#and I've been kind of looking for it since before I was on the internet lol

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[gguk-n]

Chapter 4- Heartbreak and Understanding

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen X Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N decides to forgive Max. Max wins his home race. She meets Max's girlfriend who doesn't seem to like her very much. Did I tell you Y/N watched Max win his home race?

{Reader's POV}

Falling in love with your friend is a bad idea. Falling in love with your internet friend who has a girlfriend was an even worse idea. Falling in love with Max Emilian Verstappen was the worst idea. He's all over my screen after I searched him on every social media ever. I cannot escape him when I'm trying to get over him.

It's been a few months since the either of us have spoken to each other. After I asked for time, Max respected my wishes. After our call, I received a message from him saying that he would always be there for me no matter what and that he would like to clear up the misunderstanding one day. I knew I would talk to him, however I hoped that it would be when I was over him. Doesn't look like that's about to happen any time soon since this man is everywhere and anywhere I look.

Summer break was here, so I was having a girl's night with my friend Riley when I decided to ask for her opinion on this whole debacle. "Sooooo, Riley" I began. "You're about to unload some shit you did aren't you. Who fucked you up?" she interrupted me. "What?" I questioned. "I've known you for 6 years, I know you too well. Tell me who do I have to beat up." she said. I began to laugh. "No one" I said in between laughter. I wiped a tear away from the side of my eye, "I haven't laughed like this in a while." I muttered. "Go on, love" Riley prodded. "Yeah, so I have this internet friend, we've been friends since 2013. He's nice, kind, funny, handsome, blonde, blue eyes" I was talking when she cut me off; "exactly your type" I nodded along. "It's all nice and all. I didn't know what he did for a living. I recently found out that he is famous" I mumbled. She looked at me shocked. "Who?" was all she said. "Max Verstappen, Formula One driver for Redbull Racing" I said. "Damn, I mean he's like cute for a white boy. I think he's cool and shit for driving in fast cars, I appreciate him as an athlete for sure; as my bestie's potential love interest, questionable at best" she replied. "why, I mean I didn't say I was interested in him?" I asked defensively. "Bro, he is literally exactly your type, I've seen the men you date or hook up with, on the other hand, he has a girlfriend" she pointed out. "Ok, I know and you scare me sometimes" I lamented. "so, my real question is, I didn't know he was Max Verstappen. I didn't know he had a girlfriend. I was hurt when I found out and stopped talking to him, had a confrontation and then I said I need time before I am ready" I explained. "Understandable" she nodded along. "what do I do?" I asked. "what do you want to do?" she questioned back.

I love Max and I would like to be a part of his life even if it meant only as friends because I cherished the time we've had together. Also, I feel like I didn't let him explain himself the last time we spoke. I want to mend our ways. I would love to have him forever, even if only as a friend. "I want to still have him in my life even if it meant only as friends." I said cautiously. "Then there's your answer." she pointed out. "Talk to him, clear stuff out. If his explanation seems legit then continue to be friends." she suggested. "great idea. Thanks Riley" I said. "Don't mention it. Now can we un-pause the movie." she asked. "yes" I said while un-pausing the movie.

A few days after the heart to heart with Riley I texted Max. I knew he was supposed to be back next weekend for the race and was currently at home. I kind of confirmed that by watching his streams where he did SimRacing. I don't think I'll be telling this to anyone, honestly. He was on stream when my text went through, I saw him check his phone and ask to leave the stream early since he needed to do something; that something being to call me because within seconds my phone was ringing with the familiar name cropping up on the screen. I answered the call, Max staring back at me, a tentative smile played on his lips. He waited for me to start talking.

