine at him, “Not fair, you know I’m… distracted at the moment.”

“Oh, I know baby. Now come on and eat your food.”

“Please take some off my plate, I can’t. You know I already ate a little before.” A little smirk threatens to break through.

He falls for your bait, asking, “Hmmm, what’s that? What did you eat sweetheart?”

“Your cum… your cock… your fingers. Don’t you remember? You stuffed me so full, don’t even know how I can manage another bite of anything.” You tease, batting your eyelashes at him.

He groans, “Don’t be cheeky now or I’ll make you wait even longer.”

“Please, just take some off my plate. I promise I’ll finish it.”

He concedes holding out his hand for your plate, “Alright, give it here.”

He scoops what should have been the rest of his portion onto his plate before handing it back and tucking in.

You wolf down your food any sense of decorum out the window and he lets you, eyes glittering in amusement as he takes his time savouring every bite.

You finish long before he does, you know he’s dragging it out on purpose, you know that’s why he initially piled your plate so high. You huff crossing your arms over your chest, trying to subtly squeeze your thighs together, but it provides little relief.

He gives an exaggerated groan, eyes fluttering shut, tossing back his head as he swallows, “God this is amazing, babe. You really outdid yourself with dinner.”

“Oh, shut up you ass and just finish eating already. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing. We both know what you’re doing.” You huff.

He smirks back at you, clutching his chest dramatically, “Me? I’m perfectly innocent. Just enjoying this wonderful meal my gorgeous girl and I prepared. Can’t I do that?”

“It’s probably fucking cold by now just hurry up.” You grumble back.

“Yeah, it is, but you’re not cold, are you? Still all hot and bothered for me?” He teases.

You ball up a napkin and throw it at his face, “You’re mean. You’re so mean. If you keep this up, I may just have to go take care of myself.”

He growls at you, “You wouldn’t dare, you know I’ll punish you if you do.”

You poke your tongue out at him, “So what if you do? I can take it!”

He takes on a warning tone, “Easy now, don’t wanna go saying something you’ll regret. Just be a little more patient, I’m almost done.”

You roll your eyes, “Ugh, fine.”

You are quite literally on the edge of your seat when he takes his final bite, still he takes his time placing his cutlery on the plate gently, taking a sip of his drink, dabbing at the corners of his mouth daintily with a napkin. You’d laugh if you weren’t so frustrated, you rise from your seat grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of his chair towards the bedroom.

“Babe, what about the dishes?” He asks in mock protest with a chuckle.

“Forget the fucking dishes I need you right now!” You growl at him.

“Oh, princess needs me now does she? Well, I am happy to oblige.” He allows himself to be led to the bed and you shove him down forcefully, pushing him to lie back with a palm on his chest.

Moving to straddle him before he can react, grinding down on his crotch you can feel his dick straining at his jeans, his cocky little smirk never dropping. You can’t even think of a smart-assed remark regarding his situation, whining desperately as you rub against the rough denim between you, “God, fuck… yes finally.”

He grabs your hips slowing their movements, “Easy now sweetheart, take your time.”

Your hips fight against his grip so he brings them to a complete stop, “Oh, you… you…” you whine, you know what he wants, you know what he’s waiting to hear. You let out a desperate little moan looking down at him, biting your lip before continuing, “Please, sir. Please I waited so long… I was good for you, wasn’t I?”

“That’s it sweetheart, beg for me. Beg to ride my cock.”

“Please let me have it. I need it… I need you… only you.”

“Alright, go on take it out.” You don’t hesitate in undoing his belt and rolling down his pants and boxers to his knees once more as his grip on you loosens.

“Enjoy your reward, you were such a good girl for me. You waited so long, I’m so proud of you.” He croons as you lift your hips from his rucking down your own pants and underwear leaving them tangled around one of your ankles losing patience along the way.

You line up his cock with your weeping hole and he slides right in, all too easily as you moan wantonly.

“Tell me… tell me again how good I was for you, Eddie. Please.” You plead as you bounce along his length, the hair at his base tickling against your swollen clit.

“Oh, sweetheart you were perfect. Such a good little slut, taking everything I give you.”

“God, yes! Fingers please…” You wail and he offers you his hand.

You grasp his wrist pulling his first two fingers in your mouth, suckling on them greedily, drooling and moaning around them.

He takes his free hand to press tight little circles into your clit, bucking up into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He growls at you, “God, look at you, taking everything I give you and then some. My perfect little slut.”

