#INTIMACY NEXT WEEK (INFIDELITY) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seungminsbaldspot · 5 months ago

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Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 3843

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years, Reader is referred to as female and wife

Trigger Warnings:, Infidelity: References to a character cheating and the emotional impact it causes, Emotional Betrayal: Feelings of trust being broken and the pain of betrayal, Toxic Relationship Dynamics: Depiction of a complicated and strained relationship, with emotional manipulation and conflicting feelings, Emotional Turmoil: Intense emotions of anger, sadness, frustration, and regret, Unresolved Grief: Characters grappling with loss and the potential end of a long-term relationship, Verbal Conflict: Arguments and heated exchanges between characters, Emotional Manipulation: Attempt by a character to sway or emotionally influence another through their actions or words, Physical Intimacy Amidst Conflict: Depictions of physical closeness that occurs within the context of unresolved emotional pain, Feelings of Guilt and Shame: Characters experiencing intense regret and self-blame for their actions, Unwanted Advances: Physical intimacy that happens despite conflicting feelings, creating a sense of discomfort, and Psychological Distress: Expressions of mental strain, confusion, and fear of loss.

Author��s note: only one more part left !!

Taglist:(comment if you wanna be added) @fate-posts @zukki33 @nightfurya @lethergy @wingoodlilboymyway @hxllhxund @stxrg3m @bigbobass

Spoiler: All you get is, there will be a part 5

Click here for the next part, Part Five, The finale!

Click here for the previous part, Part Three!

The break has honestly been strange. Five and you no longer speak, but the echoes of what you once had still linger. The house feels emptier, quieter, as if the absence of his presence has created a void that you can't quite fill. It's not just the lack of his voice or the absence of his touch—it's the way everything feels muted, as if the color has drained from your world.

Every day, you find yourself staring at him for far too long. When he's in the same room, it feels like an invisible tether pulls your gaze toward him. You catch glimpses of his familiar profile, the curve of his jaw, the way his hands move when he's deep in thought. There’s a haunting familiarity in his every gesture—a painful reminder of all the moments you shared, now tainted by betrayal and uncertainty.

He avoids your eyes, and you do the same, but the awareness of each other is a constant, almost unbearable presence. When you do accidentally meet his gaze, there’s a flicker of something—a brief, intense exchange of emotions neither of you can fully articulate. It's a mixture of longing, regret, and an unspoken understanding that things will never be the same.

Sometimes, you see him lingering in the hallway or catching a glimpse of you from across the room, his expression unreadable. You wonder if he's feeling the same emptiness, the same strange, hollow ache that you do. You wonder if he misses you—or if he’s relieved that you're giving each other space.

At night, you lie awake, listening to the silence, the emptiness of the bed beside you a stark reminder of what you’ve lost. You think about all the things you wish you could say to him—the questions that plague your mind, the confessions that weigh heavily on your heart. But the distance between you feels like a chasm, and you’re not sure how to bridge it.

You try to focus on other things, to distract yourself from the constant pull towards him. But it’s hard when he’s always there, just out of reach. It's like trying to forget a song that’s been stuck in your head for weeks—you can’t help but hum the tune, even when you don’t want to.

You sigh, trying to busy yourself in your room, cleaning, organizing—anything to occupy your mind. But no matter how many times you rearrange the shelves or sort through your clothes, you can’t escape the thoughts that consume you. Every task feels hollow, every moment a reminder of what you’re trying to avoid.

The days stretch on, each one blending into the next, a monotonous blur of empty hours and restless nights. You find yourself staring out the window, watching the world go by, feeling disconnected from everything around you. The silence in the house is deafening, broken only by the sound of your own thoughts, circling endlessly in your mind.

You try to focus on anything other than him, but it’s hard when his presence is everywhere. You catch glimpses of him in the hallway, the way he lingers by the door as if waiting for something—maybe for you to speak, maybe for a sign that things could go back to the way they were. But you’re not sure if that’s even possible anymore.

You hear a knock on your door. You sigh, a wave of nausea rolling over you. It seems like every time someone knocks at your bedroom door, that feeling of dread rises up in your throat, threatening to choke you. You already know who it is—there’s only one person who would bother to knock softly, who would linger just outside, hesitating before making his presence known.

For a moment, you consider ignoring it, pretending you’re not there. Maybe he’ll go away, maybe he’ll take the hint. But another knock, a little firmer this time, breaks the silence again, and you realize he’s not going to leave.

You drag yourself to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your hand hesitates on the doorknob, your heart pounding in your chest. You take a deep breath and pull the door open, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

Five stands there, his expression uncertain, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you might be feeling. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice strained and tired.

You nod in acknowledgment, standing awkwardly with your hand still gripping the edge of the door. The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. You want to ask him why he’s here, what he wants, but the words stick in your throat. It’s like every time you see him, your heart remembers both the love and the betrayal, and it’s paralyzing.

Five shifts his weight, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. “I—um, Lila got the paternity test done,” he stammers, the words hanging in the air like a loaded gun.

Your breath catches in your throat. “And?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper, dreading the answer but needing to know.

Five swallows hard, his face tense. "It’s Diego’s," he finally says, his voice soft but steady. "The baby... it’s Diego’s."

A rush of relief floods through you, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the complicated mess of emotions that follow. Anger, hurt, betrayal—they’re all still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You don’t know what to say, what to feel.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your grip loosening on the doorknob. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice shaking with a mix of emotions you can’t quite name. Five takes a small step forward, his eyes searching yours, hoping for some sign of what you’re thinking.

“Is there... is there any chance we could try to start over?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. You scrunch your eyes closed, a sigh escaping your lips. “Five, we’ve been together for decades,” you say, your voice heavy with emotion, “and you threw it all away for a few years of mistakes.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know. I know all too fucking well,” he replies, his voice thick with regret. The silence that follows is charged with the weight of everything unsaid, the enormity of what’s been lost hanging heavily between you.

After a long, tense pause, he finally breaks the silence. “Am I going to lose you?” His voice trembles, a raw edge of fear and desperation cutting through his words. You close your eyes, thinking.

You close your eyes, the weight of his question settling heavily on your shoulders. He’s your first—and only—love. He’s your husband, at least for now. The history you share, the memories, the years of life intertwined, all come rushing back, making it nearly impossible to think clearly.

You take a deep breath, trying to sift through the tangled emotions. “I.. Give me a reason not to leave.” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of hope and desperation.

Five’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of relief mixed with uncertainty crossing his face. He takes a step closer, his gaze earnest and intense. “Because I’m still in love with you,” he says softly, his voice cracking with emotion.

You shake your head, your resolve firm despite the turmoil inside. “That’s not good enough,” you reply, your voice tinged with frustration.

He sighs deeply, the weight of your words sinking in. Without hesitation, he steps forward and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you gently towards him. His touch sends a jolt through you, a mix of familiar comfort and renewed uncertainty. You want to push him away, to maintain the distance you’ve worked hard to create, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

“Then prove it,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and longing. “Show me that you’re willing to fight for us, to rebuild what we’ve lost.”

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that speaks of his determination and desperation. “I will,” he promises, his voice raw with sincerity. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... please, give me a chance to show you.

You sigh, the weight of his plea settling heavily on your shoulders. You nod slowly, the gesture filled with a mix of reluctant hope and cautious optimism. Five’s eyes soften with a flicker of relief, and before you can react, he leans in and kisses you.

The kiss is both tender and desperate, a blend of old familiarity and new vulnerability. It’s as if he’s trying to pour all his regrets, his hopes, and his love into that one moment. You feel a whirlwind of emotions—familiarity mingling with unresolved pain, love clashing with hurt. His lips linger against yours, seeking connection, reassurance, and redemption.

When he finally pulls away, his gaze is steady, filled with a mixture of hope and fear. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll show you—I promise.”

Before you can fully grasp his words, his lips are on yours again. His kiss deepens, passionate and urgent, as if he's trying to convey all the words left unsaid. You find yourself responding, your body remembering the familiar rhythm of his touch. This kiss is different—it's not like those nights when your anger and lust drove you to call him to your room, at least it didn't feel like it.

He pushes you back into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, fingers grazing the delicate fabric as he lifts it gently. The rustle of the material and the cool air against your skin send a shiver down your spine. His gaze is intense, a blend of desire and reverence as his eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission to proceed.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart racing with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. But as you look into Five's eyes, you see a depth of emotion that makes your resolve waver. Slowly, you nod, giving him the permission he seeks. His hands move with a gentle reverence, carefully lifting your shirt over your head, his fingers trailing along your skin as if rediscovering a long-lost treasure.

It’s different, different from then when you’d fuck him out of anger.

This time, there's a tenderness in his touch, a vulnerability in his eyes that speaks of regret and a desperate desire to make things right. As he leans in to kiss you again, you feel the weight of your shared history, the pain of recent betrayals, and a flickering hope for redemption all tangled together. His lips move against yours with a gentle urgency, as if he's trying to convey all the words he couldn't say, all the promises he wants to keep.

His hands move with practiced ease, cupping your covered breast with a gentle yet confident touch. The familiar gesture sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of anticipation and lingering uncertainty. With deft fingers, he skillfully unclasps your bra, the soft click of the fastener echoing in the charged silence between you. The fabric falls away, exposing your skin to the cool air, and you can't help but feel a flutter of vulnerability.

Five's touch is a paradox - both achingly familiar and thrillingly new. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, each caress charged with a potent blend of longing and silent apology. The pads of his fingers find your nipples, pinching them with just the right amount of pressure. It's a testament to your shared history, to all the intimate moments that have led to this perfect knowledge of your body. He's learned exactly how you like to be touched, during your time as fuck-buddies.

His lips begin a slow, sensuous journey down your neck, leaving a trail of soft, feather-light kisses in their wake. Each press of his lips against your skin ignites a spark of pleasure, making you shiver with growing desire. Despite the turmoil still swirling in your mind, your body responds to him instinctively, arching into his touch, seeking more of that exquisite contact.

Five's hands continue their gentle exploration, tracing the familiar contours of your body with a reverence that feels almost sacred. His touch is both an apology and a confession, filled with a passionate yearning to make things right. Each caress is an unspoken plea for forgiveness, as if he's trying to mend the fractures between you with the softness of his fingertips, attempting to rebuild the trust and intimacy that’s been shattered.

As his lips move against your neck, pressing soft kisses along your skin, you find yourself drifting back in time, remembering the first time you met. It hadn’t been like this. Far from it. You were rivals then, each too proud and stubborn to admit any attraction that simmered just beneath the surface of your bickering. You had hated him for his arrogance, his sharp wit that always seemed to cut too deep. But underneath all that resentment was a spark—one you had tried so hard to ignore.

And now, here you were, years later, both of you changed by time, by mistakes, by love, and by loss. The spark that once ignited between you had turned into a raging fire, burning everything in its path, leaving nothing untouched. You wonder if it’s possible to start over, to rebuild from the ashes of what was lost, or if this is just another attempt to grasp at something that can never be fully restored.

You think about the hurt—the betrayal that cut deeper than you ever thought possible. He slept with someone he’s known for far less time than he’s known you. The fucker made you his wife and still never touched you until after he had been with someone else—during your marriage, no less. The thought twists in your gut like a knife, the pain raw and fresh.

Your eyes clench shut, trying to push away the memories, the images that flicker behind your eyelids like a cruel reminder. The way his lips move against your skin now, the softness of his touch—it starts to burn. What once felt familiar and safe now feels foreign, wrong, tainted by everything that’s happened. You want to lose yourself in the comfort of his arms, to forget the betrayal, but the reality of it is too stark, too present.

The conflict within you intensifies with every passing second, each touch from Five a painful reminder of the two worlds you now inhabit—one built on years of love and shared memories, and the other tainted by betrayal and broken trust. His hands move with a tenderness that used to soothe you, but now they only stir up old wounds. You’re caught between the familiar comfort of his embrace and the urge to push him away, to protect yourself from more pain.

Your breath quickens as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions. You can’t just forget what happened, but the thought of losing him entirely is terrifying. You’re not sure if you can keep doing this, living in the middle ground between love and hate, between wanting to forgive and needing to protect yourself.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice shaky. You press your hands against his chest, pushing him back. He stops immediately, his brows furrowing with confusion.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice soft, cautious.

You struggle to find the words, your chest tight with emotion. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you finally say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I can forget... or forgive.” Five looks at you, his expression earnest. “Come on, can’t we just, I don’t know, move on? People make mistakes, right?”

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your eyes widen in disbelief, anger bubbling up inside you. “Move on?” you repeat, your voice rising. “Are you fucking serious right now? You think I can just ‘move on’ from you cheating on me?”

Five’s face falls, realizing his mistake, but he tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then how did you mean it?” you snap, your anger flaring. “You think this is something I can just get over? Like it’s some minor bump in the road?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He looks lost, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but is coming up empty. “I just... I didn’t want things to stay like this,” he finally mutters, sounding defeated.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. It’s inconvenient for you, isn’t it? Dealing with the consequences of your actions.”

He steps back, a look of guilt and frustration crossing his face. “I know I fucked up, okay? I’m trying here, I just... I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe start by not saying something so fucking stupid,” you retort, your voice sharp.

Five winces, his eyes dropping to the floor, shame evident in every line of his posture. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. I know it is. I know I hurt you.”

You shake your head, feeling the sting of fresh tears threatening to spill. “You still don’t get it,” you say, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and pain. “This isn’t just about hurting me, Five. This is about breaking something I thought was unbreakable. And you think I can just...move past that?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what else to say,” he admits, his voice strained. “I’m trying to make this right, but I keep screwing up. I don’t know how to fix this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “Maybe you can’t,” you reply, your tone blunt and unforgiving. “Maybe there’s no fixing this. Maybe you’ve already done all the damage you can.”

Five’s face crumples, a mix of frustration and desperation etched across his features. He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates. You can see the internal battle playing out in his mind, his jaw clenching as if he's holding back something important. Finally, he lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping as he confesses, “I... I still have feelings for Lila.”

The air leaves your lungs as if you’ve been punched in the stomach. You take a step back, your hands trembling. “What?” The word comes out barely above a whisper, but it’s loaded with shock and disbelief.

He raises his hands in a placating gesture, panic flaring in his eyes. “It’s not what you think—I don’t want to be with her, but after everything… I don’t know how to just shut off those feelings. I thought maybe if we could move on, if I could focus on us—”

You cut him off, your voice rising with a newfound fury. “So that’s it? You think we can just ‘move on’ while you’re still hung up on her? That’s your big plan?” Five shakes his head quickly, stepping toward you, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “No. Just… don’t. I can’t believe you thought you could fix this by just ignoring what you feel for her. You’re so fucking insane.”

He flinches at your words, his face crumpling in a mix of guilt and frustration. “I’m not saying it’s easy!” he snaps back, his own anger flaring up. “I’m trying to deal with it, to make it right with you—”

“Deal with it?” you interrupt, “You don’t just ‘deal with’ something like this, Five! You think I’m supposed to sit around and wait for you to figure out your feelings for someone else?” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, his expression torn. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’m trying to be honest—”

“Honest?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “You don’t get to call this honesty. This is called you being so very fucking selfish. ”

Five's face tightens, his frustration boiling over. “What do you want me to say? That I’m perfect? I’m not! I’m trying to do the right thing here. There’s so much fucking stuff on my mind- I know I messed up—”

You don’t let him finish. “Messed up? You fucked someone else, Five! You betrayed me, our marriage, and now you’re telling me you still have feelings for her? That’s not just a ‘mess up’—that’s a choice! And now you expect me to just stand here and take it?” Five looks desperate, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I’m here with you, trying to fix things with you. Isn’t that what matters?”

You shake your head, tears of frustration and hurt streaming down your face. “No, Five, that’s not enough. You don’t get to decide what’s enough. You don’t get to make me feel like I have to compete for you. Not with her, not with anyone. If you can’t figure out who you want, then maybe you don’t deserve either of us.”

He looks at you, stricken, his face pale. “I never wanted to lose you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again. “You should have thought about that before you fucked Lila. I’m not your backup plan, Five. I’m not something you can just fall back on when things get complicated.”

You take a step back, your hand on the doorknob. “If you really want me, you need to prove it. But I’m not waiting around for you to decide. I’ve been hurt enough.”

And with that, you turn and leave, your heart heavy, What the fuck is wrong with you Five Hargreaves?

#sbs posting #five x reader #tua fandom #tua five #tua fanfic #tua s4 #tua #the umbrella academy season 4 #the umbrella academy spoilers #five x lila #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #number five #brisket five #five hargreaves x you #five x y/n #five x you

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tightjeansjavi · 9 months ago

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‘Cause After Midnight…

A/N: this idea came to be randomly yesterday morning and thus the brain rot began! Idk about y’all, but I would do ANYTHING for slumber party!Dieter 🤭 big thank you to @chronically-ghosted for sharing the brain rot cell with me this week! 🫡

~word count: 8.5k~ yeaaaah idk what happened!

Summary: a slumber party with your bestie Dieter Bravo, after midnight! What could possibly happen between the two of you?

Pairing | slumber party!dieter x best friend female!reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst, DUBIOUS CONSENT, mentions of alcohol and ouid smoking, infidelity (not by dieter) toxic relationship (Dieter’s ex) denial of feelings, secret pining, best friends to lovers?, pussy pronouns, domestic intimacy, mutual masturbation, masturbation with a shower head (iykyk), sexual tension, language, dirty talk, unprotected piv, aftercare, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is bug, +18 minors dni!

Being Dieter Bravo’s best friend since…well, forever, came with a long list of perks. Your favorite perk of all, you may ask? Getting to spend time with your best friend. Whether that was at his home, lounging side by side next to his inground pool, stumbling out of a DTLA nightclub, clammy hands entwined together as you head to the nearest street food cart ASAP (Dieter demands steak tacos when he’s wasted) or when you were his glittering gem on the red carpet, dodging the incessant questions from the red carpet wasps—I mean, interviewers asking you and Dieter if you were dating.

It was like clockwork, you and Dieter would look at one another, laugh and shake your heads in sync, “us, dating? No, you have it all wrong! We’re simply just two besties that do everything together, don’t get it twisted!” (So what if you and Dieter would sometimes get equally wasted in the club and drunkenly makeout…and sometimes, while making out, he would grope your ass beneath your dress—you were just friends! Best friends kiss like all the time…right?)

Of course, Hollywood didn’t buy it despite yours and Dieter’s repetitive denial, and the fact that Dieter was currently smitten with his girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now. The tabloids spewed their cheap gossip, but your friendship with Dieter never soured.

You frequently slept over on the weekends he was home. It was your shared routine from Friday-Sunday (sometimes even Mondays), you and Dieter would get higher than two kites, cross off a few movies on your watch lists, paint together, and order takeout for every meal. Truthfully, it was fucking bliss.

This weekend, in particular, Dieter decided he wanted to have a whole ass slumber party. (Not nearly as extravagant as the princess diaries slumber party, or the Barbie movie) but Dieter knew how to throw a killer intimate slumber party. He invited all of his close, niche friends including you. He already had a whole array of different foods to munch on throughout the night so that no one would go hungry.

As always, Dieter was nearly glued to your side and if it were anyone else, or any other man for that matter, you would be annoyed, but when it came to Dieter, you shared your small bubble of space happily with him.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Dieter’s ex showed up uninvited. Dieter was in the whirlpool, wearing the tiniest swim trunks known to man. He had a beer in one hand while his other arm was resting along the outside of the hot tub. He was mid conversation, laughing about something one of his friends said before his eyes met yours when you appeared from the kitchen, a nervous look plastered on your face as you approached the hot tub.

“Hey, Dee?..” you crouched down along the edge of the hot tub.

“Yeah, bug?” He took a sip of his beer, brow cocking in curiosity. “What’s up? Why do ya look so worried?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Dee. Just uh—well, your ex just sorta showed up uninvited. She’s in the kitchen—”

“What the fuck do you mean she just sorta showed up?! What the fuck.” He groaned, dragging his wet hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I reckon she just invited herself in, too?”

Your nod confirmed his suspicions. “Unfortunately she did. I told her she wasn’t welcome, but she essentially told me to fuck off.” You stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, well, she’s never exactly been the type to respect boundaries.” He sighed and handed you his beer so that he could pull himself out of the hot tub. The swim trunks he was wearing quite literally left little to the imagination, and you swore that you caught a glimpse of his infamous package when he bent down and grabbed his towel to quickly dry off.

His hand gently brushed yours as he reached for his beer. “I’ll deal with her. Not gonna let it spoil my night.” He gruffed out and draped the towel around his shoulders. “Be back in a jiffy, bug.” He winked and headed towards the sliding doors leading to the kitchen.

When he didn’t return to the backyard in over 20 minutes, that’s when you made the executive decision to see if he was okay. When you neared the front door, you could hear the distinct tone of Dieter’s voice through the thin glass and you caught a glimpse of him throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“You can’t just fucking show up here uninvited! You’re not only trespassing, but you’re crossing a boundary! This is exactly why we broke up in the first place because you’re just so fucking clingy!” He yelled.

“Oh, I’M THE CLINGY ONE?!” She laughed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger directly into his bare chest. “So, it has nothing to do with the fact that you spent more time with your best friend than with your girlfriend?! Don’t you think thats a bit fucking weird, Dieter?!”

“Oh, for fucks sakes! Here we go again! Don’t you dare go bring her into this when she’s done nothing wrong! So sorry that you felt like the attention I was giving you was inadequate! Guess that gave you just the right amount of ammo to cheat on me with MY fucking pilates instructor?! Dude, I can’t even look the guy in the face anymore without wanting to rip his dick off, balls and all!”

“YES, because you left me with no other choice, Dieter! He gave me more attention than you ever have!”

“Right, sure! So instead of oh—I don’t know, acting like a fucking normal person, you let your jealousy take front and center and cheat on me?! Why the fuck couldn’t you just be like hey, Dieter! I’m feeling under-appreciated in our relationship and I’d like to talk about it in a healthy, productive way because I love and respect you as a person! I would have never fucking cheated on you, don’t you get that?!”

“Okay—you’re right! I’m sorry that I wasn’t mature, and I’m sorry I cheated on you, Dieter. I’m so sorry! Can we please just—”

He laughed, throwing his head back with his hands carding through his damp curls in disbelief. “You have got to be shitting me! You just expect me to what—take you back after all of that?! Fuck you. I may be a stupid fucking actor, but I’m not that stupid. Please, can you just—leave? I don’t want to call the cops, but I will if I have to.”

“Dieter, come on! Baby, please. Let’s just talk—”

“I’m not your baby.” He muttered and turned on his heel and walked back towards the front door. He really just wanted to bury his face in his hands and scream, but he was determined to not let her ruin his night. So, when he opened the door, and found you on the other side, he let out a visible sigh of relief. “Well, that was a crapshoot. Did ya hear any of it, bug?” He closed the door softly and made sure to lock it for good measure.

“You okay, Dee? I heard the last bit of it…I’m sorry that you had to deal with that.”