Y/N- Hi Max. Max- Hi Y/N, how've been? Y/N- Good, you? Max- Yeah, OK. Y/N- I'm sorry for lashing out the last time we spoke. Max- No, no, don't be sorry. I was at fault for hiding such important information from you. Can you ever forgive me? Y/N- Depends... Max- What do I have to do to get you to forgive me? Y/N- Why didn't you tell me? About everything; your girlfriend, your career? Max- I...When we started talking I just enjoyed being a regular teenager, where we talked about school and random stuff. I got to be Max the teenager not Max the youngest Formula One driver. I enjoyed the disconnect I got with you. I got to be myself and forget about racing for a minute. You made me feel like a regular guy. Y/N- I wish you had told me because when I found out about your championships, I felt like I missed out on celebrating such a huge and momentous occasion with you. That hurt. Max- I'm sorry for that. I didn't know how to tell you since it had been so long, I did want to tell you, I really did want to share my happiness with you; I just didn't know how to. You made me feel normal. Y/N- I'm glad I could be of some help. Max- You were of so much help. You calmed me down before many races and reading your messages or hearing your voice was like a comfortable constant. Thank you. Y/N- Fine, I get it some times famous people want to live regular lives, what about your girlfriend. Why didn't you tell me about her? Max- I....am not really sure. We started dating 2 years ago, it just happened. We'd known each other for a while. It just happened. Y/n- Hmmm....doesn't she mind that we talk so much? Max- No, she's chill about it. (He laughed awkwardly) Y/N- I hope we won't have anymore lies between us Max- No not at all. I cherish our friendship too much Y/N- me too. Max- This weekend is my home race. Y/N- I saw Max- You did? Y/N- I might like watching my best friend win... Max- That's great, then you can watch me win in person next week. Y/N- Sweetheart, Maxie, You might be a millionaire; your friend here is broke as fuck. I can't fly out so suddenly. Max- You don't have to worry about anything. I'll get you the tickets and stuff. Just say yes. Y/N- I mean, I would love to meet you in person.... Max- Then, that's final. You're coming to the Dutch GP next week. I'll pick you up at the airport. You should come early and leave a little later. I'll show you around. Max looked and sounded excited. Y/N- Ok (I couldn't help but laugh at his excitement)

As soon as I ended the call, I got plane tickets to the race. He said he would come pick me. I couldn't wait to meet him. I'm sure nothing bad will happen; from meeting my long time friend.

I thought maybe I should show Max some support and buy his merchandise or something; no one told me it was this expensive. I decided against it. The race was on the 27th; I was flying in on the 24th. The flight there was nerve wrecking. I've seen him although not in person. I got a text from Max telling me to go to a certain gate in the parking area where he would be waiting. I found him rather quickly; he had his hand sticking out of the car. I tapped on the window with a big smile plastered on my face. "Hi Maxie!" I greeted. "hey, schat. Get in, I don't wanna get caught." he said pointed at the door. "By who?" I quizzed. "I feel like you forgot what I did for a living and where we were." he chided. I laughed before walking to the opposite side and getting in.

Initially, things felt a little awkward but the atmosphere turned friendly quite quickly. We reached the hotel I would be staying at; Max had planned the entire week of my stay out. I was going to just rest today while Max attended to media stuff and then we would have dinner together tonight. He would take me along to the paddock for all the 3 days. And after the race weekend, he would take me to all his favourite place; my personal tour guide.

I crashed for the day after a shower and having food. I only woke up when Max called me to let him in. It took me a while to realise where I was. I apologised for not being ready to leave when that was the plan initially. Max didn't mind and offered to wait till I got dressed. He told me we were going somewhere fancy so I pulled out my black satin dress I kept for special occasions. This was a special occasion, right, I thought. Max was a lot more patient compared to all my exes who would start getting antsy; he even helped me decide on the jewellery and shoes I should pair with my outfit. Why are all the good men taken, God?

We had authentic dutch food in a fancy restaurant as a three course meal. I loved the Apple tart. I almost moaned as I placed a spoon of it in my mouth; "Max, this is so good" I groaned. Max smiled, "I'm happy you like it." "I love desserts Max, but this is almost up there with my favourites" I said with a mouth full of apple tart. "What are your favourites?" Max asked. "I love tres leches, tiramisu and cheese cakes" I mumbled. After finishing the food, we decided to walk around for a while; it was kind of dark and Max would probably not get recognised was the thought. "Thanks for the food. Maximilian" I said. He just nodded along. "It's an atrocious name Maxie, no offence but Emilian as a middle name; who ever named you, hates you" I said shaking my head. Max laughed it off; "I would've thought you were fucking with me, if you told me that was your middle name" I said patting his back. "I'm sorry" he said. "Don't apologise for your name, you had no control" I said now facing him. "No, I mean I'm sorry for lying and hiding things from you. I never felt good doing that. I wish I had told you sooner. I wish you had found out about it through me." he said regretfully. "It's ok Max, the past is in the past. I hope we'll be more honest in this friendship" I said enveloping him in a hug for the first time. His head found it's way in the crook of my neck, a woody scent wafted into my nose while Max clutched on to my waist. I felt warm tears drip down my shoulder. "Max, are you crying?" I asked, trying to pull away. He tightened the grip on my waist and buried his head deeper, if it was possible, "No" he replied, making my skin on the shoulder vibrate. "It's ok Maxie, let it all out. I'm always there for you." I said patting his back to console him. "I thought I lost you, I thought you'd never speak to me again, I thought you hated me." he muttered softly. "I could never hate you, I might've been angry but I knew I didn't want to lose you either. You are a very important friend to me" I said. "I don't ever want to lose you" he said, finally deciding to look at me with his tear streaked face. I wiped away the tears. "Me neither, now let's go, you have a race tomorrow" I said pulling him along.