Your walls begin to tighten around him, pleasure courses through you sending tingles throughout your body.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

You cry out, your moans muffled by his fingers as your walls flutter around him soaking his cock with your cum. You collapse limply in his arms, breathing heavily as his fingers slip out from between your lips. He continues thrusting up into you, brushing your hair out of your face as he croons, “Oh, that was a big one, wasn’t it sweetheart? See, holding out was worth it, wasn’t it?”

His hands move to grip your hips, you’re still experiencing aftershocks barely registering his words. Still dripping all over him, it runs down his length and over his balls as he groans, “I’m gonna cum too, babe. Can you feel how wet you got me… ugh God wish I could taste it… maybe I will, maybe once I’m done, I’ll eat my cum out of you along with all of yours… you want that?”

You whimper at the stream of filth coming from him, nodding your head against him.

“Yeah, you do. I know my dirty girl. God, fuck… I’m cumming!” He cries out, hips still pistoning away as he floods your cunt with his warm, thick release.

His head drops bumping against your own, you can feel his heart pounding away in his chest as it rises and falls with his ragged breaths.

“Fuck, babe I should keep you on edge more often, you couldn’t even wait to get out of our clothes properly.” He chuckles as his dick slips out of you, your combined fluids slowly dribbling from your entrance. He rolls his jeans off all the way, from underneath you.

“Please, babe I can’t even think straight right now.” You whine back in response.

“That’s right, ‘cause I got you fucked dumb and stuffed full of cum.” He teases, giggling “Hey, that rhymes, ‘fucked dumb and stuffed full of cum’ maybe that’ll be our next song, whatta ya think? Another dedication to you?”

“Oh my God, you are horrible, you know that?” You exclaim disentangling your own pants from your leg to join his at the base of the bed.

“Oh, am I now?” He flips you over, pausing only to remove both of your shirts.

He grins up at you as he positions his head between your sticky thighs. His long curls tickling your legs, he continues, “Are you still, gonna think I’m ‘horrible’ when I’m eating our cum out of your pretty little pussy?”

You don’t even get a chance to answer as he dives in, obscenely slurping up everything your messy cunt has to offer. Your response dies on your lips as he draws a strung-out moan from you with his ministrations. Dragging his tongue all over you, between your folds, along your thighs, delving down between your asscheeks a little. You’re trembling beneath him still sensitive from your last orgasm, when his tongue prods at your clit you scream, “No, stop no please… it’s too much I can’t take it Eddie…”

He pauses looking up at you his chin glistening in a mixture of drool and your combined cum, “You know your safeword sweetheart, if you need to use it go ahead. Otherwise, ’m not stopping ‘til I get at least one more from you, you can do that can’t you? Cum for me, just one more time… for me?” He gives you the most adorable pout and you can’t resist, biting your lip and nodding with a pathetic whine.

He grins devilishly, “That’s my girl.”

Before you know it, his lips are at your entrance once more, tongue delving in deep, giving your poor little clit some respite. His hands clamp down on your trembling thighs keeping you spread wide open as he fucks you on his tongue, you whine above him twisting your hands into his hair, pulling slightly. He growls into you and his tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking at it and sucking hard, you pull even harder on his locks but he persists. You writhe beneath him screaming out in pleasure and pain as he works your oversensitive nub.

“Please… pleasepleaseplease…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, unsure if you want him to stop this torture or continue ‘til you’re gushing all over his tongue.

He continues nevertheless, grinning into you and bringing one hand to press into your soft, spongy walls, grazing over you repeatedly in just the right spot. Your hips rise off the mattress pressing into his face as an overwhelming sensation courses through you, clamping down on his digits you feel a stream of hot liquid squirting out of you, dousing him and the bed beneath you.

You collapse back down on the bed panting and shaking like never before.

He sits up gaping down at you, “Holy shit babe, you just fucking squirted. Jesus H Christ I wanna do that again!”

He moves to tackle you but you manage to hold him back with a hand to his chest, “Enough, let me catch my breath.”

He knows when to back off and does so with a pout. Moving to sit beside you and pulling you to lean against his chest, he runs a hand through your hair soothingly, humming a tune in your ear.

“Still think I’m ‘horrible’?” He asks softly.

“Oh, the worst, absolutely incorrigible, but I love you anyway.” You smile up at him.

“God, I love you too, babe.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“We gonna clean up?” You ask a little reluctant to actually get up, savouring the skin-to-skin contact you share with him.

“Nah, let’s just sit here for a bit, enjoy the afterglow. Still can’t believe you actually squirted… that was… we have to do that again.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, “Save it for next time rockstar.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, you sigh contentedly.