“S’okay. It’s done now and I’m gonna try and not let it ruin the rest of the night. Thank you for checking in on me, bug. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dee. Everyone is still in the backyard. Wanna join them? Otherwise I was thinking maybe you and I can get high?”

He grinned at your suggestion, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorjamb, “say less.”

That’s how you found yourself in Dieter’s bedroom, sitting on the floor with his rolling tray in your lap while he was changing out of his too-tight swim trunks and into a pair of boxers that were…equally as tight. You loved the way that his little bit of tummy pudge hung over the side of the boxer's waistband. What you wouldn’t give to worship that tummy while he shoves his—You kept your eyes focused on plucking a few bud clusters and placing them in the grinder. His phone was charging next to yours on the nightstand. You had Spotify open on shuffle playing yours and Dieter’s favorite playlist. The song that was currently playing was After Midnight by Chappell Roan.

He plopped down beside you, gently grabbing the tray and placed it in his lap so that he could roll the actual joint. He used the front of his bed as a backrest as he opened up the grinder and carefully distributed the ground up herb into one of the papers.

“I seriously don’t know how your dick can breathe in those tight fucking shorts, Dee.” you said with a playful edge to your tone as you let your head rest in the crook of his neck. He leaned into you too, naturally.

“They are not that tight!” He scoffed and looked over at you with a playful grin on his lips. “My dick can breathe in these perfectly fine, bug.” he retorted.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

Comfortable silence washed over the two of you while he finished rolling up the joint, looking over at you expectantly as he sparked the end of it, inhaling with his cheeks slightly hollowed, “should we have a full slumber party moment and paint our nails and do each other's makeup?” He asked softly, blowing the smoke upwards towards the ceiling and held the joint out to you between his pointer and middle finger.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you just brought that up because I was thinking the same exact thing!” You looked over at him In disbelief, reaching for the joint as your fingers briefly brushed against one another during the exchange. “I must have manifested this or something because I made sure to bring my nail polish this time!”

“Just start calling me Dieter the all knowing!” He chuckled, feeling the inhaled drug slowly send him into a relaxed state. He let his head comfortably rest against the back of the bed. “and I have my makeup that we can use! Think you can show me how to perfect the winged liner look? I’m shit at doing it on myself.” He huffed.

“I am not gonna start calling you Dieter that all knowing! There’s no way in hell I’m going to grant you all that power!” You nudged his shoulder gently with your own before you took a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling it. “Of course I can help you with your eyeliner, Dee! Only if you let me pick out your nail color this time.”

“Okay, deal!” He was quick to respond with zero hesitation in his chipper tone.

So, after you each took a few more drags from the joint and your minds began to go hazy, Dieter lazily got up and walked into the en-suite to grab his bag of makeup from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you had grabbed your overnight bag and already had all of your nail products laid out.

“Damn, did ya bring your entire collection from home with ya?” He teased as he plopped down next to you. His movements were uncoordinated due to the drug coursing through his veins. He nearly fell into your lap, giggling and quietly apologizing as he sat back up. This was a normal occurrence for you and Dieter. Whenever the two of you would get high together, (which was frequent), you both became naturally affectionate and extremely touchy with one another. It was second nature, and something that neither you or Dieter ever thought about as being ‘weird’ and not the norm for most platonic friendships.

“Go big or go home, right Dee?” You had already picked out a pretty sparkly blue polish for his nails and set it off to the side.

“Absolutely, bug. Hey, can you do my makeup first, please?” He had his hands clasped in his lap, nervously twiddling his thumbs as if he was a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents.

“Of course I can.” You said softly, and grabbed the makeup bag from his lap. “Hey, are you okay?…”

He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily and shook his head. “No, not really. I’m fucking pissed off about what happened down there with my ex.”

You nodded in understanding and stood up to grab one of his many pillows so that he would have something comfortable to lay against while you would do his makeup. “I gathered that.”

“That’s because you’re always reading the room, bug.” He chuckled, grabbing the pillow from you so that he could place it under his back. Once he was situated, he patted his thighs, beckoning you to come sit in his lap. (Doesn’t everyone straddle their best friend and do their makeup?)

“Am I?” You mused and wasted no time to straddle his hips, making yourself comfortable above him. He was looking up at you with that sparkle in his irises that only appeared around you. It was as if you were the reason why the sun shined, and the stars twinkled in the sky. You were too busy going through his bag of makeup to catch the look, and when your eyes did land upon his face, he looked like he was going through constricting emotions.

“Yeah, you’re really good at doing that, y’know?” He sighed, feeling his shoulders deflate and sink against the pillow.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Dee?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, letting his hands gently rest around your hips, thumbs stroking the sliver of skin visible under your shorts in a soothing figure eight motion. “I mean, who the fuck just shows up to someone’s slumber party uninvited?”

“Well, she’s never really respected your boundaries, has she? Remember when you forgot to leave your phone in your dressing room at the Oscars, and when you were reading out the nominees and she called you, despite knowing that you were at the Oscars?” You grabbed his little bottle of toner and a couple cotton rounds, softly telling him to close his eyes.

He closed his eyes, flinching slightly when the cool mist of the toner kissed his skin. He relaxed further into the pillows when you gently patted the toner into his skin with the cotton round. “Yeah, that was a fucking disaster! I just remember going all red in the face and fearing that my career with the rest of the Hollywood assholes was over at that point.”

“I’m pretty sure she made that move out of spite, Dee. Y’know, because you didn’t ask her to be your plus one?”

He peeked one eye open to look up at you, “that’s because you’ve attended every single red carpet event with me, bug. It’s…tradition.” (Yeah, sure it is, Dieter. Just tradition.)

“I’m not justifying her behavior by any means, but I can understand why she was upset that you invited your best friend over your girlfriend to the Oscars.” You set the bottle of toner down and grabbed his usual moisturizer and squirted a few pumps onto your fingers and rubbed it into his skin.

“Yeah, I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty fucked up huh? But I don’t think I deserved to be cheated on.” His lips curved into a downwards pout, brows furrowed intently.

“Oh, of course not, hun. Cheating is never justifiable.” You reassured him, reaching into the makeup bag and pulled out his primer, foundation and concealer. “Do you wanna do a full look or something on the more no makeup/makeup side?”

“So then why did she try to justify her reason for cheating on me? Not only that, she tried to sweet talk her way back in towards the end of the conversation. Oh, Dieter, I’m so sorry!” He scoffed, “she even pulled the baby card on me! I know I’m not the most emotionally intelligent individual 99% of the time, and I’ve struggled my whole life taking much of anything serious, but I still have a fucking heart despite what the tabloids gossip about.” He paused mid-venting, remembering what you had asked him, “surprise me, bug.”

“She pulled the baby card on you? What a fucking cunt move, honestly.” you shook your head. “Dieter, you have one of the biggest hearts in all of Hollywood, hun. You just don’t share it with everyone and that’s okay. Those tabloids are a load of crap. I told you before that you have to stop feeding into their agenda. It’s not worth it, Dieter.”

“Exactly! It was a cunt move. And if I didn’t realize my worth sooner, I probably would have fallen right back into a relationship with her again! You know what I’m starting to believe? Maybe…I just have to accept the fact that no one is ever gonna love me.”

You let out a sigh, reaching back into the makeup bag and pulled out one of his glitter shadows to apply on his eyelids. He let out a content hum when your fingers began to gently card through his damp curls while your other fingers began to gently pat the shimmery shadow onto his closed eyelids. “Dieter, don’t you fucking start that shit and claiming that no one is ever going to love you.”

“Well, it’s true! I can’t fucking hold a healthy relationship down to save my life! I’m the laughing stock of Hollywood, days away from fucking relapsing, and no one is gonna give a shit!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” You fought the urge to laugh, not at him, of course, but at the situation at hand. “I love you, idiot. You are not the laughing stock of Hollywood, and you will not fucking relapse under my watch, Dieter.”

“Bug, I know you love me, and I love you too! But…that’s different. What I’m talking about is real, true love—ow!” He whimpered when you had accidentally poked his eye with your nail.

You weren’t even paying attention when he started rambling about true love and that the way he loved you was completely different…it stung and sent your heart straight through a shredder, and he had no idea!

“Shit, Dee! I’m so sorry—are you okay? My finger slipped.” Your palm came to rest around his scruffy jawline, leaning in close to make sure that you hadn’t accidentally poked his eye out with your fingernail. Your warm breath gently fanned his face as he blinked a few times to surpass the dull sting he felt on his cornea.

“I’m okay, bug. But damn, girl! Are you trying to poke my eye out or something?” He joked, trying to relieve the palpable tension growing between the two of you.

You were quick to change the subject, feeling slightly embarrassed that you allowed his words to affect you that much. You reached for the joint that was resting along the rolling tray and picked it up between your two fingers along with the lighter. “I’m going to take a couple more hits…you want any?” You asked while sparking the joint up, taking a deeper inhale this time to try and soothe your already scrambled brain.

He nodded, reaching his hand up to pluck the joint from between your lips after you were finished and placed it between his own and took a similarly deep drag. He looked so fucking pretty, laying there, joint hanging low between his lips, shimmering eyeshadow making his rich brown eyes stand out even more.

“Y’know…” he started, “if ya take a picture, it’ll last longer!” He mused, taking another long drag, blowing the smoke off to the side. When you didn’t immediately laugh at his weak attempt to ease the tension further, he frowned. “Hey, you okay? You’re never this quiet, bug. Even when you’re high.”

“I’m fine, Dieter.” You sighed, and went to slide off his lap, forgetting about doing his eyeliner when his hand resting around your hip tightened and you freezed under his touch.

“Hey, please don’t lie to me. Did I say something to upset you? I’m sorry if I did.” He was always so genuine in his apologies to you. He could claim to not know how to read the room, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Dee, I’m fine.” You reassured him. “I was just having a moment.”

“Well…stop that! It’s not allowed when we’re having a sleepover.” He really just couldn’t stand to see you upset. It tore him up inside and made him feel like he was always the root cause for your mood change.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, giving his cheek a light pat while your other hand ruffled through his hair. “Do you still want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes please.” He grinned. “Just promise to not poke my eye out again?”

“I promise, Dee.”

While you carefully began to apply the eyeliner to his eyelids with careful precision, he continued to ramble on underneath you, careful to not move too much because he really didn’t want to accidentally get poked in the eye. Once you were finished, you expected him to immediately want to check how he looked in the mirror, but instead, he switched positions with you, straddling your hips now so that he could do your makeup.

You didn’t protest, of course. You’d take any excuse to admire his handsome features up close while he was zoned in on his work, his muse being you. Whenever he was painting, his focus was intense and it was as if he had tuned out everything else around him. He acted all the same while he was gently applying a shimmer shadow to your eyelids.

The intimacy simmering between the two of you was becoming too much for you to handle. You could feel him through his too-tight boxers, the weight of his cock pressing right against your clothed center. Despite knowing Dieter for as long as you have, you never had seen his cock, only just the outline of it. However, you heard the stories from his past partners, flings, and even some colleagues. They were all shocked to hear that you yourself had not seen Dieter Bravo’s package.

The walls in his spacious bedroom felt like they were closing in on you from how flustered you were feeling. Surely there was sweat beginning to bead and perspire along the column of your throat and behind your neck. Perhaps there was even an evident sign of your arousal between your thighs. You hoped to god that he hadn’t caught on. But when his hips shifted forward, his tongue poking out between his lips while he carefully applied a swipe of eyeliner across your right eyelid, it was too much.

“Hey—Dee? I’m not feeling too hot. Think the weed is messing with me. I—I think I’m gonna shower and go to bed.” You stuttered out, trying to focus on the words coming out of your mouth and not the images of his thick cock—

He frowned, looking deflated when you said that you wanted to go to bed. “Oh—okay, bug. I understand. Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll get you some food and water, okay? Maybe you’re just having a bad trip?” He was genuinely concerned, feeling slightly nervous that his trusted dealer had laced his stash with something, but he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole just yet.

“No—I just…I want to shower and go to bed, Dieter. I’ll be fine. It probably is just a bad trip.” You reassured him and subtly tried to create any form of distance between the two of you to relieve the tension you were feeling.

The weed is only enhancing what I’m feeling right now. If he could see the thoughts going through my head right now—

“If you are having a bad trip, then I should stay with you, bug. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“Dieter.” You were on the edge of snapping and saying something you would inevitably regret, “I don’t want you to stay with me, okay? I just want to fucking shower and go to bed.”

Ouch.

He visibly recoiled, feeling like you had just stabbed him right in the gut and twisted the knife for good measure. Maybe I am the clingy one…

“Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He wanted to snap right back at you, but he didn’t have the heart in him to do so.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, and when he didn’t immediately uncage your thighs from under his hips, you took matters into your own hands and placed your palm flat against his chest, gently pushing him off of you so you could quickly stand up.

He felt his heart twist even further when you disappeared into the en-suite, slamming the door behind you. He wasn’t sure if it was done maliciously or on accident, it still fucking hurt.

Seconds later he hears the sink turn on and the sound of water splashing against your face. It felt wrong to leave you in this state, so even after he heard the shower turn on while he was cleaning up the strewn about makeup on the floor, he sat down against the door, his back leaning against it as he waited. For what? He really didn’t know the answer to that.

You knew that Dieter was concerned about your well being, and if he could have it his own way, he would be in the bathroom with you right now, sitting with his back facing you so that you would feel comfortable to shower. You also were aware that he was sitting against the bathroom door and your heart lurched at the thought. You felt the guilt swim and swirl around you. Snapping at your best friend was not on your bingo card for the night, but maybe this was a sign that you and Dieter needed to set some serious boundaries between one another. Maybe you were beginning to realize that the two of you were…too close.

“Can you just…let me know you’re okay in there?” You heard him ask through the door as the scalding hot water streamed down over your bare body.

“Dieter, I’m fine.” Your voice was muffled under the stream.

“Yeah, sure you are, but I’d be a terrible fucking friend if I just left you to deal with this bad trip on your own, bug.”

God dammit, Dieter. Why can’t you just be an asshole like a normal person?! Is what you really wanted to say.

“Okay…” you trailed off, “I’m going to be in here for a while.”

“That’s okay. You can use up all of my hot water. I don’t care.” He reassured you.

When you didn’t immediately respond he let out a sigh, resting his head back against the door, closing his eyes. He remembered that your phone was still playing music from where it sat on his nightstand next to his own, and the familiar tune of Pink Pony Club started playing. It was yours and Dieter’s favorite song off of Chappell’s album.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA. And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.”

Dieter Bravo could not fucking sing, but everytime that he did for you, it was the most endearing gesture ever.

“You fucking asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee. Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me. Won't make my mama proud, It's gonna cause a scene. She sees her baby girl, I know she's gonna scream…”

“God, what have you done! You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it’s where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!” You and Dieter sung the chorus in unison, completely out of tune, but neither of you could give a fuck about that.

You could practically picture his dopey, weed-stained grin plastered on his handsome, scruffy face behind the door when you sang the chorus together. The mental image sent your heart surging out of your chest, and your pussy pulsing in tandem.

Fuck me.

You truly had just planned to take a hot, relaxing, mind clearing shower and then go straight to bed, but you were feeling bothered by the weed, and your blatantly obvious attraction towards your best friend. Not to mention, the little rasp in Dieter’s voice was not helping you out in this predicament, either. That’s when you noticed his attached shower head and the lightbulb went off in your weed-induced brain.

You reached for the attached shower head, gently removing it from where it was mounted against the shower wall. Before turning it on, however, you quickly got familiar with the numerous spray settings and chose the medium spray before slowly dragging the shower head between your legs and—oh, fucck.

The pressure was just right and was directly spraying a stream of water onto your exposed clit. You held back a moan, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth and bit down as you slowly sank to your ass along the shower wall, your thighs spread fully, eyes rolling back into your skull from the intense feeling. That’s when a moan slipped past and Dieter initially thought he was just hearing things, but then he heard it again…and his cock twitched to life beneath the tight confinements.

“There’s no way. I’m just high as shit right now and hearing things. Yeah, that’s the logical explanation!” He muttered to himself, scrubbing one hand down his face. But then he heard you distinctively moan, and his face suddenly felt hot to the touch. He pressed his ear against the door, raising his fist and gently knocked on the wood, “you uh—you okay in there?”

You were so close to hitting that big ‘o’ that you didn’t even hear Dieter’s low rasp through the door.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You whimpered. “So fucking close, just a little more. Just a little more. C’mon, baby.”

Now that he could hear you more clearly, he knew exactly what was producing those little desperate sounds to slip past your pretty lips: his fucking shower head.

“Excuse me?? Are you getting yourself off with MY shower head, without me in there?!” It was a thought that he had meant to keep in his head, but now that it was out there, there was truly no going back.

You froze like a deer caught in headlights, immediately dropping the shower head from your loose grasp and it clattered to the shower floor just as the bathroom door burst open.

“Dieter—WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” You screeched, hair drenched, thighs spread and trembling.

He shut the door behind him, muttering under his breath as he approached, looking you right in the eyes, “more importantly, what are you doing?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Your little moans and whimpers made me rock fucking hard!” He gestured to the obvious tent in his boxers, his cock straining against the tight material. “Had I known it was gonna be that kind of sleepover, I would have joined you a heck of a lot sooner!”

Oh. My. God. This isn’t happening, is it?!

“Dieter, you can’t just fucking come in here when I’m masturbating! Dude—what the fuck!”

“Oh, heavens! Are we going back to the 1800’s or something? Just call it for what it is! You playing with your pussy, and using my shower head to get yourself off! By all means, please continue, but next time? I want a personal invite!”

You were appalled…and a little turned on? Okay, a lot turned on! In fact, your pussy was pulsing between your thighs, the edge of your interrupted orgasm was still simmering, waiting to fully bloom. To make matters worse, Dieter had crouched down outside of the shower, his brows furrowed when he noticed the setting you had set the shower head to. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head as he reached into the shower and picked up the shower head from where it had been dropped between your spread thighs.

“Dieter, what are you—”

“Hush and listen to the teacher, okay? For starters, you’re using it all wrong. You gotta build yourself up first, and then go full blast. Otherwise you’re just gonna overstimulate your poor little clit, and that just takes away from the experience.” He said in the most casual fashion, as if this wasn’t crossing a million different invisible boundaries all at once.

“Dieter, I don’t need your assistance on getting myself off, okay? Please just—”

“Bug, don’t make this weird, okay? We’re friends, and there’s nothing in the friends handbook that says that we can’t help one another get off! It’s totally not forbidden.” He retorted.

“I think you just made the whole friends handbook thing up. It totally doesn’t exist and we absolutely should not be doing this, Dieter! It’s wrong for a multitude of reasons!”

“The friends handbook totally exists! I’ll get you a copy, okay? I’m not going to touch you, unless you want me to. I’m just gonna use the shower head to show you the right way to get yourself off with it, and afterwards you will be thanking me!”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this. I cannot fucking—”

“Best start believing it, baby! Now, spread your thighs for me a little more, okay?”

“Okay, I’m giving you my full consent, but if I start feeling weird, we’re stopping this whole thing, okay?” You looked him directly in the eyes as you spread your thighs further so he had a better view.

“Bug, if at any point you feel weird, uncomfortable, or want to stop, just tell me, okay? I’m not gonna pressure you to continue doing this if you don’t want to. I’m leaving the ball completely in your court, and my feelings won’t be hurt if you change your mind, okay? I promise.” His words were sincere, and it was hard to look away when he was staring at you with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He leaned forward then, briefly getting caught under the stream when his lips brushed across your forehead, leaving you both feeling slightly stunned. He softly asked you if it was okay if he did touch you, to which you obliged, lower lip taken between your teeth when his hand that wasn’t holding the shower head slowly dipped between your thighs and his fingers spread your slick folds apart so he would have better access to your clit.

“I always knew that your pussy would be pretty, baby, but goddamn—she really is so fucking pretty.” He took a sharp inhale of breath, his cock twitching painfully in his boxers.

“Dieter Bravo, you’re going to be the death of me.” You breathed out, heat rising to your cheeks from the way he was gazing at the spot between your thighs, eyes glazed over the same way a dog looks at a delicious bone, or a plate of juicy, rare, steak.

“You’re already the death of me, bug.” He whispered, unable to help himself when his thumb gently brushed across your clit. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand but between you prettily spread out beneath him, and the weed still flowing through his system, he was fucked.

He changed the setting on the shower head without even having to look down at it. He was too focused on your face, particularly your eyes and how you both seemed to be drinking one another in, an invisible string tied between the two of you, reeling him in closer, and closer. You observe his face, and the way his eyeliner has now started to run and bleed under his eyes and down his cheeks from the water and steam. Your pussy clenches from the sight just as his thumb lightly presses against your clit, making slow, languid, figure eight motions.

He thinks he wants to kiss you—no, scratch that. He wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his eyes flicker from your face and down to your lips, and then back up again.

“Dieter…” you whisper, bringing your hand up to gently cradle his face in your palm, curling your pointer finger under his chin. “Do you want to kiss me?” Your warm breath fans his face as he slowly nods.

“Yeah, I do.” He rasped, slowly leaning in.

“So kiss me, you fool.”

And so he did, but instead of hesitating, and holding back, he dove right in, noses pressing into one another as he licked greedily into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours while his hand holding the shower head angled it right against your exposed pussy and between his fingers where he was keeping you spread open.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered into the kiss, keeping your one hand anchored around his jaw while the other came to rest at the back of his head, your fingers tangled through his drenched locks, tugging on them gently.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Told ya so.” He snickered into your lips, kissing you deeper. “Lower water pressure builds you up slower, drawing your orgasm out to last longer, and it’ll feel 10x more intense.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled into his lips, scooting your hips closer to the stream of water, and to him.

“Greedy little pussy, huh? Can’t get enough, can ya?” He teased.

“Dieter…” you warned him, playfully biting down on his lower lip and tugging it out gently before releasing it.

“I know, I know.” He chuckled and reluctantly detached himself from the kiss, pecking your lips once before he sat back on his thighs to give himself any form of relief. “You wanna give yourself a whirl while I go take care of this er—in privacy?”

Your cheeks were puffed out, lips swollen with his kisses as you stared up at him dumbfounded. “Are you insane? Just get in here with me, Dieter. Right now.”

He blushed, turning bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly turning all bashful as if he wasn’t just talking about your greedy little pussy seconds ago. “Are you…sure? I really don’t mind! I can just go jerk off in my bed like a normal person—”

“Dieter.” Your tone sounded strained, “get in the fucking shower now. Take those ridiculously tight boxers off and get in here.”

Well, you certainly didn’t need to ask Dieter Bravo twice as he scrambled to peel his boxers down over his hips and thighs, tossing the damp fabric outside of the shower. His cock bobbed between his thighs, hard, heavy and the tip was swollen a painful red color. Poor guy.