The conversation kept me up at night. It was giving me mixed signals. I didn't know what to make of it. He has a girlfriend, granted I haven't met her yet. There was desperation in Max's eyes and his words. They felt heavy and part of me wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with this. Was I thinking too much into it? What was Max's deal?

I got to meet Max's girlfriend the next day. She didn't seem too pleased with me; I mean I don't think anyone could welcome a random women your boyfriend said was his childhood friend suddenly. I didn't hold it against her. I got to meet Max's teammate and the other drivers. All of them were very kind and welcoming. I got to learn a lot about Max while I waited for him to get done with interviews after free practise. I was talking to Lando while he waited his turn after Max. Max returned which made Lando leave. "You didn't tell me you had such cute friends. I would've asked you you set me up with him sooner" I said while we walked back to Redbull. "No" he stated. "You're patronising with the enemy" he continued. "Your enemy, my future boyfriend." I joked. "He's not your type" Max interjected. "And you know what my type is?" I asked. Before he could say anything, his girlfriend whisked him away.

I ended up talking to Checo who was surprised to know me and Max had been friends for so long. Almost everyone in the garage was shocked about our friendship. Checo told me it's because Max had never told them about me. Max and his girlfriend came back who looked visibly annoyed; I tried asking Max what was up but he brushed me off. I spent the rest of the day being dragged around by Max who couldn't stop talking about anything and everything.

I spent Saturday with a lot of the mechanics and engineers who had so much good stuff to talk about. It would probably help me in editing that author. She was almost done with the book; but a few more additions won't hurt. Max qualified pole, he was so excited. He dropped me back at my room when I told him he should rest up before the race when he offered to watch a movie with me. He couldn't care less, he promised to win the race for me even with a little sleep. We ended up watching some movie. His girlfriend's annoyed face was etched in my brain through out the movie, so I decided to ask him about that. "Max, I'm sure your girlfriend minds you spending so much time with me" I suggested. "No, I told her I'm meeting you for the first time. She shouldn't care." he said. "I'm sure she does, she doesn't look very happy to me" I commented. "Don't think about it too much" Max said handing me the can of cold drink. I wasn't very satisfied, but there's only so much I could do.

The race was crazy, it got my heart beating really fast watching all of them zip past at such a high speed. Max did so well, he finished the race in P1 just like how he started it. Everyone rejoiced and headed to where Max was. GP took me with him. Max got out of the car and took his helmet off, his eyes were scanning the area. As soon as our eyes met he strode towards me. His girlfriend was a couple of steps away, before I knew it Max hugged me. "I won, just like I told you I would" he whispered. "Congratulations Max." I said while turning my head towards his girlfriend who looked visibly annoyed and quickly turned on her heels and left. "You shouldn't have done that" I told Max while pulling away. "Done what?" he questioned. "You should've gone to your girlfriend after winning your home race." I said. "She's here for so many of my races, you're not" he stated. I face palmed myself, "Doesn't matter Max, she probably hates me" I said. Max just shrugged his shoulders and went to get weighed.

After all the formality and interviews Max was on the top step of the podium. I was very proud of him and you could see it on my face. I couldn't find his girlfriend anywhere around. Max got down from the podium drenched in champagne trying to hug me while I pushed him away. "No, you'll get me all sticky" I shouted while running away from him.