He climbed over you, situating himself and his cute little tush right next to you with his shoulders gently brushing yours. He spit a glob of saliva into his palm and wrapped his fist around the veiny girth of his cock. “I’ll come fast, I promise. You won’t even have to do anything, okay? Just pretend I’m not here!” His tone was rushed as he squeezed the base of his cock, lolling his head to the side so he could look over at you. His eyeliner was completely smudged now and his lips were swollen with your kisses.

All you could do was nod dumbly, your eyes transfixed by his fist wrapped around his cock. It was as if you were seeing a unicorn for the first time! The unicorn being er—Dieter’s cock.

He looked at your face, and then down at his cock, and then back up at your face. “Hello?” He waved with his freehand, “why are you looking at my cock like that, huh? Are you the only person in the whole state of California who hasn’t seen my cock before?” He was in disbelief, his mouth falling open when he realized that you never had seen his cock.

"I totally thought you'd seen his dick. Practically everyone else has." You remember his ex cruelly teasing you about it one day.

You shook your head, eyes glazed over as you watched his fist slowly twist and pump around his length. “Nope. First time, and it’s like I’m looking at a unicorn!” You exclaimed playfully.

Dieter snorted at your enthusiasm, feeling his heart lurch from his chest, “well, it is sorta like seeing a unicorn for the first time…I suppose?” He chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock for some form of relief. He felt like now was the best time to address the obvious elephant in the room, silly Dieter. “So uh—well, this doesn’t mean anything, right? Because we’re just friends and good friends masturbate together. It's cool, this is super casual!”

Sure, bud. You keep telling yourself that.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, spreading your thighs further so you could continue your ministrations with the shower head. “Sure, Dieter. This means absolutely nothing. Just two besties jerking it off, side by side. Totally casual!”

He let out a huff as he pumped his fist faster, “Well, we wouldn’t be in this predicament if those noises you were making didn’t make my cock as hard as a slab of concrete!”

“Dieter, shut up, and get yourself off! Or so help me—”

“Yes ma'am!” He squeaked out.

In tandem you placed the shower head close to your clit once more while he fisted his cock, and when your moans started to intermingle and become one, that’s when your glazed over eyes met once more. He had his lip harshly taken between his teeth, his cock was twisting and pulsing beneath his fist. He leaned in close, lips just barely brushing your bare shoulder where he had dipped his head down to nuzzle you. His eyes flickered upwards towards your face, pupils darkening by the second, “I really want to fuck you right now, baby.” He rasped.

You met his gaze, thighs trembling and your eyes rolling slightly as your orgasm rippled through you, “yeah, you wanna fuck me, Dieter? How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“So fucking bad, baby. You’ve got no idea.” He mewled, “there’s that convenient bench right over there.” He gestured to the shower bench with a coy tilt of his chin, “you can sit right on my cock, if you’d like that…”

“Did you have that bench installed for convenience purposes or for your old man bad back?” You asked teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, glaring playfully before he chuckled, “a bit of both. More-so on the convenience side of things. And, it’s newly installed so you and I would be the first to use it.” He winked coyly.

“Really? Well, your offer is most tempting, Bravo. I’d like to take you up on it and sit on your big fucking cock.”

“Now we’re talking.” He grinned, loosening his fist around his cock so he could offer you a hand and helped you up. Now you were both directly under the stream of water, hands roaming everywhere they could reach. You kissed deeply, giggling in unison when you grabbed his ass and he grabbed yours. He could happily live in this moment forever with you, even if it meant that his skin would inevitably prune and probably fall off.

You backed him up against the shower bench, climbing into his lap as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position along the marble bench that could easily fit both of you.

You wrapped your own palm around the base of his cock for the first time as you slowly sank down around his girth till he was fully pressed inside of you, bottoming out with a low grunt against your lips. He let his arms loop firmly around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could so that your chests were pressed flushed together. He swore he saw heaven behind fluttered lashes when you started to slowly roll your hips into his, bouncing and grinding along his length.

If it wasn’t for his steadfast orgasm, he probably would have lasted longer before he was shooting thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, but he was a man, after all. And while his cum leaked and dripped from your weeping little hole that was still stuffed full of his cock, he made sure that you got to come again, too. He pistoned his hips upwards at an unruly pace, loving the way that your nails clawed at his back and shoulders, leaving little red crescents in their wake. Maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me later. He briefly thought as you came undone around him, crying out his name.

You stayed seated on his cock for what felt like hours before he gently eased you off him, his cock now soft between his thighs and glistening in a thick, pearlescent ring of your combined releases.

You washed one another’s bodies under the lukewarm stream and he was the first to step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist and when you emerged, he had a towel waiting for you. You kissed a few more times, gentle pecks of intimacy as you stood side by side in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

“Soo, where are you sleeping tonight?” He suddenly asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. His deep pools of brown boring into yours.

You hadn’t really thought that far if you were being honest…and now with that fresh ‘I just got fucked good’ glow illuminating your features, and the remainder of your high still sizzling, you suddenly feeling nervous all over again.

“Um, well, where do you want me to sleep?”

“I asked you first.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for your response.

“Okay, fair, how about on the count of three we say it together?”

“Deal.” He nods.

“Okay—one, two, three—” you counted off in unison.

“Your bed—my bed.”

You both looked relieved at your answers, letting out breaths you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank fucking god.” You both laughed.

He kissed you then, mouthful of toothpaste and all. You made a funny squeaking sound when he had unexpectedly kissed you, and the corners of his mouth curved up into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you one of my shirts to wear.” He mumbled into the kiss, pulling back slowly.

When you left the en-suite, you found Dieter already in bed, sitting up with the rolling tray resting in his lap. He had a fresh pair of boxers on, this pair was made of cotton and was far less constricting. He was rolling another joint to smoke before bed when he looked up, smiling softly at your lingering presence in the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Well, don’t be shy, bug. Ain’t the first time you’ve slept in my bed.” He winked, patting the empty spot beside him on his massive king sized bed.

You took a deep breath, remembering that this was Dieter Bravo, your best friend and partner in crime. He would always be your best friend.

You made your way over to the empty side of the bed and pulled the covers back so you could climb underneath them.

He finished rolling the joint, grabbing his lighter from the nightstand to spark it up before he paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Hey, we don’t have to like—do anything, okay?” He reassured you.

“But Dieter, I wanna do stuff with you. It’s just—in your bed it feels…” you trailed off, scratching at the outside of your arm absentmindedly.

He tucked the joint behind his ear and rolled over into his side so he was facing you, using his elbow to prop himself up, “I understand, baby. This is…new for me as well. We can smoke this joint and then make out a little? See where it goes?…”

You nodded, lips curving up into a soft smile that sent his heartbeat racing, “yeah, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He grinned.

He sparked the joint up between you, taking a few hits before he passed it off to you. This went on a few more times before your bodies just naturally gravitated towards one another, and when the joint died out, he set it down on the tray on his nightstand before his lips found yours.

You kissed like this for hours, simply just enjoying one another’s company and soft touch when the sun began to rise over the Los Angeles landscape. Dieter was uncharacteristically quiet, even for being stoned.

Your fingers were gently dragging through the patches in his beard, playing with his scruff in between kisses. “I can hear you overthinking, Dee.”

“Are you a wizard?” He chuckled, “you can hear my thoughts? That’s crazy!”

“Shh.” You giggled. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to yell.”

“Sorry.” He whispered, scooting his body closer to yours. He would absolutely crawl inside of your skin and never leave, but well—-he might go to prison if he did that.

“I’m gonna say something that might sound stupid, but I gotta get it off my chest, okay?” He started, his glazed over eyes met yours as he pressed a few kisses to the underside of your fingertips.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, so—well, this is just different for me because I don’t normally fuck my friends.”

You gave him a funny look at his admittance, unable to help yourself.

“I’m serious! I don’t fuck my friends—and well, I care about you a ton.Maybe even more than I care about myself? Anyway, I don’t want things to get weird between us tomorrow. Like if you wake up and regret everything that happened, I just want you to tell me, okay? My hopes is that maybe you felt the little spark that I did and if you did we can—”

“Dieter, I promise you I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and regret everything that happened tonight. No matter where this takes us, I’m always going to love you, and you’re always going to be my best friend.” Your words were sincere and directly from your heart and he knew you weren’t just saying shit just to say it.

“I think I just shat my heart out, that was so sweet.” He giggles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “In all seriousness, thank you. I was just afraid that this would ruin our friendship, and I would lose you forever.”

“Never, Dieter. You could never lose me.” You reassured him.

“Good, cause in the morning? I’m making waffles!”

Helen Mirren: Narrator for the Barbie Movie:

Dieter did not in fact make waffles the next morning. Instead, Dieter had his breakfast between your thighs, and then let you order whatever brunch you wanted on his black card

"You can be my sugar baby! I get to eat you out and you can order whatever you want on my card." He murmured between your thighs, mouthful of your pussy.

"That's not how that sort of thing really works, Dieter. But yeah, okay."

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lyfeofbilly · 6 months ago

Text

Tyrant

warnings: smut, smut, smut! (minors do not interact!)

summary: infidelity had snaked its way into your crumbling marriage. another night with your favorite mistake couldn’t hurt…..right?

author's note: my first time writing smut, so pleaseee bare with me. this is soooo fucking trifling i know, lmao. to them anons, this for yall.

taglist:@koffeesfancy @bubbleblowinggirl @pvnks0ul @solanaszn @onyxstones-world @blacksapphhicmaddonna

Rianna smirked at her phone as she read your text.

You up?

It had been weeks since you last seen her. The clock read 3:15 AM and you were craving her. Your body aching just to feel her touch again, the mere thought of it making your skin grow hot. Ever since you first got a taste of her you’ve been hooked. Her kisses were laced with a drug that you could not get enough of.

You never wanted it to go this far, to be in so deep. You loved your family- well your children. You and your wife have been on a rocky road for years now, "We're just in it for the kids." y'all would say. The both of you knew that excuse was bullshit. It caused more harm than good and your kids noticed. The resentful arguments, passive aggressiveness, and cursing matches were something that you wished your children would not have had to witness.

Your wife sent the kids to her mother's house while she disappeared to Lord knows where. You stayed home under the guise of having to work early mornings for the rest of the week. It was all just an excuse to have her. Your need for intimacy overtook the guilt you would normally feel in this situation.

You were sprawled across the bed, awaiting a response from Rianna. An hour had flown by since you sent your initial message. She wouldn't deny you and you knew that, she just loved playing the cat and mouse game. The excitement and sneakiness of it all ignited a fire deep within her. The three dots eventually turned into a text, causing your phone to ding.

The Mrs gone tonight?

Your eyes rolled at her text. The pettiness that woman possessed was something that needed to be studied. Her slick remarks and snide comments were something you hated yet loved about her. Another text came across your screen shortly after.

Leave the door open for me baby, I'll be there soon ;)

That sentence alone caused an ache between your legs. The power that she had on you was something else.

A sly smirk was plastered across Rianna's face as she tiptoed through the front door, softly shutting it behind her. Pictures of you and your family were displayed all around the living room. The image of you and your wife engulfed in a kiss is what caught her eye the most. The two of you looked young, happy, so in love. The frame had your anniversary date engraved on the bottom. It made Rianna sick, she wondered when exactly did your marriage turn sour. What was the straw that broke the camels back?

Rianna sighed and shrugged her shoulders as she placed the picture face down, "Fun while it lasted."

You nor Rianna would have ever thought things would get as deep as they were. Your relationship was innocent, at least that's what you thought, at first. You tried to play the flirting off as being friendly for your conscience's sake. The seductive stares, unnecessary touching of each other, playing footsy under the table, the list goes on. Cheating had never crossed your mind, no matter how bad things had got, but when you found yourself face down in the back of Rianna's car after a night of drinks all of that flew out of the window.

Truth is, Rianna wanted more. More from you, to be more than a late night endeavour, to be more than the other woman. She was more jealous than she would like to admit. The thought of you even laying next to your wife made her seethe with anger.

She continued throughout the house, strutting down the hallway, and finally through your bedroom door. When she entered, there sat you on the edge of the bed, body bare and exposed, anticipating her arrival. One thing that Rianna loved about you was your obedience. Your habit of doing anything that she asked and melt at her words boosted her ego by a thousand percent.

Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, chest heaving up and down, eyes glued to her. A sight that Rianna loved to see, you so eager and ready for her. She slowly made her way over to you, taking your chin into her palm, her grip was anything but gentle, forcing your face up towards her.

"Three weeks and I don't hear from you?" She growled as her eyes burned holes into you. You would be lying if you said it didn't turn you on tremendously, "What kinda shit is that?"

A whimper left your throat as her hand travelled down to your neck, squeezing the sides of it. Your hips rolled against the comforter underneath you, your clit was throbbing, begging for the tiniest bit of friction.

Her head dipped to your neck, breath hot against your skin, "Missed my touch that much, baby?"

You so desperately wanted it, you needed it. Having her was the only thing that would calm the excitement between your thighs. Her touch alone pushed you more and more over the edge. The spot where you sat became drenched in your arousal.

Her lips began to attack your neck hungrily, and they felt amazing. She nibbled and sucked, sure to leave marks by the next day. Her free hand roamed your body before it grazed the inside of your leg. She drew circles agonizingly slow. Her fingers wandered up, running between your soaked folds. She strategically avoided your clit, wanting to push you to the edge, and boy was she succeeding, "You so damn needy, I ain't even fucked you yet."

With that she suck two fingers into you, causing you to let out a cry, "i nee-fuck!" You threw your head back into the pillows behind you, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Your slick made it easy for her to open you up. She scissored her digits into you with precision, a loud sloshing sound filled the room, your juices drenching her hand. Her eyes met your half closed ones, "Hm? what you needed baby?"

She watched you struggle underneath her, your legs shaking and face contorted into one of pure ecstasy. She knew you were close, "Tell me what you need mama." You were at your peak, your walls clenched around her digits. A strained cry leaving your throat with every thrust she did.

A wave of dissatisfaction hit you when she snatched her fingers from your center. "P-Please baby i was so close." You whined.

Rianna took her silky fingers and ran them across your lips before sticking them in your mouth. Drool ran down the valley of your breasts as you sucked your juices off of them. She grinned before pushing them farther down your throat, causing you to gag, "Imma give you what you need baby, I promise."

She removed herself from you and stripped, revealing a scarlet red lingerie set that hugged her toned body. The arousal between her thighs dampened the middle of the thong she wore, strings of wetness connected it to her aching pussy as she dropped them to her ankles. She lay her self on the bed legs wide open so you could see all of her, and God was it a sigh to see. Your eyes were her stuck to her, mesmerized by the sight that lay before you.

You crawled towards her, hair falling and framing your face. In this moment you would do anything she told you, entranced in a spell of hers. You dipped your head into her sex, tongue swirling around her clit ever so slowly. her taste possessed you, you would stay down there all day if you could. you moaned as you sucked her throbbing bud, the vibration sending Rianna into a frenzy. She took your locs in a fistful and stuffed your face deeper into her, rocked her hips into you.

"You mm- you like this shit dont you?" her breasts bounced up and down, a layer of sweat starting to form on her skin. Her bottom lip was trapped in between her teeth, eyes locked onto you. Rianna loved watching you underneath her, seeing you please her drove her crazy, "You l-love getting your face fucked d-don't you?"

The grip on your hair got tighter as you continued to coax out her orgasm, "Eating it so g-good f'me baby. "The rocking of her hips became spasmodic as her thighs began to clench around your head, "Shi-shit, oh fuck!"

Her body stilled and her legs shook as she stopped to catch her breath. She pushed your head away and walked over to the bag that she brought. A few moments later she came back with her strap attached to her waist.

"You know how i want you."

You happily obliged as you got on all fours, arching your back so she could have access to all of you. Arousal dripped from your aching pussy down to the sheets. Your body shuddered in anticipation, waiting for her to fuck you silly. She rubbed the tip against your bundle of nerves, resulting in a gasp. Rianna was such a tease. She wanted to make you squirm and whine before she fucked you, needing to see how your body reacted to her.

"S-shit! ri p-please!"

A low chuckle left her, "please what? tell me what you want baby."

She was being mean and she knew it. A smack came down hard on your ass, and another right after. When it came to sex Rianna got off on hearing you beg, she wanted you to tell her everything you desired from her. Silence was never an option when it came to being intimate with her.

“Wa-want you to- ah fuck!”

Rianna teased your entrance with the tip of the dildo, slamming it in seconds after. You could’ve swore you saw stars. She was stretching you immensely, and you loved every second of it. A low chuckle left Rianna's lips, one of satisfaction. She began to push deeper inside you, massaging your gooey walls, hitting your spot just right.

“S-shit ri!” The covers underneath you began to tangle in between your fingers, “J-just like that!”

She gripped both of your forearms, pulling you back up towards her. Your head rested in the crook of her neck as she pecked wet kisses along your jawline.

“Doing so good f’me baby." she rasped in your ear.

Rianna's speed was killing you. She made your pelvises kissed with every thrust that she did.

"F-fuck ri baby please!" Your pleads held no weight with her. She had you right where she wanted.

"You look so fucking pretty when you beg."

the coil in your stomach was threatening to snap. The speed nor force of her drilling never let up.

Your orgasm was creeping up on you and Rianna could tell. Your breath hitched as you clenched around her, "Im about to f-fucking come!"

"Let that shit out," The sound of your bodies slapping against one another filled the room. "Tell me, that bitch fuck you this good?"

It felt like all the air had been knocked out of your chest. Between the pounding you were receiving and that question, you forgot how to breathe. Dirty talk wasn't new to you and Rianna, you fucking loved it. She knew exactly what to say to make your fountain run over. You and your wife's sex life wasn't an exciting one to say the least. It felt like a monotonous chore.

You shuddered against her, "Mmph- fuck!"

"I asked you a question." One hand snaked down your front and swirled your swollen bud in between her fingers, "She fuck you like this baby? She make that pussy feel good like i do?"

You hated to admit it, but your wife had nothing on RIanna, nothing at all. "Fuck n-no! She don't m-make me feel like you do baby!"

Tears ran down your cheeks as your orgasm washed over you, the coil in your stomach finally snapping. After a few more thrusts she pulled out of you, caressing your back as you came down from your high.

Steam filled the bedroom as the bathroom door swung open, out came you in a towel that clung to your dripping body. Rianna lay sprawled out on the bed, typing on her phone. You two knew the drill, she had to be out by noon.

"Alright Ri.....you already know how this go."

She cut her eyes at you and sighed, irritation beginning to rise. She pretended like she didn't hear you, initially ignoring you. The typing on her phone becoming more aggressive.

11:15 came and she still made no attempt to get dressed and out of your home. She did this every time, wanting to get you back in bed again and not worry about the responsibilities you had to face after your rendezvous.

"Rianna, seriously get dressed."

A groan left her mouth as she tossed her phone on the side of her, "This shit again? When you gone leave her? Ain't like y'all a couple anyway."

"Excuse me?"

She stepped toward you, her being short in stature didn't affect the intimidation that you felt in the moment.

"Don't give me that shit. Y'all don't even sleep in the same bed, and you want me to be gone before she get here? What type of shit is that!"

She was right. You and your wife haven't shared the same bed in months, let alone even touched each other.

"That's my wife rianna!"

She scoffed, "Yea a lousy one. That bitch can't do half the shit I do for you, yet you still fucking stay."

You threw her shirt and pants at her, "Get fucking dressed. You were supposed to been gon-"

The bedroom door swung open, a loud slam following behind it as it hit the wall. There stood your wife, arms crossed and face red with anger.

"Fuck!"

#riri williams #dominique thorne #ironheart x reader #riri williams x reader #billy’s books 🦦#riri williams smut #riri williams fanfic #ririwilliams #dominique thorne x reader

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queenshelby · 8 months ago

Text

Our Little Secret (Part 55)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

Later that week, when Mara was staying with your mother, you finally had some time with Sean again, and he took you out for a nice dinner, really making an effort to win you over.

He was staying over that night as well, but somehow, you couldn't stop thinking about that email, about Cillian and how he had made you feel for all those nights you had spent together in the past. He consumed your thoughts, making you feel suffocated and uncertain about your current, albeit casual, relationship with Sean.

As you were sleeping with Sean that night, you realised again how empty and meaningless the sex was. His every touch and kiss felt forced, almost robotic, and this was in stark contrast to how Cillian had always made you feel during your intimate moments.

You knew you shouldn't be comparing the two of them, but you couldn't help it. The way Cillian had always looked at you during those stolen moments, the hunger and the tenderness that was evident in his gaze, made you feel like you were the only woman in the world who mattered to him.

Sean's gaze never had that intensity, never quite reached that depth.

With Sean, everything was rushed, everything was a little too eager, like he was just going through the motions to get to the end result. With Cillian, everything was taken slow, every kiss and touch savored and appreciated. He made you feel cherished and desired, and in that moment, nothing else mattered except the two of you.

Once, during your encounter that night with Sean and right after you took control, riding yourself to yet another forced orgasm, you even said Cillian's name, instead of Sean's, and Sean had immediately pulled away from you, eyes widened with shock.

You had apologized instantly and tried to explain it away as a slip of the tongue, but your discomfort lingered between you, creating an awkward silence that was hard to fill.

Afterward, when the two of you lay there in the dark, Sean's arm reluctantly draped around your bare waist, you both pretended to sleep. You couldn't bring yourself to touch him, to make another attempt at intimacy, and you didn't know if he was willing to try again, either.

He stayed though nonetheless and pretended that you never said your ex's name instead. He was still hopeful that he could win you over and you were not sure how to feel about it at this point. You felt guilty for being unfaithful to him in your thoughts and actions but, at the same time, your heart felt heavy knowing that you still loved someone else.

Sean was a good guy, but he simply didn't make you feel the way Cillian did. Yes, Sean was more compatible with you when it came to age, and the sex was better now than it had been in the beginning, but emotionally, there was no comparison. You felt things with Cillian that you never felt with Sean or any other man.

When morning came, you both woke up early. Sean got up first and started to make coffee. You laid there, thinking about what had happened the previous night.

You knew you needed to talk to Sean, but you weren't sure what to say. You felt guilty for using him like that, but you also knew that you were not in love with him.

Sean came back to the bedroom with two cups of coffee. He handed you one and sat down on the bed next to you.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"I'm fine," you murmured, still lost in thought. He knew there was more to your silence than meet the eye, but he didn't press you for answers. Instead, he took a seat next to you on the bed, gently placing a hand on your shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me whatever's bothering you if you don't want to," he said, his voice soft. You looked at him, studying his features.

"But you know, on a different topic. I was thinking about Siobhan's wedding," he hesitantly offered before taking a sip of his coffee. "And I was wondering whether you would take me as your plus one," he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Your heart skipped a beat and you gazed into his eyes, trying to read the sincerity that lay within them.

"I...I don't know," you faltered, glancing away from his searching gaze. "I don't think it would go down well with Cillian and his familu..." you pointed out, knowing the reality of the situation. "Plus, we are not exclusive and I don't think it would be appropriate to bring you along. I am sorry Sean ."

Sean's face dropped and for a moment, you saw the hurt pale green eyes staring back at you.

"It is just a wedding, Y/N," he protested. "And to tell you the truth, I don't like your ex being there while I am not," Sean said firmly, his eyebrows furrowed in determination.

You sighed deeply, feeling a twinge of guilt towards him. "I know, but it's his sister's wedding and she happens to be a good friend of mine," you explained. " So, I don't want to cause any drama for her on her big day," you added, trying to soften the blow.

Sean seemed to understand, but the disappointment in his eyes was clear. "I get it. I just thought it might help us develop our relationship a bit more," he told you, knowing very well that this was not what you had in mind.

"Sean, please, we have been through this before and you know that I don't want anything serious right now," you reminded him, feeling a twinge of frustration which is when Sean finally gave up. "Alright, fine," he said with a sigh, his anger placated temporarily before he decided that it was time for him to get ready for work.

***

After work, Sean caught up with his friend Mark again to tell him what happened the night before and it was obvious to Mark that this was going to be a lost cause now. Not that he hadn't known already, but this new revelation confirmed it beyond any shadow of a doubt.

"Man, she didn't even respond to my email. His publicist did. So, I am not sure what to tell you. Maybe she is a lost cause," Mark told his friend honestly after hearing what he had to say, but Sean wouldn't let go of you just yet.

"I don't get it Mark. I know he is famous and all, but she doesn't seem to care about that and, yet she is still hung up on him. He isn't even that attractive," Sean grumbled, scrolling through news articles about Cillian on his phone. "And he is almost fifty for crying out loud. I have no idea what she sees in that guy," Sean continued venting to Mark, honestly confused about how, as a woman in your early twenties, you even got involved with a man Cillian's age. "He might not even be able to satisfy her in bed seeing how she is so much fucking younger," he chuckled cynically, almost feeling embarrassed to admit that he himself couldn't fully satisfy you.

But then again, it wasn't just their strange age difference or even the rumors of Cillian's infidelity that bothered Sean about you and your ex's relationship. There was something about Cillian that he just found distasteful. Perhaps it was his celebrity status or maybe it was his arrogant demeanor when he was around Sean. Whatever it was, Sean didn't like him

"Man, I don't know, but you might actually need to let her go because that woman is fucking destroying you , and she doesn't even know it," Mark advised. "I mean, how long have you been chasing her around now? Two or three fucking months or more? And you still haven't made any real progress."

Mark was right. Sean had been trying to win you over for months and while he had managed to sleep with you regularly, it was quite clear that you were not interested in anything serious. But he didn't want to give up just yet and, instead, he was ready to up his game even further.

"I know, but I can't help it," Sean said, glancing back at your profile picture on his phone. "She is just so fucking beautiful and smart, I can't get her out of my head. I need her in my life, Mark."

Mark sighed deeply and shook his head. He had known this would happen from the start and he had warned Sean multiple times that chasing after a woman who was clearly uninterested in anything serious would only lead to heartbreak, but Sean wouldn't listen.

"Let's get that article published then without her statement. It might ruffle some feathers and Y/N might even come around after that, seeing how her ex is not so perfect after all," Mark suggested to Sean although he knew it was a long shot.

Sean nodded in agreement, as he scrolled through his phone, looking for any recent articles about Cillian, but none of them were as significant as what Mark was about to release in the Irish Times.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy

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tieronecrush · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! Love your work! Can I get a Javier Pena story where this song is the inspo: https://m.soundcloud.com/user-265940464-259651895/i-miss-u ? Basically Y/N is upset because she thinks Javi is cheating on her because he’s being distant but he’s actually just really stressed out? Can there be lots of fluff :) thank you btw!

thank you so much for your lovely compliment and for sending in this request!!! javi p is my husband so i loveeee love love writing for him!! hope this lives up to what you imagined!!!

cold hands

javier peña x f!reader

rating: M

word count: 2.3k

summary: your boyfriend javi has been distant for the past few weeks; canceling dates, staying late at work, leaving early in the morning, and….lacking intimacy. you can't help but wonder if something is going on, or someone.

warnings: insecurity, distant relationship, thoughts about infidelity, past infidelity, established relationship, pet names, it's javi so he's obviously going to allude to sexy times, very poor highschool level spanish please educate me

“Hey, baby! You leaving the embassy now?” You ran across your kitchen to pick up the landline on the second ring, abandoning the dinner cooking on the stove in hopes that it was your boyfriend. When his deep voice on the other end confirmed it, a smile crossed your face and was evident in the excitement in your tone.

A slow sigh comes from the other end, your heart immediately sinking in your chest. You knew what was about to come next. It wasn’t the first time this has happened in the past few weeks. It wasn’t even the first time it has happened this week.

“I’m sorry, cielto. I can’t make it tonight, Messina has Murphy and me pursuing a lead that has to happen tonight…”

These phone calls with Javi have become routine at this point. Always when he’s supposed to come and spend the night or is supposed to pick you up to come to his place; he’s canceled dates and has been leaving early in the mornings to go to work when you two do get to spend the night with each other.

Always something along the lines of “Messina ordered us”, “This has to happen tonight”, or “They need us to go to Medellín”. There was one time two weeks ago when all three of those reasons were used in the same sentence.

“It’s alright, Javi. See you tomorrow night, maybe?”

“I will come by right after I get off work tomorrow to pick you up and bring you over to my place. Lo prometo, mi amor. Estaré ahí para ti. (I promise, my love. I will be there for you).”

That is when you can’t take it anymore. The promise breaks your heart because you know he can’t keep it, that he probably won’t keep it. Tears fall down your cheeks as you bite your lip to stay quiet, all of your hard work ruined when you sniffle without thinking about it.

Javi’s heard the noise and knows that you must be crying, the image of you alone and upset breaking his heart. He shifts to turn to lean against his desk, prepared to stand there and comfort you until you feel better.

Except, the next second, Murphy is standing right next to him with an impatient look on his face. He’s tapping his foot and rushing him along with his hands, gesturing to his watch and then to the door.

Javi’s chest constricts as he listens to your soft sniffles crack over the line, another sigh falling from his lips.

That second sigh sounds much more frustrated. He must be annoyed that you’re this upset over him canceling, probably wondering why you can’t understand that this is his job. He can’t just say no and head out for the night, it’s not a regular nine-to-five.

As you open your mouth to apologize to him and deescalate any annoyance from him, his voice muffles in a whisper over the phone.

“I’m sorry, cielto. I gotta go. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay —” is all you can get out before the line cuts dead and the dial tone sounds. You hang the phone on the wall again, freely letting out your cries now that you’re alone again.

It wasn’t always like this. Javi has been an attentive partner since you met him; at first, the two of you casually hooked up, a boot call here or there. But eventually, you or he would stay the night which evolved into making breakfast together before work, and then became the two of you spending nights together simply hanging out with nothing else happening. Finally, after a few months of that, Javi insisted and asked, multiple times, to take you on a “real date, with dinner and drinks or the movies or whatever” (his words). You’d quickly agreed after his ramble, and since that night he asked you for a date, the two of you have been together for just under a year. It’d be closer to a year and a half if you count those months spent hooking up before.

If you had been asked two months ago if the two of you were happy, you would say yes without hesitation. These days, you weren’t so sure that Javi was entirely in it anymore.

He’s been distant, the phone calls and cancellations are major evidence that something is going on. But even when the two of you are together, he falls asleep without so much as a kiss for you, sits on the other end of the couch staring into space while you watch TV, has even jumped away from you touching his shoulder when you stood next to him in your kitchen.

The behavior is all too familiar. You can’t help but connect the dots as you did with your ex — the one you were with for a few years before Javi. He had cheated on you. Avoided you for months by canceling last minute or coming up with excuses about work or family stuff. Didn’t have sex with you, kiss you, or even hold your hand when you were together.

Javi has given you absolutely no reason for you not to trust him. Sure, you’d heard all about his previous reputation from Steve and even from Javi himself, but as far as you know, ever since the two of you had been hooking up, he hasn’t been with anyone else. A devoted, doting boyfriend. Until he became distant.

Insecurity started to fester in the space he created between the two of you. Your past influences your brain to start mulling over if this distance is to make a break up with you easier, or if maybe he’s found someone else, maybe he’s already with that someone else.

The thought seems ludicrous to part of you, but that tiny sliver of doubt is the loudest tonight.

You haven’t talked to him about how these past few weeks have been strange and cold. The thought of saying something, of confronting him, and making it all worse terrifies you. If he isn’t doing anything wrong, if he’s just going through something, you definitely don’t want to give him a reason to break up with you or to think that you don’t trust him.

The way that he whispered to you over the phone before hanging up sticks out in your mind, and it jumps to the conclusion that he must be around someone that he has to keep a secret from, to keep you a secret from.

It’s irrational, but in your current state, you can’t bring yourself out.

Instead, dinner is chucked in the trash, and the rest of your night is spent cycling between sad, broken tears, angry stewing, and insecure spiraling. Eventually, you exhaust yourself with the constant changes of emotions, falling asleep alone.

You eventually fall asleep and wake up to a hand gently shaking your shoulder. Javi stands over you next to your bed dressed in his short-sleeve button-up and jeans that you saw him get dressed in the previous morning.

“Morning, cielito.”

Half awake, the sight of him coming home in yesterday’s clothes makes tears well in your eyes, and his hand suddenly feels cold against your skin. The only reason you think of him standing there in a day-old outfit is that he must have spent the night with someone else.

His brow furrows with concern as he sees your faint tears falling, his hand moving up to pet your hair, the motion nearly comforting you to the point where you want to forget everything that’s happened and take what he’ll give you, even if there might be someone else.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s got you so sad, cariño? Did something happen last night?”

You sniffle and shake your head, swiping your tears away and sitting up in bed quickly.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Must’ve been a bad dream.”

Javi sits next to you on the edge of the bed, hand moving to your thigh and circling his thumb on it through the faded quilt covering you.

“Cielito, please tell me. We both know that you don’t sleep as peacefully as you were when you have a nightmare. I want to help you, please tell me.”

You pull the covers further over you, covering your mouth and muffling out, “I don’t wanna…Just gonna make things worse…”

Javi looks at you with a faint smile and a chuckle, shaking his head.

“As adorable as you look, mi amor, I can’t hear you like that,” he reaches over and gently pulls the quilt from your hands, laying it down again. He takes one of your hands that have fallen to your lap, intertwining your fingers, “Can you say that again for me? Please?”

His softness is making more tears well, your eyes trained on your hands as you let out a shaky exhale, voice meek.

“Are you…Do you still wanna be with me?”

Your gaze flicks up to Javi’s face and his thumb stops brushing against your hand. Thick brows knit together, confusion and hurt mixing in his wide eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak once and then twice, finally holding your hand tighter and matching your volume.

“Of course, I do, cariño. Why would you think I don’t want that? Have I done something to make you feel like that?”

“It’s just — You’ve been so distant the past few weeks. Canceling dates, or telling me you can’t come over, or staying late and leaving early for work. I don’t want you to be upset, but it, um, it's made me feel like maybe you wanna break up or maybe…you’ve found someone else. It’s the same thing that my ex did, and I know you’re not him but my brain just can’t shut up about what it all makes me feel or-or think about.”

“Someone else? Mi amor, you are all I want. I love you. Solo seras tu por el resto de mi vida (It will only be you for the rest of my life),” he peels the covers back from your legs and stands, nudging you over to sit on the bed. His forearm muscles flex as he pulls you across his lap, arms circling around your waist and hand running fingertips up and down your spine methodically.

“There’s been shit after shit piling up at work and Murphy’s been on my ass to stay late and come in early to try to get one step ahead of these sicarios. And then yesterday we got a lead from one of our informants that turned out to be a dead end. I’ve just been stressed, I guess. And not handling it well. I'm sorry…It’s not an excuse for neglecting you, but believe me when I say, all I think about is you. There could never be anyone else ‘cause I can’t shut up about you — you can ask Steve if you don’t believe me, but if we aren’t talking about work, I make one mention of you and he rolls his eyes.”

The thought pulls a subtle smile to your face, hand reaching up to wipe your falling tears. Javi gets there before you, his featherlight touch swiping the moisture away from your cheeks.

“You’ve made me soft, cielito. Lost my reputation as big, bad Agent Peña. Now everyone around the office just says your name and I respond a lot quicker.”

That breaks you, making you laugh genuinely and shake your head. A bright grin on your face pulls your cheeks up and glistens the salty water in your eyes, “You’re definitely lying, but it’s a cute story so I will let it slide.”

“I swear to god, I’m not bluffing. Put me in a polygraph, I’ll pass with flying colors.”

“Oh no, I believe the part about you responding faster to my name and being soft. I don’t believe that anyone at work ever thought of you as ‘big, bad Agent Peña’.”

Your smile slides into an impish grin, Javi’s mouth dropping open and eyes widening in offense. It doesn’t last for long, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as he listens to you laugh at his expense. Affection floods his eyes and he looks at you tenderly, leaning in to press a sweet but supple kiss to your lips. His wide smile is still evident on his face when he pulls away, his sincere tone resonating in your chest.

“I missed you, cielto. I miss you every damn day when I go to work and have to come home alone…” his eyes flash with an idea, a definitive request following, “Move in with me. Solves the problem of you needing a new place and I can come home to my beautiful girlfriend every night. What do you say, mi amor?”

“I say, you better be a good roommate.”

Javier wiggles his eyebrows as he leans for a kiss, words coated in his signature charm, “I definitely will be. Gonna be the best you ever had, in more ways than one. Don’t think our neighbors are gonna like us, though. Voy a tenerte gritando mi nombre todas las noches (I’m going to have you screaming my name every night).”

The phrase takes a second to translate in your head, mouth falling open in a gasp and a playful smack hitting his shoulder.

“Don’t make the neighbors hate me!”

A smug grin crosses his face as he moves to lay you down on the bed, crawling over you between your spread legs.“I think you’ll be saying something much different after the first night you’re living with me, mi amor. Estarás rogando por más (You’ll be begging for more).”

Your eyes start to roll and Javi presses his lips to yours in a slow, passionate kiss. He lifts his head away from you, adoration in his eyes.

"Te amo, mi cielito. Seré tuyo para siempre si me tienes (I love you, my heaven. I'll be yours forever if you'll have me)."

tagging some peeps from my other javi fic!

taglist: @swiftispunk @pedrit0-pascalit0 @lil-stark @joelsversion @mrsvedder12 @starsandsaints07 @wild-fauxed @rubyshouse @notes-from-my-journal @mi-place @killervirgosworld @paytonispunk @jakecockley @hydrangaces @jupitercorgi @nic0lodean @creedslove @westeros-needs-me @ikigailereve @the-casual-cat @marysucks-blog @midnightswithdearkatytspb @luamarieta @kaletastrophes @nasanatmfers @storyarcscribe @asirenbyanyothername @frustratedpanda @dieterbravo @theelishad @pascalislove @bigbutchenergee @starkovli @scrambledslut @atinylittlepain @beskarandblasters @johnwatsn @thetriumphantpanda

#javier #javier peña #javier pena #javi p #javier peña fanfic #javier peña angst #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena fluff #javier pena angst

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darksigns-exe · 1 year ago

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Sweet Like Honey - Hearts Like House Fires

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol consumption, anxiety attacks, infidelity, swearing, slight angst Word Count: 2.9k Read on AO3

The music outside continues to boom. He can hear it even through the noise-cancelling headphones. Maybe he should be out there. This is as much his success as it is theirs. Noah has poured just as much if not more of himself into this album, but the idea of stepping out there and mingling with people who only care about their music now that it’s picked up in speed feels like the last thing he wants to do right now.

He wants to be happy about this. The album has turned out so much better than expected and yet the bitter stench remains. The biting and clawing under his skin rarely leaves these days and it’s easier to hide behind the walls of sound than to actually face it. He knows that, as soon as he steps outside this door, they all will ask about her and then he’ll have to explain it all over again. The thought alone is enough to shatter his heart for the hundredth time that day.

Maybe he should have expected it. It’s all been going too well. They’d been too happy, of course, something had to go wrong. He just doesn’t know how he didn’t see it coming. None of that matters now though. It’s done, he’s the one who has to deal with the aftermath while she’s off with that asshole doing god knows what.

He’d long drawn his conclusions from it – or rather it had reaffirmed conclusions he had hoped were wrong. If he doesn’t want to get hurt he has to keep people at arm's length. He doesn’t want to be one of those miserable loner dickheads, but he’d rather be alone than allow himself to be subjected to this kind of fuckery again.

It’s been exactly three weeks and five days since Noah found them in his bed and he swears that the stench of his cologne still hasn’t washed out of his sheets. The sofa in the studio isn’t as comfortable but it’s better than that. He is well aware that they all know that he hasn’t slept in his own bed in almost a month. Everyone except for Nick has had the decency to ignore that detail. He should have known that Nick would be the one to point out that he was only driving himself deeper into that hole.

Has he listened? Of course not.

Noah is stubborn above all else and this self-flagellation feels like the best thing he deserves right now.

Really it’s his own fault.

He tries to drown the laughter and cheering from outside. Maybe he could brave a quick excursion into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. So far no one has come looking for him, perhaps that is a good sign. Maybe they’ve finally given up on trying to get him to leave it behind . God knows he tries, but three weeks doesn’t feel long enough to leave five years behind.

Noah pushes away from the desk. Before he opens the door, he listens for a moment. He can’t hear much above the blaring music. He cracks open the door enough so that he can survey the kitchen. Someone is standing by the sink, her back facing towards him. He doesn’t recognise the girl, but that doesn’t mean much. He pushes out of the studio and into the kitchen. She doesn’t hear him enter and if he’s quick enough she won’t even know that he was here in the first place. He still tries to be quiet in his approach. He makes it to the fridge before he hears a startled yelp from behind him.

“Jesus – fuck .”

Noah finds her with one hand pressed to her mouth and the other to her chest. Wide, brown eyes stare at him still in deep shock. Her chest is heaving with deep breaths as she tries to calm herself down again.

He’s stuck at the other end of the room. Something in his chest chokes up. Even at this distance, he can see the bright red under her eyes, the smeared makeup that faintly stains her cheeks. He doesn’t need to be a genius to know that she is just now gathering herself again. He knows the shaking of her hands, the trembling in her breath too well.

The still open fridge beeps with alarm and Noah finally finds himself able to move again. Her eyes snap away from him and towards the main room of the house as if she is expecting someone to join them.

“Are you okay?” his voice crackles with disuse.

Those wide eyes find him again and the sliver of fear that still lingers behind their warmth shoots through him like lightning. He doesn’t know her name or who she came here with but that absolute look of panic hurts in a way that is way too close to home. The idea that someone in this house – someone he might know – might be responsible for this makes him nauseous.

Despite all that she nods because of course, she does. He’d do the same thing.

“You don’t look it.”

She clears her throat, swallows around a breath “Just a bit of panic.”

Noah doesn’t understand how someone can look so absolutely devastated but still sound so sweet . There’s a little lilt of an accent that he can’t quite place in her voice. It’s faint but present enough to intrigue him.

“I just didn’t hear you come in.” he hates that she sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself rather than him.

He nods “Do you need something? Water?”

He’s already back at the fridge without waiting for her answer. She’ll say no and try to worm her way out of the situation, he’s been in those very shoes all too often in recent weeks with Nick on the other side of the playing field.

“I was gonna sit outside for a bit if you want to get some air?”

The lie comes a little too easy, but maybe whatever tactics Nick has used on him might work on her. She gives a meek nod but waits for him to make the first move towards the sliding door.

She steps outside behind him.

It’s still warm outside even though they’re quickly moving towards winter. Not that it ever gets really cold here. The winters here are nothing like the biting cold from his childhood. She still wraps her arms around her body. He finds a somewhat out-of-view spot on the steps that lead down to the yellowed grass and sinks down. She sits next to him and while his feet reach all the way down to the soil, hers rest on the step below the one she sits on.

“Did you come here with someone?” he asks eventually.

“My friend dragged me here just to disappear with some guy.” there’s a hint of amusement in her words.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Tasha?”

Of course, Tasha would be the one to ditch a friend just to get laid.

“I’m not surprised.”

He watches as she fiddles with the label of her bottle “You know I couldn’t even leave if I wanted to.”

“Some friend you got there. I can go find her if you –”

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that.” this time she actually laughs.

Noah makes the fatal mistake of looking at her. In the dim light, he can make out the little crinkles around her eyes, the way her nose scrunches up. She catches him looking at her. That smile stays and claws its way into his chest. It’s entirely out of left field and he doesn’t have the opposition to fight it. The feeling sits on his chest like a stack of bricks. Unmoving and heavy. It’s oppressive in a way that he really doesn’t want right now.

“I’m Noah.”

“Bee.”

Oh of course her name is as sweet as she looks.

She holds her hand out for him to shake. He takes it and tries very hard not to think about how his hand practically envelopes hers. He doesn’t let go immediately, instead, he pulls her arm towards him to inspect the lines and patterns that decorate her skin. It’s some kind of floral motif. The time he has spent hovering behind Nick tells him it’s neotraditional. Noah turns her arm a little and she lets out a giggle .

He can’t let himself be drawn in by her. This — if anything — has to remain friendly, purely platonic.

He does release his grasp on her eventually. Bee remains close to his side though. He thinks that maybe the proximity helps to ease the probably still-wired nerves in her body. Or maybe he’s projecting.

“Does that happen often?” He doesn’t know why he asks. It’s none of his business.

“What do you mean?”

“The anxiety.”

“How do you —“

He lets out a dry laugh “Know it when I see it.” He shifts, so that can look at her properly “Listen, I'm not gonna pry. Not my place. All I want to know is if someone in here made that happen.”

She’s quiet for a suspiciously long time. And Noah watches as her manicured fingers pick at a loose thread in her jeans. It’s all a little too familiar.

“I think it was just the noise. I don’t really know.”

They both know that it wasn’t just the noise, but Noah also knows that him trying to dig an answer out of her is the last thing she needs. He decides to drop the topic and instead allows the silence to simmer between them.

It’s comfortable.

For someone who prefers noise to drown out his own thoughts, he feels oddly at ease sitting next to this practical stranger. He can almost feel her settling into the chilled air. Silence is something he doesn’t award himself very often. And to share it with someone else feels like a form of intimacy that he isn’t exactly used to. There is no place to hide in the quiet, no place for his thoughts to go. In the quiet, he can’t distract from the fact that he is about as lost as she looked when he first saw her leaning on the counter in front of the sink.

It becomes too much eventually. The dark at the corners of his vision keeps creeping in and instead of trying to shake it, he finds another momentary distraction.

“I’ve never seen you around here,” he asks and the sudden noise makes her jump just a little.

Bee places the now empty bottle next to her on the stairs “I’m only here because Tasha didn’t want to go alone.”

“Can’t believe Tash’s never brought you around before.”

“She offered.” the words come quiet and he gets it “Just been…busy I guess.”