[ Winning his home race felt special to Max because Y/N was watching. He walked right up to her the moment his eyes landed on her. He couldn't help but wrap himself around her. After the race, they were going out to celebrate his win because Y/N wanted to go out with the other drivers and so he agreed. After reaching his room to quickly shower and leave, he was met with his girlfriend who was sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't look happy and after a bit of back and forth; Max said it. The words that had been floating around in his head for a while now; he didn't know why he didn't say it sooner. He broke up with his girlfriend. He wasn't sad but rather relieved. He walked into the shower while his girlfriend packed everything up to leave]

[foli-vora]

under pressure

declan o'hara x f!reader

A/N: is this how I imagined returning to my little corner of the internet? No, but I'm not mad about it. Look at him. I've been in love with him ever since he showed up uninvited at Bilbo Baggins front door. It's been a hot minute since I've written smut angels, so this may be a mess - be gentle with me as I somewhat work my way back into my old groove lmao. And as always, enjoy!

Word count: a bit over 1.7k I believe

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY: a deep and sloppy blowjob. The man fucking needs one. Also swearing, brief mentions of oral (f rec) and edging, masturbation (f), dirty talk, praise kink - having this man murmur these words to me would be my entire physical, mental, emotional and spiritual undoing I swear to god. Not really proof read so YOLO I guess.

His gruff answer through the closed food of his study is exactly what you expect. Not Now. Now now, he says. Not now, not an hour ago, not even two hours ago… not at all today, it seems. He’d been locked away since breakfast, and quite frankly, you’d had enough. 

You open the door with a scowl. “Yes now.”

Declan sighs, pen dropping to the papers strewn across his desk as he rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Love—”

“I’m not here to harass you,” you soothe, stepping into the study and closing the door firmly behind you, “I know you’re busy. I’m here to help.”

He frowns at you, watching you walk your way deeper into the room and around his desk. He doesn’t have time for this. God, he’d hang the fucking moon and stars for you but right now? Not a good time. Not with everything happening with Ventura, with Tony fucking Baddingham… 

“Help? I appreciate the thought, but this isn’t really your forte—”

“Not the kind of help I was offering.”

One look into your eyes and he thinks maybe he has five minutes to spare. Five minutes of those lips, that body, and that fucking space between your legs that seems to forever have his fucking head in a spin. All the times he’d wake with the taste of your cunt still lingering on his top lip, the very essence of you soaked so far into his moustache he’d smell you throughout the day…

Shit. Maybe ten minutes.

He reaches for you, hands already fisting and tugging at the cosy knit jumper snugly hugging your frame and the flowy cotton summer dress beneath it. You laugh softly, fingers wrapping around his wrists and halting his attempts to find a way under your clothes. He pauses, staring up at you as if you’ve just slapped him right across his handsome face.

“I’m here for you, Declan.”

He groans deeply, face pressing into your stomach and letting his voice melt into the material. “Please, love. All I want is to sit you on this desk and lose myself in you.”

“And have me make a mess all over your hard work? Do you really think that’s practical, darling?”

“Fuck practicality.”

“No, I don’t think so. Now back,” you reinforce your demand with a shove to his chest, the old chair creaking under the sudden shift of weight, “and relax, alright? You’re in good hands here, Mr O’Hara.”

He watches as you slip down onto your knees between his legs, tongue sweeping along his lower lip as you reach for his belt.

“I promise not to take up too much of your time,” you tease, fingers nimble as they pull at his trousers.

He doesn’t help you wrangle denim out of the way, simply content with watching you paw at him until you get what you want. You always get what you want in the end. He can’t find it within himself to be irritated by it at this moment, not when your warm fingers finally wrap around his cock and send pulses of heat to stir in the pit of his stomach.

Time? He doesn't give a shit about that anymore.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and you can have as much time as you like.”

Research could wait, or maybe he could pass time doing research of a different sort. How many times could he make you finish with his fingers? Mouth?

How many times could he drag you to the edge, promising a sharp drop into ecstasy, only to pull away before the inevitable descent? The only problem he’d have was not giving into your hoarse pleas, begging for more. A few harsh cries of his name and he’d do anything you asked of him—

“Fuck, love.”

The hot encompass of your mouth over his steadily hardening cock steals whatever thoughts he had left swirling in his mind, and his head falls back to rest on the chair with a light thud. You fight a smile as he melts under your touch, wet tongue soft and soothing as you run it over salty skin.