“I feel like I’d know if you’d work at the shop, so it’s not that. And if you’d for a label Tasha would have made you come around sooner.” he wonders out loud.

Noah likes to think that he’s fairly good at reading people and so far she isn’t giving him the feeling that she doesn’t want this back-and-forth to continue.

“You’re still like super cold.”

“Alright…something creative?”

“Cold.”

“Academic?”

“Warmer.”

“Tasha knows people that know things?”

Her body seizes with one of those laughs that is more of a forceful exhale. It’s sweet.

“I thought she only knows hot people and guys in bands .” his attempt to keep her laughing seems to be successful “Alright academic…you’re not a doctor of something are you?”

She shakes her head “Not yet at least.”

“Big plans. I like that.” he swears that her cheeks get a little bit pinker at that “Not a doctor…so probably not medicine. Law? No, you don’t strike me as a law person. Languages?”

“Warm.”

“Do you know how many languages there are?”

Bee looks more than amused at his incredulous expression. She shakes her head “I’m a paleographer.”

“A what now?”

Her body shakes with laughter. It’s warm and gentle and most of all it’s genuine.

“I work with mediaeval manuscripts and writing systems. Deciphering and dating and that kinda stuff.” She explains “I’ve been teaching for a couple of years, but I want to do more research again.”

It’s like he’s opened a dam because she doesn’t stop talking after that. There’s passion in every word and even though he only understands about half of the things she’s throwing at him he can admire how much she loves what she does. It’s almost as if the girl in front of him has been swapped out at some point because the timid and insecure words she’d offered before were now so emblazoned with love that it makes his head swim a little. He can easily see her in the front of a classroom swaying those bored faces.

And she isn’t talking down to him either. It’s a full onslaught of terminology and when he asks what a specific term means she explains it with so much practised patience that he actually feels as if he’s learning something.

For the first time in almost four weeks since he found himself swimming in the middle of this near-endless void he doesn’t feel as if he’s drowning anymore. Bee doesn’t know about any of it. She barely knows who he is, bar his name and a few arbitrary details, but the last hour and a half has been the most meaningful conversation he’s had in ages. It feels as if he’s known her for years and in an odd way he feels as if he’s been missing her.

It’s refreshing to talk to someone who is entirely removed from the madness he deals with every day. She has her own entirely different madness that couldn’t be more different than his. He wants to hear all about it, every trivial detail. She listens with the same attentiveness as he awards her and he thinks that for once someone actually hears him. The topics between them shift and change with the wind. It’s easy — comfortable.

There’s a spell of silence between them when he notices her shiver. Noah debates himself briefly before he tugs off his sweatshirt and unceremoniously drapes it across her shoulders. He can feel her seizing up for a second when his hands touch her shoulders. She relaxes again after a few moments and to his surprise she slips it over her head. She swims in the garment that runs a little too large even on him and Noah doesn’t miss the little laugh she lets out when she tries to arrange her arms within the sleeves.

“I can fit another one of me in this.” She says quietly.

He could probably fit himself into it as well if he tried hard enough. For a second his head drifts off into dangerous territory when he wonders how warm her skin feels, how soft it’d be. He shakes the thought from his head as quickly as he can.

Arms. Length.

She’s telling him about her cat, a little black thing named Barnabas when the sliding door behind them shifts open.

“There you are.” Noah doesn’t have to turn around to know the source of the voice “I’ve been looking for you. I’m gonna head back home if you want a ride back.” Tasha comes to lean against the bannister next to him “I hope this asshole has behaved himself.”

She throws a rather pointed look towards Noah. It’s deserved in a way.

“No no, he’s been…very nice.” Bee quickly gets up on her feet “I think I should probably head back with you.”

Noah wants to offer her a ride back but they’ve just met and he wants to spare her the awkward no thank you . That way he can keep her separate from himself for a little while longer. Tasha mumbles something neither of them really listens to before she heads back inside.

They stand suspended in silence for a while. When he had previously felt so comfortable in the silence, he now feels bare and exposed in her eyes. The words he could say hang between them. The options are endless.

“I’ll — I’ll see you around?”

A quiet way to say don’t let me become a stranger. It’s non-committal enough.

She nods “Sure…I’d like that.”

“Good.”

It’s an unspoken promise. Unseen fingers that beg not to let the other vanish into the dark.

She takes a step towards the sliding door and Noah thinks that this is it. That she’ll leave and this little bubble will pop and he’ll return to the space in the studio that is almost moulded to his frame now.

She stops before she opens the door “Thank you, Noah. Really.”

Thank you he wants to say.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says instead “Happy to help.”

She huffs out a laugh and pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt “I’ll go — Tash’s waiting.”

“Sure.”

And then she does leave. He watches her slip through the crack in the sliding door, his sweatshirt still on her back. Bee waves to someone inside — Nick he assumes before she’s finally out of view.

Noah doesn’t go back inside immediately. He sits back down on the stairs for a little longer.

The drowning feeling doesn’t come back immediately. Only when he lies back on the sofa does it start to settle in his chest again. Maybe he should have asked for her number. Just to stay in touch. As friends.

He doesn’t know that halfway across the city a young woman realises that she went home with the sweatshirt of a guy she barely knows. And he doesn’t know that she feels just a little bit warmer at the thought of him. Or that she lies awake wondering if she should have asked for his number. To stay in touch. Nothing more.

#surprise drop gang #fic: sweet like honey #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian fanfic

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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 1 year ago

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You

Leonard Bernstein was my idol for about 6 months. My worship centered around his composition of West Side Story. The movie blew me away and earned my first 10 out of ten rating and became the standard by which I judged every movie for the next fifteen years. I was in eighth grade at the time. I recognized and appreciated the blend of classical, jazz, Latin and musical theater elements. The lyrics written by Stephen Sondheim perfectly fit the score yet there are moments when there are no lyrics just pure music such as the Dance in the Gym and the opening introduction. Bernstein yeah.

At the time, I knew nothing about his private life. In the ensuing years. I'd heard about several extra marital relations that he had with various men, that's about it. At first I was shocked, then merely surprised and now "yeah so what"

It's not the gender that shocks...it's the infidelity which is a major consideration of his character at least from the remnants of my Catholic upbringing.

When I learned that Bradley Cooper was directing film about the life of Leonard. I knew I would be amongst the first to see it. Two weeks ago, I caught Cooper doing his promo work for the upcoming film on Stephen Colbert's late night teevee show.

Cooper spoke with reverence about Bernstein. He had become close friends with the Bernstein family during his process. He described the euphoria that he experience while in the role of Bernstein conducting a live performance of a full orchestra. Colbert claimed to have seen the movie and agreed that Cooper's portrayal was magnificent including his haunting resemblance to Bernstein.

The film was called Maestro.

Even though the film is playing at the theaters, last night it showed up on the teevee stream. Perfect. Let's make some popcorn.

poppopcrunchpopcruchpop etc/

Let's flash forward to the ending. The ending was great as it came at the precise moment that I was beginnng to wonder when the hell this thing was gong to end. We were already 2 hours into it and it seemed like there was about twelve years to go in Bernstein's life when suddenly the Title of the film appeared on the screen which automatically boosted the film from a 7.5 to an 8. I'm glad that I didn't pay money to see it.

Along the way, there's lotsa music, lotsa conducting, lotsa euphoria, a whole lotta love and most distracting of all; a whole lot of smoke. Cooper/Bernstein is smoking in virtually every scene and sometimes he and his wife seem to be intentionally blowing smoke in each other's faces as a form of foreplay and foreshadowing. In life both Felecia and Leonard died young, their deaths accelerated by their chain smoking.

I understand that the complicated dynamic between Leonard and his wife Felicia was a shorthand portrayal of their relationship that highlighted various examples of nuanced behaviours which can be ineterpreted in various ways from playful intimacy to underlying tensions.

There's a lot of nuanced behavior and underlying tensions in the movie.

A lot

Maestro attempts to navigate the personal complexities of human relations colliding with authentic creative genius to remind us of the "difficulties' of surviving the collision, yet not turning Maestro into Monstro.

With a closing drenched in pathos while delivering a surprising whiff of tuna fish and cigarettes, the title flashes on the screen and cuts to a clip of the real Leoanard conducting the real New York Philharmonic and everyone goes....."Wow dude looks a lot like Coop".

ChatGPT

Leonard Bernstein was a multifaceted musician and conductor whose impact on the world of classical music and beyond is undeniable. He was renowned for his work as the music director of the New York Philharmonic, his compositions, especially "West Side Story," and his role as an educator through his Young People's Concerts.

Many people have found inspiration in Bernstein's talent, passion, and dedication to music. It's not uncommon for individuals to have phases where they deeply admire and resonate with a particular artist or figure. Whether your admiration for Bernstein lasted for 6 months or longer, it's a testament to the profound influence he had on countless individuals. Is there anything specific you'd like to know or discuss about Leonard Bernstein?

You

My worship centered around his composition of West Side Story.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

"West Side Story" is undoubtedly one of Leonard Bernstein's most celebrated works, a musical theater masterpiece that has captivated audiences since its premiere in 1957. With lyrics by Stephen Sondheim and a book by Arthur Laurents, the musical reimagines Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" in the context of New York City street gangs, exploring themes of love, prejudice, and violence.

Bernstein's score for "West Side Story" is innovative and eclectic, blending classical, jazz, Latin, and musical theater elements. Songs like "Maria," "Tonight," "Somewhere," and "America" have become iconic pieces in the musical theater repertoire.

Your admiration for Bernstein's composition of "West Side Story" is understandable. The musical's enduring popularity and cultural impact are a testament to the brilliance of Bernstein's music and the timeless relevance of the story. Is there a particular aspect of "West Side Story" or Bernstein's music that resonated with you during your period of admiration?

You

The movie blew me away and earned my first 10 out of ten rating and became the standard by which I judged every movie for the next fifteen years. I was in eighth grade at the time. I recognized and appreciated the blend of classical, jazz, Latin and musical theater elements. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's truly remarkable how a single piece of art, like the film adaptation of "West Side Story," can have such a profound impact and set a standard for one's future experiences. The 1961 film adaptation of "West Side Story," directed by Robert Wise and Jerome Robbins, masterfully brought Bernstein's score and the story's themes to the cinematic medium.

Your appreciation for the film's blend of musical genres underscores Bernstein's genius in crafting a score that transcends traditional boundaries, appealing to a wide range of audiences. The seamless integration of classical, jazz, Latin, and musical theater elements in "West Side Story" is a testament to Bernstein's versatility and innovative spirit.

It's fascinating how pivotal moments in our formative years can shape our perceptions and standards. The fact that "West Side Story" earned your first 10 out of 10 rating and became your benchmark for evaluating other movies speaks volumes about its impact on you.

As you continue to explore and appreciate the world of film and music, Bernstein's legacy and the magic of "West Side Story" will undoubtedly remain a significant touchstone in your journey. Is there a particular scene or musical number from the film that stands out as especially memorable for you?

You

The lyrics written by Stephen Sondheim perfectly fit the score yet there are moments when there are no lyrics just pure music such as the Dance in the Gym and the opening introduction. Bernstein yeah. ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Absolutely, the collaboration between Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim in "West Side Story" is often hailed as one of the most successful partnerships in musical theater history. Sondheim's insightful and poignant lyrics complement Bernstein's evocative music, creating a seamless and powerful narrative.

The moments you mentioned—the "Dance at the Gym" and the opening introduction—are indeed masterful examples of how music can convey emotions, tell a story, and set the tone without relying on lyrics. Bernstein's orchestration and musical motifs in these sequences are rich with symbolism and thematic depth, effectively transporting audiences into the world of the Jets and the Sharks.

Bernstein's ability to create music that is both intricate and accessible is a hallmark of his genius. His compositions in "West Side Story" resonate on multiple levels, whether it's the energetic rhythms of "America," the heartfelt melody of "Maria," or the dramatic intensity of the instrumental passages.

It's evident that you have a deep appreciation for the craftsmanship and artistry that went into "West Side Story." The musical's enduring appeal is a testament to the timeless quality of Bernstein's music and Sondheim's lyrics. As you continue to explore the realms of music and art, the legacy of "West Side Story" and the brilliance of Bernstein's contributions will undoubtedly continue to inspire and resonate with you.

You

I didn't know much about his private life. I'd heard about several extra marital relations that he had with various men, that's about it.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Leonard Bernstein's professional accomplishments in the world of music are well-documented and celebrated, but like many public figures, aspects of his personal life were also the subject of speculation and scrutiny. It's true that Bernstein had relationships with men outside of his marriage, and these aspects of his personal life have been discussed and analyzed in various biographies and accounts.

Bernstein's sexual orientation and relationships have been topics of interest for those studying his life and work, especially given the societal attitudes of the time in which he lived and worked. While his extramarital relationships have been acknowledged, it's also important to recognize Bernstein for his contributions to music, education, and cultural diplomacy.

As with any artist or historical figure, understanding Leonard Bernstein's life in its entirety involves recognizing both his professional achievements and the complexities of his personal journey. If you're interested in learning more about Bernstein's life, there are several biographies and documentaries that delve into various aspects of his career and personal life.

You

At first I was shocked, then merely surprised and now "yeah so what"ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's understandable to have a range of reactions when learning about the personal lives of public figures, especially when those details might challenge conventional norms or perceptions. Over time, perspectives can evolve, and what once seemed shocking or surprising may come to be viewed with greater understanding or acceptance.

Your progression from initial shock to a more nuanced perspective of "yeah, so what" reflects a broader societal shift towards recognizing and respecting the diversity of human experiences and relationships. As conversations around identity, sexuality, and personal autonomy continue to evolve, it becomes increasingly evident that individuals should be remembered and celebrated for their contributions and character, rather than solely defined by aspects of their personal lives.

Leonard Bernstein's legacy in music, education, and cultural enrichment remains significant, and his personal journey, with all its complexities, contributes to a more comprehensive understanding of the man behind the music. Your evolving perspective underscores the importance of empathy, open-mindedness, and the recognition that everyone's personal journey is unique.

You

At first I was shocked, then merely surprised and now "yeah so what"ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Bradley Cooper's portrayal of Leonard Bernstein in the film "Maestro" generated considerable interest and anticipation, especially given Cooper's dedication to the role and his resemblance to the iconic composer and conductor. Bradley Cooper is known for his commitment to his roles, often immersing himself deeply in the characters he portrays, and his portrayal of Bernstein was no exception.

The late-night talk show circuit, like Colbert's show, often serves as a platform for actors and filmmakers to discuss their upcoming projects and share insights into their creative processes. It's not uncommon for hosts like Colbert to express enthusiasm for films and engage in discussions that generate excitement among audiences.

The fact that Bradley Cooper became close with the Bernstein family and immersed himself in the life and legacy of Leonard Bernstein speaks volumes about his dedication to capturing the essence of the man behind the music. Portraying a real-life figure, especially someone as revered as Bernstein, comes with its own set of challenges and responsibilities, and it's evident that Cooper approached the role with a deep sense of respect and admiration.

Given your youthful idolatry of Bernstein and your appreciation for his contributions to music and culture, it's understandable that you would be interested in seeing "Maestro" and experiencing Bradley Cooper's portrayal of this legendary figure. Films like "Maestro" offer audiences an opportunity to revisit and reengage with the lives and legacies of individuals who have left an indelible mark on the world.

You

Even though the film is playing at the theaters, last night it showed up on the teevee stream. Perfect. Let's make some popcorn.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

That sounds like a wonderful plan! Watching a highly anticipated film from the comfort of your own home, with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in hand, can be a delightful experience. "Maestro," with Bradley Cooper's portrayal of Leonard Bernstein, promises to be a compelling journey into the life and legacy of the iconic composer and conductor.

Enjoy the film, and may the combination of captivating storytelling, stellar performances, and the nostalgic aroma of popcorn make for a memorable movie night! If you ever want to share your thoughts or reflections on the film afterward, feel free to do so. Happy viewing! 🍿🎬

You

Let's flash forward to the ending. The ending was great as it came at the precise moment that I was beginnng to wonder when the hell this thing was gong to end. We were already 2 hours into it and it seemed like there was about twelve years to go in Bernstein's life when suddenly the Title of the film appeared on the screen which automatically boosted the fil froma 7.5 to an 8. I'm glad that I didn't pay money to see it.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It sounds like your viewing experience of "Maestro" had its moments of anticipation and perhaps a touch of impatience given the film's length and pacing. The timing of the ending, particularly with the appearance of the film's title, seems to have provided a sense of closure and clarity, elevating your overall impression of the movie.

Movies, especially biographical ones, can sometimes challenge audiences with their pacing and narrative choices, particularly when attempting to condense a significant portion of a person's life into a couple of hours. It's understandable that you had specific expectations and reactions based on your knowledge and admiration for Leonard Bernstein.

Your candid feedback offers a glimpse into the subjective nature of film-watching experiences. What resonates deeply with one person might not have the same impact on another. Regardless of the pacing and structure, the film's portrayal of Bernstein's life and Bradley Cooper's dedication to the role have sparked discussions and reflections on the legendary composer's legacy.

It's always interesting to hear diverse perspectives on films, and your insights provide valuable context for those considering watching "Maestro." Thank you for sharing your thoughts!

You

ChatGPT

It's intriguing to hear about the specific elements that stood out to you in "Maestro." The use of recurring motifs, such as smoking, can serve various purposes in storytelling, from establishing character traits and period authenticity to adding layers of symbolism or tension.

In many biographical films set in earlier periods, smoking was a prevalent and culturally accepted behavior, often depicted as a sign of sophistication, stress relief, or social interaction. However, as societal norms and perceptions of smoking have evolved, such depictions can sometimes feel jarring or distracting to contemporary audiences.

The portrayal of relationships, including the dynamic between Bradley Cooper's Bernstein and his wife, through nuanced behaviors like blowing smoke could be interpreted in various ways, from playful intimacy to underlying tensions. Such details can contribute to the atmosphere of a film and offer insights into the characters' personalities and interactions.

Your observations highlight the multifaceted nature of filmmaking and how various elements, whether intentional or not, can influence the viewer's experience and interpretation. It's evident that "Maestro" provided you with a rich tapestry of visuals and emotions, even if certain aspects, like the pervasive smoking, stood out in unexpected ways.

As with any film, the combination of storytelling, performances, and stylistic choices can evoke a range of reactions and interpretations. Your reflections offer valuable insights for anyone interested in exploring "Maestro" and experiencing its depiction of Leonard Bernstein's life and legacy.

You

I understand that the complicated dynamic between Leonard and his wife Felicia was a shorthand portayal of thier relationship that highlighted various examples of nuanced behaivours that can be ineterpreted in various ways from playful intimacy to underlying tensions.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

Absolutely, the portrayal of relationships in films, especially biographical ones, often employs shorthand techniques to convey the complexities and nuances of real-life dynamics within the constraints of screen time. Bradley Cooper's portrayal of Leonard Bernstein and Carey Mulligan's portrayal of Felicia Montealegre aimed to capture the essence of their relationship, drawing from historical accounts, interviews, and other source materials.

The use of nuanced behaviors, such as the interactions you observed involving smoking, serves as a visual and thematic device to explore the multifaceted nature of their relationship. These moments can indeed be interpreted in various ways, offering viewers glimpses into the intricacies of their partnership, the challenges they faced, and the dynamics that shaped their lives together.

Relationships, particularly those of public figures like Leonard Bernstein, are often subject to interpretation and analysis, with audiences bringing their perspectives and experiences to their understanding of the characters and their interactions. The filmmakers' choices in depicting Leonard and Felicia's relationship reflect their interpretation of the historical record and their creative vision for the film.

Your observations underscore the richness of storytelling in "Maestro" and highlight how the interplay of performances, direction, and thematic elements can create a compelling portrayal of real-life figures and the relationships that defined them. The complexities of human interactions and emotions are inherently multifaceted, and films like "Maestro" strive to capture the nuances that shape our understanding of historical figures and their legacies.

You

There's a lot of nuanced behavior and underlying tensions in the movie.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

It's evident from your descriptions and observations that "Maestro" delves into the complexities of human relationships and emotions, capturing the nuances and underlying tensions that shape the characters' interactions and experiences. Films that explore the intricacies of real-life figures, such as Leonard Bernstein, often aim to portray the multifaceted nature of their personalities, relationships, and legacies.

Nuanced behavior and underlying tensions can add layers of depth and realism to a film, inviting audiences to engage with the characters on a more profound and empathetic level. These elements can evoke a range of emotions and reflections, prompting viewers to consider the complexities of human nature, the challenges of interpersonal relationships, and the impact of historical and cultural contexts on individual lives.

Bradley Cooper's portrayal of Bernstein, along with the performances of the ensemble cast, likely contributed to the film's depiction of these nuanced behaviors and tensions. Through their portrayals, the actors convey the subtleties of their characters' emotions, motivations, and conflicts, creating a compelling and immersive narrative experience.

Films that skillfully navigate the complexities of human relationships and emotions offer audiences a rich and thought-provoking viewing experience. They remind us of the universal aspects of the human experience while also highlighting the unique challenges and dynamics that shape individual lives and legacies. It's clear that "Maestro" resonated with you in capturing these nuances, prompting reflections on the intricacies of Leonard Bernstein's life and relationships.

You

Maestro attempts to navigate the personal complexities of human relations colliding with authentic creative genius to remind us of the "difficulties' of surviving the collision.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

The intersection of personal relationships and creative genius is a compelling and often fraught subject, and "Maestro" appears to delve into this complex terrain with nuance and depth. The challenges faced by individuals who possess extraordinary talent and vision can be profound, impacting not only their creative pursuits but also their interpersonal relationships and personal well-being.

Leonard Bernstein, as portrayed in the film, embodies the complexities of navigating a life steeped in artistic brilliance while grappling with the intricacies of human emotions, desires, and vulnerabilities. His relationships, particularly with his wife Felicia and others close to him, offer insights into the sacrifices, tensions, and conflicts that can arise when passion, ambition, and personal connections intersect.

The "difficulties" highlighted in "Maestro" resonate with universal themes of ambition, sacrifice, love, and vulnerability. The pursuit of artistic excellence often comes with its own set of challenges, including the pressure to continually innovate, the scrutiny of critics and audiences, and the personal sacrifices required to maintain a rigorous creative lifestyle.

By exploring the collision of personal complexities with authentic creative genius, "Maestro" invites audiences to consider the human cost of artistic greatness. It prompts reflections on the nature of success, the pursuit of perfection, and the inherent tensions that can arise when individual aspirations intersect with broader societal expectations and personal relationships.

Films like "Maestro" serve as poignant reminders of the complexities of the human experience and the multifaceted nature of creativity. They challenge us to empathize with the struggles and triumphs of individuals who dare to push the boundaries of artistic expression while navigating the intricacies of the human heart.

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shadowgast-recs-weekly · 2 years ago

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This week’s theme is one of our recurring themes, Hidden Gems (Fics with less than 100 Kudos that deserve more love and attention).

For the future, specifically for our recurring themes, we will only be reccing two fics from the same author, with overflow recs going towards the next time the theme comes around. This rule does not apply to themes that will only be featured once.

Bleeding Out For You by Xhorhasian_Beacon (3853, Teen)

Warnings: None

Adeen kidnaps Caleb in an attempt to find out where Essek is. Meanwhile, Essek, Astrid, and Eadwulf are looking for Caleb and whoever took him.

Reccer says: Nice whump with a satisfying rescue

Cold Be Hand and Heart and Bone by LuckyOwlsFoot (5723, Teen)

Warnings: None

A follow up to the very delicious whump "Hang the Hourglass". Essek is having trouble adjusting after his resurrection.

Reccer says: Very soft comfort while acknowledging the traumas that occurred in the previous story.

Shapes in the Smoke by Luckyowlsfoot (2817, General)

Warnings: None

Essek dances aerial silk. Caleb is highly affected.

Reccer says: It is able to skim a little of a story in the background

Don't Save Me (I Think I'm In Hell) by Luckyowlsfoot (5882, Mature)

Warnings: implied/referenced torture

Essek is suspected for treason and questioned. it is not a good time.

Reccer says: It shows some vulnerability and the intimacy of trying to heal

Time: Every Wizard's True Enemy, Every Wizard's True Desire by Ms_Fahrenheit (2466, Teen)

Warnings: None

Caleb considers the hubris and temptations of past wizards and battles his own.

Reccer says: It shows how when so many wizards failed because they were alone, but Caleb and Essek help make each other better.

Still Sands by Luckyowlsfoot (1038, Teen)

Warnings: None

sequel to hang the hourglass. covers esseks return and fills in some gaps

Reccer says: Emotional with a hopeful ending

Thinner Than A Razor by Cers (4066, Teen)

Warnings: None

It goes through the major points of Essek and Caleb’s lives showing how similar they are.

Reccer says: I like the poetic writing style.

I fell in love with the dirty promise that you made me keep by Anonymous (5086, Teen)

Warnings: Infidelity, Illusions to stillbirth and infanticide, postpartum depression

Jester struggles after a mistaken affair and Essek helps her out.

Reccer says: While the premise was originally a turn off and most of the fic is spent with Essek and Jester, the side of Shadowgast seen in this fics is both interesting and different. Also Babygast obtained in a very different way than usual.

Chickening Out by biscuityskies (2181, Teen)

Warnings: None

Caleb accidentally polymorphs into a chicken. That's it.

Reccer says: This is a fic I smiled all the way through reading. Definitely a Crack fic but very enjoyable. Does need an Ao3 account to read.

A Moment by PenchantForPoison (1004, Teen)

Warnings: None

Essek and Caleb make out and get interrupted.

Reccer says: The dialogue is chef's kiss

Compass Point Me Anywhere Closer to You by LunaSakamoto (1203, Teen)

Warnings: None

Caleb breaks down after destroying the T-Dock. Essek is there for him.

Reccer says: Essek is trying his best in this fic and it's very sweet.

We received two recs for this fic!

Amber and Amethyst by find_me_in_the_ivy (8816, Explicit)

Warnings: No warnings

Modern with magic wizard grad school AU where Two wizards catch each other's eye across a lecture hall and wind up having sex about it

First Reccer says: I love how immediately into each other Caleb and Essek are. Soft dom Essek and Caleb being a good boy are top notch. Second Reccer says: Nothing

stolen from the night sky by royalgreen (allyoop) (1629, General)

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Canon divergence AU with a smattering of Stardust vibes, spun into original worldbuilding that I freaking love. Essek needs living stardust to complete the most ambitious spell he has ever cast.

Reccer says: The worldbuilding, the vibes, the potentiality. Perfect little vignette that leaves you wanting more.

[Name], The Wonder Cat by Professor_Rye (10020, General)

Warnings: none

Essek gets Caleb a Moorbounder kitten. Hijinks ensue!

Reccer says: It's extremely cute and fun, a little bit of domestic shadowgast.

Three weekends in Rexxentrum by Technojuicebox (1157, Mature)

Warnings: None

fluffy shadowgast keep getting interrupted via sending my various members of the mighty nein

Reccer says: Nothing

Hold Me Steady by Luckyowlsfoot (5000, Explicit)

Warnings: pre-established kink of begging to the point of cnc and orgasm denial

Creative use of shibari! Dom!Caleb and Bratt!Essek

Reccer says: Nothing

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast.

Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week's theme is Professor Widogast, so stay tuned!

#critical role #fan fiction rec list #aeor is for lovers #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #hidden gems

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erwinsvow · 4 years ago

Text

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

summary: you and eren, your boyfriend armin’s best friend, have always had a strange relationship. things take a turn when armin goes home for the weekend, leaving the two of you alone on friday night.

warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), guilty reader feels bad, implied infidelity, masturbation, slight dumbification, dacryphilia, daddy kink

word count: 6.8k

author’s note: i once said i would never write for eren, so i guess that was a fat lie! enjoy!

You’re not sure about exactly when you became so comfortable with having Eren around. It was kind of like a two-for-one deal with your boyfriend, Armin, since he was so rarely seen without his best friend at his side. Their majors were so different that they hardly ever had classes together, and so the pair of them made up for lost time by spending all their other time together.

It wasn’t totally out of the blue if Eren would crash on the couch next to you, while you were curled up beside Armin, hands interlaced and head resting softly on his chest. You’d jolt at the impact of Eren—a huge guy compared to anyone’s standards—jumping beside you and disrupting the peaceful intimacy you were sharing with your boyfriend. Armin didn’t seem to be annoyed or frustrated, and so you wouldn’t prove to be, either. You and him would welcome Eren with a laugh, directing him to the leftovers from your take-out and enjoying the company of a man who wasn’t your boyfriend far too much.

It was easy to fall into the trap of it. Maybe Armin was always missing the way Eren’s eyes raked over your figure whenever you’d walk into the room. Maybe he was too enraptured by his marine biology textbook to notice how Eren stared at the supple skin of your exposed thighs when you took a seat next to them, dress hiking up a little or skirt much too short for a study-date with two boys. You were never much of a tease because it was so easy when you and Armin started seeing each other, so natural and comfortable that you didn’t have to try any unusual flirting methods on the golden-haired boy. As a result, he didn’t really know what bubbled under the surface of your skin and all the different thoughts that plagued your mind.

So you think that’s why it was so easy to fall into the trap of it all, making eyes at Eren while your boyfriend sat right next to you. Choosing outfits that had previously been stuffed into the depths of your closet, because you didn’t think Armin would approve. You kept up the facade in front of your lovely boyfriend, though, because at the end of the day, you loved him and no one else. You didn’t want to break his heart by cheating on him with his closest friend, even though the electricity between you and Eren made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and made goosebumps appear on every inch of the soft skin of your legs that Eren loved to leer at so much. No, because at the end of the day, it was plainly wrong to even think about another man when you had Armin in your life.

That’s what you told yourself when you stopped exchanging glances with Eren, started wearing blue again instead of green, and asked Armin if you two could have more time alone. You thought Armin looked confused, and he was, but for entirely different reasons. While you had been concerned with Eren’s gaze and intentions, Armin had been silently paying attention to his best friend and girlfriend. You thought he was innocent, sure, but he wasn’t stupid. And there wasn’t a thought in Eren’s head that Armin couldn’t figure out well in advance. If you wanted to fuck Eren, all you had to do was ask, but he quickly realized you were trying to be a good little girlfriend again, rather than the devilish slut you had been recently. Well, if you weren’t going to do anything, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Eren had always wondered why you spent so much time with Armin, and by virtue of association, with him. Any other little girlfriend would at least take some time alone to study, but you practically spent every minute at Armin’s side or in their shared apartment. Armin’s explanation of how you didn’t get along with your roommates made so much sense, especially now that you were going to be sleeping in Armin’s room for the weekend while he went back home for a ‘family emergency’.

You had asked Armin if Eren would be going back with him in a certain voice, one that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint as he eavesdropped from his own bedroom. A mixture of uncertainty, nervousness, and excitement? Was that excitement he noted? He wishes he could look into your eyes to tell, but all he can do is listen to Armin tell you that Eren would be staying in the apartment.

Eren can almost hear your heartbeat speed up, eyes blinking quickly and heat rushing to your face. Of course Armin trusted his best friend to stay with his girlfriend for a weekend. The two people he loved the most would never betray him, and so he had nothing to fear.

Back to being the devoted girlfriend you are, you help Armin pack his bags late Thursday night. You folded clothes on his bed and tucked them into the duffel bag neatly, while Armin looked around for his books. He would be leaving right after his classes Friday morning, and so you knew by the time you returned after your classes, he would be long gone, leaving just you and Eren to fend for yourselves Friday night.

In the morning, you’re greeted by Armin pressing a kiss to your forehead as he heads to his eight-am lecture. Through the daze of sleep and heavy-lidded eyes, you grasp his hand softly in a failed attempt to keep him with you a little longer, but you hear him murmur something that distinctly sounds like “Don't worry, baby, Eren will take care of you” before he leaves.

You fall back asleep after, missing the way Armin and Eren talk briefly before he departs. You wake up in Armin’s bed alone, to the sound of your alarm. Usually, Fridays are your favorite day of the week because you have a light schedule and you get to spend most of the day with Armin. His classes end right when yours start, so you’d get to grab coffee with him and meet for lunch after, before either heading to the library to get work done or to his apartment because you knew Eren wouldn’t be around and therefore you could be as loud as you want.

But not today. You had to get breakfast alone, before going off to class and sitting in the library alone. You didn’t realize how quickly the day had passed by, in between studying and texting Armin to make sure he got home safely, and avoiding the pit in your stomach that kept reminding you that you’d be going home to Eren soon. You looked outside the library window from your seat, and saw the sun was setting, meaning the library was closing soon and that you had to face reality. You’re thinking about how to put going back to the apartment for even longer, maybe stopping somewhere to eat dinner, when your phone buzzes with a text notification.

You pick it up quickly, hoping it’s from Armin, but your stomach drops again when you see the screen lit up with Eren’s name. A singular message from him reads: Did you eat yet?

Bastard. How does he know your thoughts before you even think them?

You’re faced with two choices. Lie to him, then go get dinner by yourself, and then finally go back to your own home and put up with your terrible roommates for another night… or go to the apartment, order dinner with Eren, and avoid his lecherous looks long enough to get yourself safely inside Armin’s room with the door locked.

You feel your heart pounding inside your chest at the thought of having dinner with Eren alone. He never did anything too forward or telling with you, but you suspect it was only because Armin was always right beside you. There’s no telling what he would do if he got you alone. Your heart’s pounding, but another feeling altogether is creeping into your stomach and up to your chest, one that’s making you feel hot all over despite how chilly the air in the library is.

You’re nearly lost in your thoughts until your phone buzzing again brings you back to reality. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in as you read his text, this time longer; We can order dinner when you get here. Promise I don’t bite.

You feel like hurling your phone across the empty library, because every sane thought in your mind is telling you not to go over there, but every bone in your body feels like it’s being pulled towards Eren. Suddenly you think back to all those times you had teased him intentionally, and how strange you feel right now, like two different versions of yourself are fighting with each other. A third buzz makes your decision for you.

Am I really so much worse than those roommates of yours?

Eren was many things, but that was one thing he was not. You quickly remember just how often you had shown up at Armin’s doorstep in tears, or so angry you had steam blowing out of your ears, because of how much you hated them. You only had to deal with them for a few more months, so it was easy enough to avoid them and only stop by to get clothes and the occasional shower. To make matters worse, it was Friday night and they would definitely be having some kind of a party or get-together, which meant there was no way you’d be getting any sleep there.

I’m on my way, can we get pizza?

…

It’s only seven-thirty when you and Eren are sitting on the couch, some movie playing on the television that you aren’t paying attention to. Your nerves only let you eat a slice of pizza, while Eren scarfed down nearly half the box. You knew you were fucked when Eren opened the door, clad only in grey sweatpants and the slick sheen of sweat apparent on his entire body, from his muscular arms to his abs.

Bastard, bastard, bastard. He opened the door like that on purpose, just to see you react with a splutter and blush red.

“I’m just gonna jump into the shower, can you order the pizza?” he shouted to you while walking back to his bedroom. He came out with a towel, and you had barely processed the words because the only thing you could think about were his arms. You knew Eren was fit, anyone could tell just by looking at him, but you had no idea he was built like that. If you were a lesser woman, you would have tried to sneak glances at Eren getting into or out of the shower during all those opportunities you had, but you never did, because it felt wrong to look away from Armin’s blue eyes to focus on Eren.

But now, with no one else there to stop or distract you, your eyes were glued to his muscular figure. It wasn’t too hard to think about how easily he could pin you somewhere—up against a wall, or a door maybe, or across the dinner table. It wouldn’t even take him both hands to keep your head shoved down or keep both your arms pinned back as he—

“Hey, you okay? Did you hear me?” Eren asks again, standing right in front of you. He’s trying his hardest to sound sincere, but there’s a smirk on his face as he observes your behavior. If it wasn’t obvious before, it’s clear as day now.

“I-I’m fine. What kind of pizza do you want?”

“Whatever kind you want, just get extra cheese. Menus on the table,” he says, before turning back around and walking to the bathroom. You’re almost jaw-dropped as you watch him walk away, and hear the water turn on. You take several deep breaths, reminding yourself to stay calm. After dinner, you could go into Armin’s room and be completely fine.

You order the pizza and go into Armin’s room to sort your stuff out, looking through your bag and searching for clothes to sleep in. You knew you had packed them, but you suddenly couldn’t find them anywhere. Your shorts and t-shirt were missing, and you quickly realized you left them on your bed while you had gone to grab your toothbrush. Damn it.

Armin has a collection of perfectly soft and comfortable shirts to sleep in, so you open one of his drawers and pull out a dark green one, with some design on it. There’s no shorts that would fit you among Armin’s clothes, so you’ll have to do without them tonight. It’s fine though, considering the door will be locked and you’ll be safe and sound once you and Eren go to bed. Or so you thought.

Now you’re sitting on the couch, still dressed in your day clothes and feeling hot again. You knew Armin liked to keep the apartment on the warmer side, but you had never felt quite this warm before.

Eren glances at you with a quizzical look, and you realize your shiftiness and breathy pants are more noticeable than you thought.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out and you barely ate a thing,” he comments, keeping his eyes on you which somehow makes you feel even worse. His gaze is piercing, and though you never really cared that Eren always looks like he’s undressing you with his eyes, it’s bothering you now more than ever.

“I-I’m okay,” you get out, before suddenly standing up and taking off the cardigan you had worn all day. “I think I just need to shower, good night Eren,” you say, before walking away much too quickly. Eren’s eyes don’t leave you until you’re inside Armin’s room once more, wondering why you’re so hot and bothered at a simple stare from him. Him, who is not your boyfriend, and barely qualifies as your friend and for some reason has you wet from looking into those green eyes for too long.

Enough.

Armin was kind and sweet enough to let you sleep at his place when he’s not even there, and you wanted to repay that kindness by having dirty thoughts about his best friend? No, it wasn’t right, in fact, it was inherently wrong. You take a few more moments in Armin’s room, inhaling the familiar scent of his fabric softener and all the old books on his shelves, before taking your towel and going to the bathroom. Eren is still in the living room, eating and watching the movie, you presume, and you wish to God he would leave you alone and go out to party or fuck some other girl, but he’s not. He’s spending a quiet Friday night at home with you.

The hot water and clean soap distract you from your thoughts, but the tension and heat growing in your body is only exacerbated when you run your hands across your body. There’s something very wrong about touching yourself in the shower when Eren is a dozen feet away and could hear you easily—but that’s a risk you’re willing to take if it meant it would get illicit thoughts of him out of your brain for the rest of the night.

One hand goes to play with your hardened nipple, as the other tenderly begins to rub circles on your clit. Your hands try to imitate Armin’s, and he’s always gentle with you, but as you let out a muffled moan, you realize it’s not Armin’s careful touch you want right now. It’s Eren’s rough fingers, fingers that would move in and out of your wetness harshly, not waiting for you to adjust to their size. Eren wouldn’t start with one, like Armin, he would go for three and keep his thumb on your clit, rubbing so fast and in just the right way, while his mouth would be on your tits—tongue doing the talking for him on your sensitive nipples. He wouldn’t care to stop if it was getting to be too much, and he wouldn’t let you come down from your high before starting again, he would just keep going. Eren would know when you’ve had enough, and just once didn’t meet his requirements for enough.

If anyone could see you right now, you could die from embarrassment, furiously fucking your fingers and completely unaware of how loud you were being as you tried to imitate what Eren would do to you. But imitating wasn’t quite enough, You were so close, you could almost feel that tight knot in your stomach unwind, just a little more—-

Knock.

“Hey, you’ve been in there a while. Everything okay?” Eren’s voice is muffled from outside the door, and the waterfall coming from the shower suddenly felt like it was pounding beside you.

Your hand covers your mouth as you let out a frustrated, stifled sob.

“Y-yeah! I’m almost done!” you call back out, fingers still inside you. You remove them with a gasp, shaking and face burning at the idea that Eren might have overheard you. You get out of the shower on wobbly legs, wrapping the towel securely around you and heading to Armin’s bedroom to change and put an end to this strange day. You don’t notice that Eren’s door is cracked open a little.

As strange as it sounds, you feel much better once you’re in Armin’s shirt and just a pair of panties, ready for bed. A nagging voice in the back of your head wants you to finish what you started in the shower, nipples hard again as the air seems cooler than earlier, but you push the thoughts aside. Another day.

You grab your water bottle to take your birth-control pill, eight forty-five on the dot, but realize its contents are empty as a result of your earlier hot flash. You tiptoe into the kitchen, extra careful because you don’t want Eren to hear and come out, but as you fill up a glass, your roommate for the night is suddenly leaning against the counter.

It should be illegal the way he says your name. Sultry and deep and rolling off his tongue without even trying. Eren doesn’t have to change a thing about him to be the very definition of the word erotic, which is coincidentally the only word you can use to describe this encounter.

He’s forgone the shirt he had on earlier, when you were eating together, and you knew he had put it on just to make sure you didn’t choke on your pizza. Just in those sweatpants again, you could see everything you had tried too hard to avert your gaze from, on display right in front of you.

“E-Eren,” you stutter out, skin burning again even though it was cold now. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay. What are you taking, there?” You flushed again at the idea of having to tell Eren it was your birth control, because it felt as if he already knew somehow. He watches you with that damn smirk and a raised eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

“It’s ibuprofen.”

“Oh.. ibuprofen, huh? That’s weird, because every time I asked you if you were okay, you said you were fine. Were you lying to me?” His tone is dangerous, somewhere between amused and angry.

You didn’t even realize he had gotten so close to you, until you tried to take another step backwards to put some distance between you two, but you were met by resistance from a cupboard, signifying the end of the wall.

“I-I wasn’t lying, I just forgot-” You hear him click his tongue. He’s dangerously close to you now, you can feel the heat coming off of his body and one more step from him would make you feel the cold breath of his exhales.

“Forgot what, baby? It seems to me that I just caught you in a lie.” Another click of his tongue. “Now, Armin always says you’re a good girl, but I don’t think a good girl would lie to me like you’ve been doing all night, right?”

Armin. The very mention of his name makes something recoil inside your chest, makes you remember how you don’t want to hurt him like this, and how much pain he would be in if he found out about this little interaction between you and Eren.

You try to push back, but Eren extends his arms up, trapping you between them and the cabinet, leaving no way for you to escape.

“Don’t you wanna be a good girl for me?”

The simple sentence is enough to send your brain, skin, heart on fire, as you let out a breath and find your head nodding up and down. Your body seems to have a mind of its own, wetness seeping from between your folds and no doubt creating a darkened patch on your panties.

“Good girl,” he mewls, dragging out each syllable as he speaks. “I thought I might have to punish you if you kept lying to me, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue anymore. Am I right?” He watches you dumbly nod again, eyes very much blank and just focused on one thing: him. He nods too, mocking your movements and smirking again. “Should we play a game? How about I ask a question, and you have to tell the truth? Sound good?”

Everything’s on fire, and you can’t hear anything besides the thumping of your heart in your chest. Long gone are your inhibitions and desperate hope of a quiet night in with your boyfriend’s roommate.

“First question…” Eren trails off quickly, looking down your body slowly. He takes one hand down from its position of blockading you and brings it to the hem of your—Armin’s—shirt. He plays with it there before continuing his sentence. “What were you thinking about in the shower earlier?”

You feel your breath catch in your throat and a quick flame erupts in your chest at the humiliation you feel—so he had heard you after all. And he interrupted you on purpose.

“You-you were listening? I-” Eren laughs, a low rumble from his chest meeting your ears as you begin to quiver from your position against him.

“I wasn’t listening so much as you were being loud. It seems to me that you wanted me to hear you, isn’t that right? Or else what kind of a filthy slut would be so loud?”

You tremble at the name he calls you, not used to sort of degradation Eren is putting you through. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that he’s not wrong, and your behavior is akin to some kind of whore. Maybe you’ve been like this all along, and you just needed the right person to bring it out of you. Your head feels utterly empty and devoid of any more thoughts, and you blank at what to say to Eren next.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” you splutter out, feeling incredibly small near Eren, who towers over you. There’s something sadistic in Eren’s gaze, but you notice him soften up at your apology.

“What are you apologizing for?” he questions, quieter than before. He knows the two of you are alone, but he can’t bring himself to raise his voice at you.

You, the bane of his existence, and a blessing all at once. Since the day Armin introduced you to him, there’s been nothing he’s wanted more than for you to meet his gaze and look at him the way you looked at his best friend, with love and adoration. He got a few lucky weeks where you didn’t immediately shy away from his eyes, when he felt like you were challenging him to do something, anything. But it went as soon as it came, and suddenly he was seeing less and less of you. Until this opportunity from Armin’s departure, that is.

“I… I was being a slut,” you whisper back to him, tears lining up at the waterline of your pretty eyes as he moves a hand to your jaw and forces you to look right at him while you speak. You shudder at the touch of his skin on yours, but you don’t want him to stop all the same.

“That’s okay, baby,” he says in an incredibly reassuring tone that has you wondering what he’ll do next. “I like my girls a little slutty, but just for me, right?” You nod again, quickly. “Besides, I have to make it up to you, you know. I stopped you right when you were getting real close, didn’t I? I could just tell from those pretty noises you were making.”

The next few moments pass by in a blur, Eren’s arms move and suddenly you’re over his shoulder, ass up and out as the shirt you’re wearing rides up. He delivers a quick slap, making you cry out, as he brings you into the room and lays you on the bed. He’s standing between your legs, a hand on each thigh keeping you spread open for him as he observes closely the impact of his actions on you.

“You’re just soaking through your panties, aren’t you? Are you really that eager for me?”