He hardens fully in the heat of your mouth, lips now straining around the solid thickness of him as his cock slides back and forth in between them. 

“How fuckin’ wet are you right now?” He rumbles deeply, his fingers gentle as they stroke along your cheek and to where your lips stretch around him. “I bet you’re fuckin’ soaked, just from having my cock in your mouth.”

You are, and he damn well knows it. 

Humming lightly, your tongue drags against hardened flesh until his cock softly pops out from between your lips. “Maybe I’ll let you find out.”

A slight tug of a smirk stretches beneath his moustache, and your body practically thrums under his heavy lidded stare. “Oh, I’ll be findin’ out, love. Don’t you worry about that. Now open your mouth, take me all the way—show me how good you are.”

Yes, sir.

Taking him back between your lips, you slicken his skin with another teasing stroke of tongue before taking him deeper and deeper, until you start to feel the push of resistance at the back of your mouth.

A large hand curls around the back of your head to goad you on, your cunt tightening at the firm pressure of it. You fight the first wave of a gag, swallowing thickly around him and digging your fingers into the worn denim covering his thighs in an effort to ground yourself.

“Just a little more, love. That’s it, attagirl. Just like that. Relax, open up for me.”

It’s a struggle, his thick cock throbbing heavily and uncomfortable in your throat, but the more he rumbles away with those pretty little words of encouragement and you don’t care.

You don’t care that tears begin to build and spill from your eyes, tracking hot streams down your cheeks. You don’t care that your lungs are burning, that you’re on the verge of retching from the solid intrusion.

All you care about is the way he watches you take it all, eyes heavy and chest heaving. All you care about is getting that last bit of tension out of his shoulders, about making him proud. You want to be the one to break him, to have Declan O’Hara shatter and fall apart at your touch.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” he murmurs, his rough thumb brushing along your cheek and smearing your tears over your skin. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, always so good t’me.”

Oxygen floods your lungs when you pull back enough on his cock to inhale sharply, eyes fluttering closed as the large hand steadying your head turns to a more guiding approach, fingers digging into your scalp as he pulls and pushes your face against him as he wishes.

Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth from the relentless press of his cock meeting the back of your throat, spilling from your lips and sliding down your chin in a messy trail. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re making a mess, eyes dark and zeroed in on the way his cock disappears between your plush wet lips. 

“Just a little more, love. Just a… oh, fuck. You’re so fuckin’ good, so good—”

Your brows pinch together with an effort to stay composed, to not let the utter fire consuming your body distract you from why you came here in the first place. You can’t help that your body is so damn responsive to every little thing this man does and says to you.

The long soaked fabric of your underwear sticks to your weeping cunt, walls fluttering around the disappointing feel of nothing, and clit throbbing with the need for just a little bit of attention from either you or the man fucking your mouth.

A slight shift and you’re able to drag one of your hands away from his thigh and under the hem of your dress, fingers soft and soon slick as soon as they dive under the thin cotton and swipe eagerly through your slit. You waste no time running the pads of your fingers over your swollen clit, circling again and again until you couldn’t help but slide one, and then two, fingers deep into your hot cunt and curling. 

He catches the twist of your features, the way a hand is suddenly missing from his leg and he groans softly at the idea of you needing to touch yourself while sucking him off. He's watched you plenty of times, knows exactly what you like and how you look giving yourself everything you need.

Another choked moan falls from your throat and he’s fucking desperate for it.

“Give me your hand,” he orders hoarsely. His eyes narrow at the remaining hand you lift from his thigh, and his head tilts towards you. “Not that one, your other one.”

You whine softly around his cock in vague disappointment as you slide your wet fingers from your cunt, attempting to keep your pace bobbing your head up and down his thick length as he all but snatches your wrist.

His lips wrap around the two fingers glistening in the sunlight pouring in from the window and he groans deeply around the length of them, the sweet tangy taste of your cunt settling right into his taste buds and dragging him right up and over the fucking edge.

He erupts thickly on your tongue, sharp salty cum filling your mouth and spilling from your lips as you desperately try to swallow him down. Your tongue catches and swipes up what cum remains on his now softening cock, his hips jolting and jerking with every teasing lick and soft suck you give to his sensitive flesh.

You pull away with a playful smile, your hand still caught up and now intertwined with his as his chest heaves from the aftermath. His eyes open after a moment to find you, the edge in his expression now softened.