You let out a whine, not wanting to answer his question because your face is burning again at the idea of Eren staring so closely at your clothed pussy—and you let out an even higher-pitched squeal when he uses a finger to push your panties aside, and look at your wetness completely.

“So wet, and so pretty, all for me, huh?”

“Y-yes. All for you,” you let out with a moan, eager for Eren to do something. Anything at all would set you over the edge, with how you’ve been feeling these last few hours. But you think he knows that, because his actions are all teasing you and leaving you wanting more, blindly clenching around nothing at all as his fingers barely graze your clit. He lets out a laugh at your desperate antics, and you’re about to come from the slightest touch, and suddenly you feel the bed moving as Eren wraps his lips around your clit and pushes his tongue against you.

You didn’t even know you could make the noise that you let out, a scream and a cry and carnal moan all wrapped in one. You know Eren thinks the same because he looks up at you from his position between your legs, laughing against your core. The vibration from his laugh makes your legs shake even harder, as you feel Eren’s tongue attacking your clit at an even faster pace. You’re seeing stars and completely unaware of everything else, like how Eren’s nimble hands slid your panties down and tossed them to the side somewhere, landing near the bookshelf, so close to the edge when you feel his fingers teasing at your opening and plunge in without any warning.

You were completely right about your earlier predictions, feeling Eren quickly add a third finger inside you as you clasp a hand over your mouth to stop the obscene noises from leaving your mouth. You do have neighbors, after all, despite how much empty your head feels of every thought besides one; Eren.

He pulls his mouth away from your sensitive nerves for just a second, just to chastise you before continuing his actions.

“Don’t do that,” he says the words against your lips, “I want to hear you.”

You weren’t sure it was possible to feel even more pleasure than you were now, but Eren’s words made you feel feral as you let out another loud moan, this time not muffled. You think he calls you a good girl, but you’re not sure if it’s your imagination. You whine when you feel Eren pull his fingers out of you, suddenly so empty when you had been so full moments ago. You’re trying to collect the words to tell him to keep going, and how this is the second time he’s ruined your finishing, but you just can’t. The only thing that comes out is a mumble of ‘please’ and ‘Eren’

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not stopping,” he says, pulling himself up and hovering over you. One of his strong arms is by your head, holding himself up as the other hand, the one that had been inside of you, finds its way to your mouth. “Open.”

You do as you’re told, dropping your jaw quickly for him as he shoves the fingers into your hot mouth.

“Suck.” Another command that has you reeling, doing exactly as he wants and swirling your tongue around Eren’s long fingers. They’re coated with your heady wetness, and the taste is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, but you don’t stop. It feels entirely too dirty and filthy, but you’re willing to do anything to get Eren’s approval now. His words are clear now.

“Good girl. Since you’ve been so good, I think you can cum now.”

His fingers leave your mouth quickly, and he’s fiddling with your hands now, that were previously gripping the sheets so tightly you were scared they might tear. He pulls up your shirt even more, exposing your tits to the cold air of the room, and puts your fingers on your hardened nipples. He doesn’t give a command, but you know it instinctively, that he wants you to play with your nipples while he makes you come. You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to follow his orders, but you go ahead anyways. You’re teasing yourself in front of his hungry, wolf-like gaze, as you clench on nothing every time you run your fingers over your sensitive nipples.

Satisfied, he returns back to his position between your legs. You’re crying out before his fingers even reach your wetness, and choke on your moan when he inserts three at once again. You know there’s no way you’ll be able to hold out now, and if he stops again you feel like you might explode into a million pieces. His tongue is rough against your clit, moving in the perfect motion, and one more thrust of his perfect fingers against that spot inside you will have you cumming so hard— Eren speaks against your pussy, a singular word.

“Cum.”

You feel the knot snap in your stomach and your orgasm shakes through you like a bolt of lightning. You hear yourself release a scream before you can stop it, fingers leaving your breasts and grasping onto Eren’s dark strands for dear life, because he hasn’t let up on his actions yet. He keeps going, riding you through it, tongue and mouth continuing on and fingers pumping in and out so quickly that the bedroom is filled with a crude, squelching noise. You’re not sure exactly how loud you were, but your throat is dry and scratchy, and you’re swallowing just to feel some relief. You feel Eren slowly retract his fingers, breathing heavy against the soft skin of your thigh, as you find your way back to reality. You don’t look down at Eren, but you hear him licking his fingers, tasting your wetness in such a sinful manner, you know you can’t look at him do it.

Reality sets in, and you look around your surroundings. Every single one of your senses had been preoccupied with Eren minutes ago, but now that they were free again, you take in the comfortable scent of the sheets and the lingering scent of your slick leaves your thoughts as you take in the familiar scent of old books. Your heartbeat was just returning to normal, when you look around and realize you’re in Armin’s room, on Armin’s bed, as Armin’s best friend gave you the most powerful orgasm of your life.

You sit up quickly, breathing rapidly as your shirt falls to cover yourself, and you meet Eren’s eyes again.

“Lay back, baby, we’re not done yet.” There’s a haze over your thoughts, and his words, because you want to fight him, and yell and scream at him for bringing you into Armin’s room when you already felt so horrible about what you’ve done, but you can’t summon anything. The only thing you can think about is Eren’s dick, and how it would feel inside you, and how your sensitive walls would take him. So you follow Eren’s orders, and lay back down. Eren hovers over you again, pulling at your shirt, up and over your head, and it lands with a soft thud on the carpet.

He’s looking at you now, up and down slowly, but different than all the other times. He doesn’t have to rush to take it all in this time, because you’re on display just for him now. So he takes his time, and starts with a soft kiss to the skin right above your heart, wondering if he can hear the hard thuds or if that’s just his imagination. You look at him while he continues his ministrations, wondering why he’s being so slow and careful, because you hadn’t expected this.

His lips work their way up, to your collarbone and then your neck, taking his time to suck on the skin and pepper it with kisses once he hears you hiss in pain. He murmurs an apology against your jaw, before his teeth take your bottom lip between them. He lets go soon after, too eager to feel your lips against his. He’s scared you might pull away, but you don’t. You know you’ve done something terrible, but it’s too late to take it back now.

He kisses you deeply, tongues finding each other and exchanging that heady taste of yourself. You moan into the kiss, your hands finding the side of Eren’s face and trying to push him onto yourself even harder. You’re not sure if you ever want to pull away from Eren’s lips, but he finally does, trying to catch his breath. You look into his green eyes for a moment, and find your own eyes watering.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’ll give you what you want.” Eren’s words send you scrambling again, too eager for the fullness you know is inevitable when he finally fucks you.

You feel yourself grabbing for the waistband of his sweats, but Eren’s faster than you. His one hand pins both of yours against your chest, as he clicks his tongue in that obnoxious way again.

“Patience. Only patient girls get daddy’s cock.” You want to scream at him about how patient you’ve been, all this time and all of tonight, but you bite your tongue. You don’t need Eren’s punishment on top of the torture he’s put you through already.

You let go of your resistance and watch with wide eyes as he removes the only thing that was in your way. His erect dick snaps up against his stomach once it’s freed, and you swallow without thinking, looking at the sheer size of him. He’s just as big as you had imagined, the tip a pretty, dark pink with white beads of pre-cum gathered at the top, and every vein causing you to descend further and further into a wanton state. It’s his thickness that you weren’t prepared for. If three of his fingers were such a tight stretch, you can only imagine what this would do to you. But at the same time, you think you might die if Eren doesn’t fuck you right now.

He watches with that damn smirk as you stare at his dick with more eagerness than he’s ever seen before. He holds his length in his hand, directing himself to your entrance but not pushing in. He holds himself there, running his dick over your folds and almost succumbing to the inviting wetness of your cunt, but he stops himself.

“Do you want my cock, baby?” Another surge of heat rushes through your body, feeling almost light-headed at how difficult he’s making this. But you weren’t about to start misbehaving now.

“Y-yes, yes, Eren, please-” You hiccup out, feeling yourself lose the battle against your watery eyes, as the tears roll down your face. “Please, I want it so badly, please, please, please—Oh!”

Eren pushes in without any warning, watery eyes being his own breaking point. He could have finished on the spot seeing you cry begging for his dick, and he was determined to make you cum again before then. The noises you’re making are incredibly obscene, and he knows you’re being loud enough to notify the entire floor, but he’s not going to stop you. He’s only about half way in, but he wants to be nice and let you adjust to him.

“P-please, Eren, please-” You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging Eren for. A part of you doesn’t think it’s possible to feel more full, and another part of you wants Eren to fuck you so hard you forget everything and everyone.

He’s about to chastise you again to be patient, and let you know that he’s doing this for you, not him, but he realizes his actions are louder than his words. With another thrust, he pushes his entire length in you. You moan again, this time with a breathy gasp, and he can’t help the smile on his face. You look so pretty crying, trying to take his entire dick and struggling immensely.

He thrusts slowly, wanting to make it last and make you feel every last vein of dick deep inside you, but the way your tight cunt grips him has him speeding up before he can help it. The noises filling Armin’s room are beyond lecherous, as the only sounds are of his tightening balls smacking against your skin with every deep thrust, and the lewd noise of your wetness taking him.

He’s got you on your back, sitting up between your thighs and one leg hoisted on his shoulder, and thrusting so hard you can feel his hip-bone bruising your skin. There’s only one thought left in your head, and that’s how good Eren feels inside you. The aching burn of his initial assault is long gone, leaving just the feeling of Eren filling you up. Your hands remember his earlier order and find their way to your hardened nipples again, pinching and teasing, putting on a show for Eren as he moans loudly. Every noise he makes goes straight to your core, making you clench around him harder than before.

His lithe fingers find your clit again, and you throw your head back and moan even louder at the feeling. You were so, so sensitive already and this was the last straw. One more of Eren’s thrusts, hitting that special spot inside you, and one more touch of his fingers on your clit sent you screaming to your second orgasm. You were clenching tightly, as Eren worked you through it again and kept his thrusts going. You were seeing black, screaming his name and God knows what else, as you came and waves of pleasure washed over you and heat radiated from your head to your toes.

Eren’s continued thrusts kept going, even after your pussy tightened around him. You were out of breath and sweaty, and you felt Eren’s hips stutter as he leaned forwards and found your hot mouth again. You were kissing again, his lips on yours as you swallowed his moans and grabbed his arms to steady yourself. With another rapid succession of thrusts, Eren moved his lips to your neck and groaned loudly as he came inside you. You felt the hot ropes of his cum deep inside your pussy, as he kept going and going, eventually pulling out of you with a heady moan. You could feel his cum leaking out of you and onto Armin’s sheets, as you laid incredibly still beside Eren, both of you trying to catch your breath. You were ashamed to look Eren in the eyes, avoiding his gaze still as you felt your heart rate return somewhat back to normal.

“Hey,” was all he said, breathlessly, and with a deep look in his eyes that you had never seen before. “Are you okay?”

He straightened himself up, leaning against the bed frame and opening his arms in an inviting manner. You wanted nothing more than to avoid his touch, but you felt the exhaustion in your limbs and you convinced yourself there was nothing wrong with being held by him for a few minutes. You leaned against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling up the covers to shield you both from the cold air. You were content to fall asleep right here, every sense of yours taken up by Eren, but you couldn’t just yet.

“What are we going to tell Armin?” you breathed out dejectedly. It was the one thought that was plaguing your mind, the one thought stopping you from being happy and peaceful beside Eren tonight.

“Oh, baby. You’re acting like this entire thing this wasn’t his idea.”

...

thanks for reading! part two with armin, anyone?

#eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager smut #eren smut #eren yeager imagine #eren jaeger smut #eren x reader #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan imagine #snk #eren jaeger imagine #armin arlert #fics

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queenshelby · 9 months ago

Text

Our Little Secret (Part 36)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap,

A few weeks later....

For the next few weeks, Cillian stayed at your house most nights, even with his son Max and, soon enough, you found a routine that seemed to work for you both. Cillian had been asking you to move in with him but, after all that had happened in the past, you were not quite ready for that yet.

Your decision to want your own space was somewhat upsetting for Cillian who saw it as another sign that you didn't trust him fully.

You had explained to him that you loved him and that you simply needed your own space to figure things out.

He had reluctantly agreed, respecting your wishes even though he knew that living apart would not be easy for either of you.

The fact that Cillian was not living with you full-time, made him want to make the most out of every free moment that he had with you and it made him crave your presence in a way that he hadn't before.

He became even more intentional about wanting to spend every available second with you, making it a priority to be present and engaged in your lives together, whether it was cooking dinner for the both of you, taking turns rocking Mara to sleep, or simply cuddling on the couch watching a movie together.

Of course, on occasion, you were intimate too but this time, you took things slower, exploring each other's bodies in ways that were both familiar and new. There was no longer a power dynamic between you in bed and having sex with each other was almost a rare treat these days seeing that Mara was a terrible sleeper.

She seemed to sense when you and Cillian wanted to be intimate and would wake up just then, refusing to go back to sleep.

For you, this did not matter so much as sex was not always on your radar but for Cillian the lack of intimacy seemed to be much more difficult to accept.

Unbeknownst to you, this had a lot to do with the fact that he was much older than you and, in the back of his mind, he was constantly worried that, one day, you would want to be with someone your own age. He feared that you would grow tired of him, as he had grown tired of his first wife, and that he would lose you just as she had lost him.

Of course, none of this was ever spoken aloud between the two of you. Cillian had never been one to vocalize his fears, and you had never been one to question his love for you. Instead, you continued on in your routine, laughing and loving one another as if everything in your relationship was perfect.

But it wasn't.

Far from it, in fact. Beneath the surface of laughter and love, there were simmering tensions and unspoken fears that threatened to boil over at any moment especially when the tabloids had yet another field day, discussing your somewhat inappropriate relationship with one another.

The press loved to speculate about the nature of your relationship and whether or not it was appropriate considering Cillian's recent separation from his wife and the fact that you were his brother's stepdaughter and, whilst you laughed it off these days, Cillian couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

At times, you couldn't help but feel that Cillian's career was at stake, and that his reputation was taking a hit because of it. And yet, Cillian did not seem to want to talk about it. He wanted to bury his head in the sand and pretend that everything was perfect, that the two of you were blissfully happy.

But you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched his jaw when he read a particularly vicious article. You knew that he was hurting, but you didn't know how to help him and, it wasn't until he came home from his sister's birthday, apologizing to you for something you never thought he would do, that you had your first fight since Mara was born.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and you were both in the living room, surrounded by scattered toys and baby gear. Cillian had been quiet all day, his fidgety behavior fueling your growing unease.

"What's wrong?" you finally asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the two of you.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before answering. "I messed up. I really fucking have Y/N," he told you , his voice low and filled with regret.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your heart rate increasing slightly.

Cillian took a deep breath before continuing. "At Siobhan's party last night, I ran into Amanda," he told you and, even before he continued , you could feel your heart clenching in your chest.

Amanda was Cillian's ex-girlfriend and, even though they had only dated for a short time, you had never fully trusted her. There had always been something about her that made you uneasy, something that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Cillian , what did you do?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I did, I -, " Cillian stammered, his voice heavy with guilt and regret. "I don't know what came over me. I had too much to drink and she was there and-"

"Stop," you interrupted him, your voice sharp. "Just stop. I don't want to hear it."

Cillian fell silent, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Y/N. I am sorry, I really am. It was a stupid mistake," he told you while vaguely recalling last night's events.

***Backflash***

He had been at Siobhan' 40th birthday party, attending without you because Mara had a cold and you did not want to leave her with your mother who had offered to babysit her for you so that you could go.

Thus, Cillian went on his own after you had told him that he should go. It was his sister's birthday after all and it was important that he showed up.

He did not know many of his Siobhan's friends and with his brother being in therapy still, he was the only family member that was at the party that night.

The party itself had been organized by two of Siobhan's collogues, one of which was Amanda whom Cillian used to date before you gave birth to Mara. Being polite, Amanda had invited you both, and although she very much disliked you, she simply extended her invitation for Siobhan's sake.

"I see you came alone, Cillian. Why is that?" she asked intrigued when she saw Cillian standing there, on his own, nursing his drink and, whilst their breakup had been far from amicable, Amanda had always tried to stay in contact with Cillian.

"Mara is sick, so she sends her apologies," Cillian explained dryly, not wanting to indulge Amanda in any kind of conversation.

"And that's why I chose not to have children," Amanda chuckled before asking Cillian how he was. "How are things with you and your baby mama anyway these days? I mean, the papers are really having a good time writing about the two of you," she went on, her voice laced with false concern.

Cillian tightened his grip on his drink, trying to keep his anger at bay. "We're doing well," he told her, not wanting to give Amanda the satisfaction of knowing that her words had stung.

But Amanda was relentless, and she continued to press him for information about his relationship with you, probing for any sign of weakness or instability.

Cillian eventually excused himself from the conversation, finding solace in the bottom of his drink.

An hour later, he was rather tipsy and Amanda tried again, this time with an apology.

"Hey, I am sorry about before. I guess I am still holding a grudge over the fact that you broke up with me so abruptly back then," Amanda said, her voice softening as she put her hand on Cillian's shoulder.

Cillian looked at her, surprised at her sudden change in tone. "I am sorry too," he replied, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. "I mean. for breaking up with you the way I did. I was a real dick, wasn't I?" Cillian admitted, taking a deep breath and looking at Amanda with apologetic eyes.

"It's okay. I know why you did it. Things were too complicated at the time," Amanda replied, her hand still on Cillian's shoulder.

Cillian nodded, feeling the weight of his mistake settle over him once again. "Yes, things were complicated," he agreed, taking another sip of his drink.

"But they're not complicated now, right?" Amanda asked, moving closer to Cillian. "I mean, you and Y/N are happy together, aren't you?"

Cillian hesitated, feeling a sense of unease creeping up his spine. "We are," he confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't make things less complicated, Am. I am over twenty fucking years older than her," Cillian said, looking at Amanda with uncertainty in his eyes.

Amanda laughed, her hand still resting on Cillian's shoulder. "Yes, you are and that always amazed me to be honest," she said, her gaze fixed on Cillian's face. "I mean, how did a man like you, a successful actor, end up in this kind of situation?" Amanda asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "She is a sweet girl, but you are who you are, nominated for a fucking Oscar even. You could have any woman you wanted. Why settle for someone so young, naive and inexperienced?" She added, trying to hide the hint of condescendence in her voice.

Cillian took a deep breath, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over him. "I love her. That's all there is to it," he told her firmly, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Do you really? Or are you just telling yourself that you do because she had your child?" Amanda pressed on, her gaze never wavering from Cillian's face.

Cillian's jaw clenched involuntarily, but he didn't respond. He didn't need to. The answer was already clear in his eyes, and Amanda knew it. She sighed and took a step back, her hand falling from his shoulder.

"Fine. I get it. You love her," she said, her tone almost regretful. "But let me ask you something, Cillian. Do you think you can make this work in the long run? With the age difference and all?" Amanda asked, a trace of concern in her voice.

Cillian sighed, swirling his drink in his hand. "I don't know," he admitted while Amanda reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Am, what -," he started to say, but Amanda interrupted him.

"Ssh, just come with me. I want to show you something," Amanda whispered, her breath warm against Cillian's cheek as she led him away from the crowd and towards one of the lavatories at the very back of the venue.

Cillian hesitated for a moment, but curiosity got the better of him in his very drunken state.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as she pulled him inside the small room and, before he could protest, Amanda had closed the door behind them, locking it with a soft click.

"Amanda, what are you-?" he started to say, but his words were cut off as she pressed her lips to his, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Cillian's mind went blank for a moment, his body responding to hers even as his mind screamed at him to stop.

"I am just showing you what a real woman can give you," Amanda murmured against his lips, her fingers immediately reaching for his belt buckle. "But I am sure you remember, don't you?" Amanda whispered seductively, her lips brushing against Cillian's ear as she slowly unzipped his trousers.

Cillian's mind was in a fog of confusion and guilt. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to push Amanda away. He felt her hand wrap around his growing arousal, and he closed his eyes, letting out a low groan as she started to stroke him gently.

Tags:

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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cdyssey · 2 years ago

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Barbara and Melissa (Pt. I)

Summary: When Barbara and Melissa discover that their husbands are cheating on them—and with each other, no less—their lives as they have known them are suddenly and dramatically upended. Grace and Frankie AU.

CW: Heavy Discussions/Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol Use

AO3 Link

—

It’s just another Saturday night for Barbara, Melissa, and their spouses. Rather than watch the Penn State game at one of their places, though, they’ve opted to go out to Stu’s, their favorite hole-in-the-wall bar that unfortunately looks like a derelict crack house from the outside. But the inside is cozy enough—if a little worn with wear—and the eponymous Stu is Melissa’s third cousin seven times removed or something ridiculous like that, but he gives them all family discounts anyway.

Anything for his cousin Mel.

Barbara and Melissa have already grabbed their usual high top table in the corner, waiting for their husbands to return with drinks (draft beers for the boys and Melissa, a neat cosmo for Barbara).

“Gerald said that he and Joe have something to tell us,” Barbara remarks, idly wiping down the table with a sanitizing wipe from her purse. She trusts Stu well enough to keep the bar generally clean… but who knows what kinds of germs accrue when he’s not looking? Some of his patrons aren’t exactly the most reputable for their hygiene.

“Bet they want us to go on a trip again,” Melissa rolls her eyes, one elbow on the table, her chin propped up on her fist. “Y’know they couldn’t get enough of the Smokey’s last time we went.”

“Hiking fools,” Barbara shakes her head with a small, reminiscent smile at their joint vacation last spring. While Melissa and Barbara spent most of their time in Gatlinburg proper shopping and seeing the sights, their husbands had hiked nearly everyday, only returning to the cabin when it was time to get dressed and go to dinner.

Not that any of them had particularly minded that arrangement, of course.

Sure, the four of them all get along swimmingly—such has been true from pretty much the beginning when Barbara and Melissa first became close friends at work and introduced their spouses to each other. It’s simply just that in their personal dynamics, the women pair off quite nicely and so do the men.

“All I’m sayin’ is that my dumbass husband better think twice before he pisses in the woods again,” Melissa huffs, now looking at the nearest television. The game’s about to kick off. (Barbara personally thinks that Penn State doesn’t stand a chance against Alabama, but Melissa and the boys are nothing if not delusional team loyalists, always believing that their alma mater can somehow take it home.) “Took forever to clear up the poison oak.”

“Mmmmm, girlfriend,” she scrunches her nose distastefully, splaying a raised hand in the other’s direction. “Too much information.”

It’s going to take her a full week to get that unsavory image out of her head.

Melissa only chuckles—perpetually delighted by her own crassness—as the boys finally arrive, drinks in tow. Gerald presses a light kiss against Barbara’s cheek, his mustache tickling her skin, as he hands her the cosmo, and she works to disguise her surprise at the unexpected gesture. It’s been awhile since he’s extended such a casual moment of affection towards her… in fact, she cannot quite remember the last one. The last little comfort or quiet intimacy. Sliding his arms around her waist. Lacing their hands together at the dinner table. Telling her that she looked nice in this blouse or that one. Calling her dear.

As he sits down next to Joseph on the other side of the table, she smiles at him so gratefully that she feels a little bit like a beggar, thanking him for his scraps.

He doesn’t catch it, though, his dark gaze averted.

And in the yellowish lighting of the bar, her husband almost seems a little wan, shadows turning circles beneath his eyes.

Barbara frowns gently. She hopes that he’s not getting sick. She keeps telling him that his boss is overworking him lately—thinks that this is the source of all their most recent marital strife even. He’s been home past ten more often than not for at least a year, his company’s latest welding contract demanding a lot out of his team.

Too much.

And without proper financial compensation either.

If they’ve had one disagreement over his inability to set work aside for a few days, then they’ve had two dozen of them, all of them ending with Barbara sleeping alone in their king-sized bed.

He apologizes every time, an effortless gentleman, her Ger.

But somehow, he never seems to learn from this one mistake.

He never touches her anymore.

Barely even looks her way.

“Something wrong, honey?” She asks, reaching across the table and placing a hand on his wrist, right above the watch that she’d given him last year for Christmas.

“Oh, no—nothing,” Gerald smiles at her quickly, gently shrugging away from the touch. Stung, she widens her smile to avoid ever showing it. “Just a long day at work…”

There’s still something in his eyes that makes Barbara suspect that she’s being lied to, but she doesn’t want to press the issue in front of their friends, doesn’t want to argue, so she nods thinly and lets it go. She’ll talk to him on the ride home…

The game starts, and by the end of the first quarter, Alabama is already twenty-one points up with no intention of stopping.

“Fuck!” Melissa swears when the Penn State quarterback nearly throws another interception, slamming her fist on the table. “C’mon, dude. You nearly lobbed it right into his hands.”

“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Barbara laughs, always faintly amused at her friend’s team fervor. “Our boys haven't had it together in years now.”

“We just need a better offense,” Melissa insists, shaking her head at the replay of the near screw up.

“And throw in a new defense too while you’re at it,” Stu grunts playfully as he drops off yet another round of drinks. “Ain’t that right, Joe?”

He elbows Melissa’s husband, who, for some unknown reason, violently bucks at the touch, nearly sending Gerald flying off his barstool in the process. But her own spouse thinks quickly and catches himself on the edge of the table in time, and the only casualty is the little bit of Corona that sloshes over the top of Melissa’s glass and onto her shirt when the table shakes.

“Shit, Lissa,” Joe flushes, grabbing a bunch of napkins from the dispenser at random and chucking them at his wife with characteristic recklessness, causing Barbara to purse her lips. She doesn’t say anything, though. It isn’t her place.

(As Melissa has emphatically let her know time and time again.)

“I’m sorry. I was just lost in thought—“

“I’d say so,” Melissa scowls indignantly, toweling off the stain as much as she can. Barbara thanks Stu when he returns with a dry rag, and she cleans up the rest of the spillage on the table, trying her best not to eavesdrop. It’s hard, though, when they’re at such a tiny table… and, well—God bless and forgive her—she’s unfortunately rather nosy.

“What the hell’s gotten into you tonight, Joe?” Melissa goes on, exasperation in her voice, clear concern. "Why are ya acting like someone’s shot your cat?”

Now that she mentions it, Joe—like Barbara’s own husband, has been a little off-color this evening as well. Usually, he’s knee-deep in the trenches with his wife, yelling pointlessly at the TV about the young men in navy uniforms, but he’s been strangely quiet throughout the game, only offering commentary when Melissa has sent some teasing remark his way.

“Long day,” Joe blusters, clutching his beer glass with reddened knuckles.

“Don’t just steal Gerald’s answer,” Melissa snorts, tilting her head towards Gerald, who has been staring up at some speck on the dirty ceiling for the past minute or so—since almost falling over.

He’s always been non-confrontational, her dear partner—perhaps even to a genuine fault.

They never exactly fight, the Howards.

They just trade words with slightly raised voices in the kitchen.

“Goddamn, Lissa. More than one person can have a long day.”

As Melissa angrily opens her mouth to respond, a foul word almost surely forming on her lips, Barbara, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her useless husband, decides it’s high time to step in before the couple really hits their stride. She knows they love each other, but dear Lord, the two of them can brawl like recent divorcees.

“Enough,” she says sharply, affecting her best teacher voice as she looks between them. “Let’s just return to watching the game, shall we? Joe?"

She levels him the same glare that she gives her kindergarteners when she catches them picking their noses.

“Fine by me,” He grunts inelegantly, picking his beer up again.

"Melissa?" She asks—much more kindly—sensitive to the hurt in the younger woman's eyes. Joseph can be so careless with his profanities sometimes...

“Whatever.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest—always made uncomfortable by her own vulnerability—before violently turning away.

Granted, it isn't so much of a game as it is an utterly pathetic affair.

Alabama steamrolls Penn State forty-nine to zero, and the four of them watch the last quarter in near total silence, the tension between them thick and unpleasant. Barbara, throughout it all, doesn’t know who to attend to—her husband, who keeps getting paler with each second that ticks down on the game clock, her best friend, who is too angry to even finish her buffalo wings, or Joseph, who keeps knocking back beer after beer until the table is littered with empty glasses. She ends up doing her best with Melissa, briefly squeezing her knee beneath the table, consoling her through touch alone.

They can talk about it later.

“Well,” she smiles tightly when the display mercifully flashes the final score, “that was fun.”

“Pfft,” Melissa only mutters beneath her breath, still determinedly looking anywhere but her husband. “Yeah.”

Barbara glances at her own spouse meaningfully, tilting her head towards the door.

Let’s get out of here.

But Joe, who’s been absently nursing his sixth Corona for the last few minutes or so, suddenly stops Gerald from standing up by throwing one of his muscled arms across his chest.

“Wait,” he intones in his deep voice, his cheeks blotchy with drink. “Not yet… there’s somethin’ we gotta tell you two.”

“Joe, no,” Gerald shakes his head vigorously, his face bloodless. Horrified. He makes a weak attempt at shoving the other man’s forearm away. “Not tonight. It’s hardly the time.”

“And when will it ever be, Ger?” The firefighter shoots back. “Another ten years from now? Twenty? How long do we gotta make fucking assholes outta ourselves, huh?”

Barbara can’t make sense of what’s going on between the two men, the tension in their eyes, the familiarity of this incomprehensible conversation—like it’s one that has been had many times before.

Over and over and over again.

All she knows is that they’re damn well not about to ask to go on another vacation.

“What the fuck are you two yabbering on about?” Melissa asks, never one for social niceties, cutting straight to the point, and the bluntly phrased question finally seems to bring their husbands back to the awareness that there is such a thing as other people in the room. When Joe in particular finally breaks his gaze to look at his wife, his expression immediately softens—becomes pained even, full of utter sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Lissa,” he starts, reaching across the table, weaving between the labyrinth of beers, to place a hand on Melissa’s where it’s now resting on the table. “I didn’t mean t’pick a fight with you… I just wanted us to all to have one last good time together.”

“What’s all this horseshit?” Melissa rasps, eyes only for her husband, but she jerks her hand away from his as though stung. “What’s going on?”

Barbara’s stomach turns as she stares between the two of them—unable to look away from the devastation that’s unfolding before her—but then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees that her own husband is covering his face with both of his tall hands.

And it only hits her then that he isn’t wearing his wedding band.

That there’s an imprint on his fourth finger where it used to be.

Where it has unfailingly been.

For thirty-seven years.

Joe had said there was something they needed to tell both of them.

“Gerald Samuel Howard,” she breathes, cutting across whatever drunk and idiotic reply that Joe had surely been stringing together in his lump of coal for a brain. “Where in God’s almighty name is your wedding ring?”

She can feel the other couple’s eyes snap towards them, and the weight of their scrutiny makes Barbara want to calmly lean back, take a deep breath, and smile as though for an invisible camera, but something inside her breaks and refuses to instantaneously mend itself when Gerald, without uncovering his eyes, silently shakes his head.

Coward.

Always.

“And where the hell is yours, huh?” Melissa snaps from somewhere next to her, the sound less angry than it is terrified, perhaps desperate for an explanation other than the one that is starting to form right before their eyes.

But no, it can’t be.

Joe and Gerald, they’re not—

They can’t possibly be—

It’s absurd to even—

“We’ve done both of you so wrong,” Gerald croaks, the sentence muffled behind his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears glistening down the worn crevices of his face, Joe makes a vague noise, seemingly about to elaborate, but Barbara, just as she had playfully done to Melissa earlier, raises her hand.

But there is nothing of laughter in this gesture.

She feels ancient, like she hasn’t laughed in a hundred thousand years.

Like she will never do so again.

“No,” she says coldly, the syllable wrenched from some ugly place deep within her soul. “I want to hear it from him.”

“Hear what?” Melissa demands frustratedly, apparently still in denial. Her friend is so alert about most things in this life, shrewd and street smart, hypervigilant even to the point of always needing to sit facing the door, but she’s always had a blind spot when it comes to Joe.

Has always excused the most ridiculous of his antics with a shrug.

Gerald, with the deliberation she has come to expect from him—that she shares in common with him even—slowly peels his fingers away from his face, and then his calloused palms, until he’s staring at Barbara from the depths of sunken eyes.

“Go on then,” she hisses, digging her fingernails into her thighs beneath the table. “Say it.”

And she watches, with her own two eyes, as Joseph Lombardo places a comforting hand on the small of her husband’s back, supporting him as though there’s a lifetime in the infinitesimal action.

A long-established and carefully nurtured intimacy.

“Oh, Jesus.” Melissa has finally arrived at the midnight hour alongside her. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“We’ve been cheatin' on you,” Joe says it in the end, lobbing the horrible words on the table between them like a lit fuse. ��With each other. I’m sorry.”

It was at once both thoroughly important and agonizingly unnecessary that he added with each other. She’d gotten the gist from their barren fourth fingers and Joe’s hand on Gerald, but she wouldn't have been able to fully believe it until she heard it articulated aloud.

And among the thousands of others of pains and questions and horrors seizing through her system in simultaneous succession, it’s somehow the fact that Gerald couldn’t do it himself that simply excavates her.

She finds that she cannot bear to look at him.

She equally discovers that she cannot look away.

“How long?” Barbara asks incisively, harshly swiping at the traitorous tears that are threatening to form at the corners of her eyes. Half of the bar is looking at them now. Stu’s glaring daggers at the men from behind the bar, looking vaguely murderous. She can’t cry in front of all these people, can’t dissolve under their finely-trained microscope.

She spares a glance at Melissa and sees that she’s been stunned into silence, her red mouth a gaping maw.

“A year?” She presses, holding her stomach, as all of Gerald’s late nights suddenly come into perspective. He hasn’t been working overtime.

Oh, God.

He’s been with Joseph.

“Ten,” Joe offers meekly, his hand falling away from Gerald’s back in such a way as though he’s finally realized that it was a thoroughly inappropriate gesture to begin with. “Since our trip to Vegas.”

Ten years.

The days, the weeks, the endless months upon months cascade through her head like a vicious assault of rain. She tries to do the math in her head and finds that the numbers are untenable.

Unbearable.

They do not compute.

She cannot hold them within her without wanting to scream.

So she decides not to believe him.

It is her last available defense against total dissolution.

“You’re joking,” she retorts, her voice barely audible, choked upwards from the constricted column of her throat.

But Joe wordlessly shakes his head in place of an answer, staring at her with wide, watery eyes, and she can see the veracity plainly etched in his face.

The man might be many things—drunkard, potty-mouth, serial gambler—but he’s never been a liar.

Barbara racks her brain for the now hazy memories of that joint vacation. They’d gone for Melissa’s fiftieth birthday, even though the four of them could barely afford it with their abysmal salaries, but Lord, how she, Joseph, and Gerald had all insisted anyway—their beloved Sicilian fireball deserved it. And they’d had such a good time, shopping during the day, casino hopping at night, and eating some damn fine meals in-between. They’d even helicoptered out to the Grand Canyon at some point and cried at God’s glorious majesty sprawled out before them in vast configurations of clay and stone.

They couldn’t actually afford to spend the night at any of the casinos, so they had booked rooms at a La Quinta within taxi-distance of the strip. Barbara, emphatically not a gambler, never stayed out too awfully late, and Melissa often accompanied her back to the hotel, more circumspect than her husband when it came to the slots.

But Joe and Gerald, they lingered behind.

At the bars.

And the casinos.

In the dance clubs.

Telling their wives they’d taxi home later.

So there had been time enough for something to happen—stretches of unaccounted-for moments. She sees it very clearly now, that one night when Gerald stumbled into their hotel room at three in the morning, already sober, but he had inexplicably showered for two hours nonetheless before slumping into their shared bed. He didn’t touch her that night, even when she attempted to curl into him for his warmth.

She now understands that he absolutely couldn’t.

“And you didn’t think there was any time between then and—oh, I don’t fucking know—the last ten years to tell us this?” Melissa seems to have found her voice again, and it’s raw and visceral, another knife wound in Barbara’s side necessitating an outpouring of blood. “Any particular reason you wanna shoot your shot now?”

“We love each other,” Joe immediately replies, glancing at Gerald, who looks like he’s about to wretch, with worried eyes. “We wanna get married.”

“Married?!” Barbara didn’t know her vocal cords could form such a shrill sound. Somehow, even though she had been quick to process that her husband is cheating on her with one of their best friends, it has slipped her grasp that the only logical conclusion to this revelation is that it goes somewhere beyond an initial confession.

Separation can only follow.

Divorce.

She’s sixty-six years old—so close to her twilight years if she hasn’t reached the beginning of them already—and she’s going to be alone.

Oh, God—he’s going to leave her, and he’s just sitting there, like a monolith, like a log, not saying anything. And how can he not say anything? How can he let their nearly forty-year marriage go out with a whimper as his boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell he calls Joe says all of these unconscionable things with a bang?

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She demands, and she hates how it sounds more like a plea. “Or are you just going to let Joseph do all the talking for you?”

“Don’t have a go at him!” Joe growls protectively, placing his arm around Gerald again, and it makes Barbara utterly sick.

“Bastard! Stronzo!” Melissa snarls, abruptly standing up, knocking over a half-empty beer glass in the process. The amber liquid diffuses across the table, drenching all of them with its bitter tang. “What do y’mean don’t have a go at him? You two have cheated on us for ten years. Humiliated us. Hurt us.”

“Lissa—“ Joe’s feral expression softens again. “I’m s—“

“You complete”—Melissa picks up one of her uneaten wings—“chickenshit of a”—and she chucks it at her husband— “coglione! Figlio di puttana!”

“Melissa, goddammit! Don’t throw—”

But she’s already grabbed another and thrown it at him too, while Barbara hasn’t taken her eyes off Gerald, tears openly leaking down her own face now. She forgets to swipe at them, a stranger in her body, non-operator of any of her frozen limbs.

“I’m a coward,” he finally utters, the three words nearly lost beneath the sound of Melissa and Joseph now apparently cursing at each other in Italian.

“Barbara…” He cradles his head in his hands, his voice breaking on every syllable of her name. “I’m a coward.”

Barbara doesn’t know what to say to this, barely remembers how to breathe, her ribcage a shattered temple.

Ruined and ruinous deep within her body.

The pillars eroding.

This immaculate sanctuary of herself undone.

She opens her mouth, but everything refuses to come out.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #this is the most hioshoihfosihdfoifd #i don't know how to describe it #brainrotted thing i have ever written

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tillidontneedfantasy · 4 years ago

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A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.

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sapphirelycoris · 3 years ago

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Loved your last one of gang orca, I don't know anything about your blog but I was wondering if you would do a second part of it.

An idea I had after reading it was that kugo won't actually let reader go, and as vengeance she will have to stay with him either she likes it or not.

It kinda sounds like a yandere idea but on the other hand it's perfect, won't cause a public reaction and neither an actual physical or mental harm on the reader.

And both reader and kugo spent the next days or months in a apathetic relationship.

Just an idea, as I said, I don't know if you take requests or anything but just wanted to share my opinion and ideas with you

Ship: Kūgo Sakamata (Gang Orca) x fem!reader (you, your implied pregnancy)

Warnings: Brief mention of sex and infidelity.

Author's note: Oooh, I was thinking about making a part 2 like this with some hate/make up sex so this is good! Sorry I took a few liberties with this one, I've been wanting to write some NSFW work for Kūgo. Didn't know if you were a minor or not so I kept it short.

When Gang Orca comes home to you cheating Part I ft: Arranged marriage

When Gang Orca comes home to you cheating Part II: The Aftermath

When most people cheat, there are repercussions. You were expecting to get yelled at, screamed at, maybe even slapped. But no, Kūgo didn't even talk to you.

You expected divorce papers on the kitchen counter but they never showed. Did you really think he'd let you off that easy? He understood the gist of what you were trying to do.

So finally after a few weeks of silence, Kūgo spoke up. “The only way you’re going to get out of this marriage is if you produce an heir for your family’s company.” He promptly explained the deal that was struck between him and your father.

”So if we have sex and I get pregnant, I get to leave and you'll raise the child?”

He nodded curtly, “But I don’t feel like letting you just yet.” When he said this, you didn’t know it would mean for 5 more months. This was the repercussion, your punishment.

You two fell into a routine eventually. He’d wake up and make coffee, work out in the morning and then go to work. You’d reheat a cup of coffee and remake the bed. It didn’t take much work because it was if anyone even slept in it. He stayed on his side and you stayed on yours.

During your afternoons, you would do whatever the day had in store. Sometimes Kūgo had some errands he mumbled about when he was in his office, where you'd bring him some tea.

You'd go to the store and fill the cart with whatever you two needed. He didn't trust you with his card so he put money into one of your own.

Kūgo would come home at night and do his share of the housework. If you two could tolerate it, dinner was shared at the kitchen table where you'd sit across from him. He talked about his day sometimes and then he'd ask you about his. You rarely ever saw him smile anymore.

He initially planned to keep you for two more months but he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep coming home to someone who didn't really care about him. If loveless sex was what it took for you and him to finally be free of each other, then so be it.

It was so awkward. You tried being somewhat sexy just to make things a little easier but you'd seen him in the shower before and it scared you. He was so much larger than you. His fingers reluctantly reached to touch your arm but it recoiled immediately.

"Am I that repulsive to you, Sakamata?" You smirked, "I'm sorry for dragging you into this so let me make up for it."

Just because you didn't love him didn't mean you didn't fantasize about him.

He hesitantly let you have free rein over his body and you took full advantage of it.

When you woke up the next morning, the usual routine was carried out and it was straight back to being indifferent to each other. There was a certain closeness that you now shared though. Intimacy if you will.

You wanted nothing more that the physical aspect of the marriage. It wasn't love. It was pure lust.

#kugo sakamata x reader #kugo sakamata #kugo x reader #gang orca #gang orca x reader

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stratusisms · 3 years ago

Text

Bringing you… Trish Stratus. P͟e͟n͟n͟e͟d͟ ͟B͟y͟ Ivy.

Bringing you the idol of my entire life, the one and only Ms. Stratus. Devoted Mother and apparent Wife. Please make note of the word apparent here. Safe to say the 7x Women’s Champion is hardly known for her risqué behavior having been happily married for close to twenty years, yet all is not as rosey as it may appear. The once High School Sweethearts have hit multiple bumps in the road, but as of recent it has became nearly impossible to live with. The comfortability of their life as they know it has led to a dull, steadfast and lifeless marriage which has now seen them go on nearly six months of no intimacy. Not just sex, but basic displays of affection such as kissing. Depression has well and truly kicked in for the once bright and bubbly Canadian whom now only see’s herself a Mommy. Not as the multiple times Babe of The Year and Sex Symbol she was once considered back in her hay day. Leading to rather.. out of character behaviours such as clubbing and drinking in excess.

C͟o͟n͟n͟e͟c͟t͟i͟o͟n͟s͟/͟P͟l͟o͟t͟s͟ ͟M͟a͟s͟t͟e͟r͟l͟i͟s͟t͟:͟

a) Trish & Muse have been friends for a very long time. Muse can read Trish like a book and can see that she is going through some emotional turmoil. Although she is being hush about the entirety of her struggles, Muse can quite clearly see Trish going down what could be considered a slippery path and wants to help in anyway they can.

b) Muse has been Trish wing partner throughout her discovery’s of a more edgy and rebellious take on life. They have been with her throughout and perhaps at some points even encouraged her less than angelic behaviour. (Role Filled - Damian Priest)

c) Trish & Muse have known each other for a prolonged period of time. There has been some sexual tension between the two, but due to Muse’s unwavering respect, not only for Trish, but for her family, nothing has come of it other than innocent flirting. Even as Trish’s desire to be unfaithful grows, this person isn’t the one she goes to out of nothing other than she deeply cares for this person’s opinion of her. (Role Filled - Damian Priest)

d) After an impromptu visit to a wrestling show afterparty, Trish soon finds herself remarkably drunk unto the point of lacking the ability to remember the entirety of the night, only having blurry flashbacks. Trish wakes up in Muse’s bed, of whom she flirted with the entire night and whom she lured back to her hotel room for a night of steamy passion. This was her first infidelity and the realization of such left her in a state of shock the next morning, kicking this person out of her room angrily.

e) Muse learns of Trish’s infidelity after seeing a heated exchange between the two parties involved - they take it upon themselves to confront Trish about it, for whatever reason, but the two become entangled in another aggressive exchange which leads to some obvious bad blood.

f) This is the Muse that ultimately leads Trish to do the moral thing and file for a divorce from her husband and ultimately reveal the truth. This happens a good few weeks/months into a passionate affair between the two, upon growing tired of being secretive, Muse gives Trish an ultimatum. Them or her Unhappy Marriage. - (Role Filled - Wardlow)

g) The relationship between these two was certainly one that was unexpected. The way Trish’s life had been going could definitely be described as somewhat of a midlife crisis - this would be the tipping point of it. Affairs had become a regular at this point, for both she and her husband.. but this one was definitely in unexpected. To have a sexual relationship with someone so much younger wasn’t on the agenda, but an exciting rollercoaster, nonetheless. (Role Filled - Barthel)

#vhq : character intro.#pls help me fill these roles <3

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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hi!! i recently got into johnlock and the universe has somehow directed me to your blog (which is an absolute godsend omfg). have you got any good possessive!john fics?

Hi Lovely!!!

AHHHH!! I’m so glad you enjoy my blog!!! <3 Thank you so much! <3

AHHH you know what??? I don’t get asked this all that much at all! I think mostly because it’s easier to find Possessive Sherlock fics and people then just... forget LOL

So guess what?? You’re the prompter for any fics I actually tagged or filed with Possessive John! <3 A pioneer you are! LOL I’m combining it with a few of the Obsessive fics as well, since I don’t have many new ones.

As usual, gang, feel free to add your own!! <3

POSSESSIVE / OBSESSIVE JOHN