“Feel better?”

“Not yet,” he breathes before swiping a hand across his desk, the flutter and slap of paper and files hitting the floor soon following. His hand taps the now vacant surface of the desk twice, his head briefly nodding to the space made for you, “but I will after this—get up.”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hiya! Do you know any Sterek fics where Derek rejects the mate bond with Stiles and just ignores it all, leading to Stiles feeling the strain or pain of an ignored/incomplete bond? I've read one before where Derek just moved away cuz he didn't think it was a big deal and Stiles really took the brunt of it. But any fics that are similar would be perfect. P.S. Thank you for everything that you do and I hope that you're having a great day!

Oh yes. I love this kind of angst.

soulmates tbh by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 1,423 I Teen)

"It’s been five months," Derek says darkly. "Why am I still getting these proposals? You know these are probably all fake marks."

Five months since the paparazzi had snapped that photo of him with the overzealous fan tugging at his shirt, five months since millions of people on the Internet realized that the birthmark revealed was in fact, the mark, five months Derek was inundated by claims from people who desperately wanted him to believe that they were his soul-mate.

Second Chances by rootbeer

(1/1 I 2,624 I General)

"A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them.

Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well. How fucked up was Stiles Stilinski that even his fucking Soulmate hated him? High School had been a special kind of hell when all the kids learned what his tattoo said—despite his best efforts to keep it a secret."

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

I Hunt For You With Bloody Feet by CharWright5

(26/26 I 200,462 I Explicit)

“Mates don't always mean happy ever after.”

When twenty-year-old born omega werewolf Stiles Stilinski received that cryptic email from his twin brother—who'd been missing for two years exactly—in a language the two of them had made up, his drive to find Stuart is doubled. The search leads him to Oak Creek, the most secured and heavily fortified city in all of California, where he finds that not only is his brother dead, but also the literal alpha of his Dreams in Derek Hale—who just happens to be his twin's Mate and the main suspect in Stiles' eyes. Despite an agreement to fight mutual feelings, the two are still drawn to each other as they try to solve the case themselves, uncovering a plot that goes deeper than the murder of just one wolf.

Blue Monday by ExpectNothingGainEverything

(19/? I 535,709 I Explicit)

Stiles would have never guessed that the star player of the lacrosse team and presumably the hottest guy in school who everyone wanted a piece of and one of his most hated bullies would turn out to be his soulmate.

Derek would never have dreamed that fate would be so cruel to pair him up with a freak like Stilinski.

[purelyfiction]

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NFL QB Jake 'Hangman' Seresin AU x Popstar F!Reader

Summary: NFL Quarterback Jacob Seresin is in hot water from a streak of bad decisions, just as you go through the worst public breakup of your life. With people slandering both of your reputations, your publicists hatch a plan to bring both of you back into favor and keep the heat off until spring - that is if you can keep up the facade.

Word Count: 5,334 words

Author Note: I know I have two other outstanding Top Gun fics and I swear I'm trying to get those going but I am writing what sparks joy and well.... this certainly does. || Also!! Reader's stage name is 'Celeste' with 'Este' as the nickname. So no one gets confuseddddd

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You'd never anticipated to start the biggest year of your life absolutely gutted, yet here you are. Your boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend, severed what you had thought to be a loving, trusting and safe relationship, rather unexpectedly on New Year's Eve. Then he'd gone to the press to relay that you were a horrible person, a terrible girlfriend, too involved in your work to even bother paying attention to anyone else. The timing couldn't be worse, since you were about to start your first ever stadium tour in the spring. 

The result had been you hiding away in your little oasis that was your condo in California’s southern escape of San Diego. You’d stayed off the internet, binging TV shows that you’d been too busy to pay attention to and immersing yourself in anything you could, to erase the four year relationship you’d been splintered from. The garbage people probably wondered why there were a near dozen empty quarter pints of ice cream in your recycling bin, but that wasn’t for them to care about. At least you’d recycled them. 

Now, three weeks into the new year, with your favorite Chinese on the way, you sit on your couch going over tour visuals. Your lighting engineer is rambling on the line as you hear the gate buzzer go off. You’re quick to collect your dinner as one of the others on the line gasp and quickly mute their mic. “What?” You quip, walking to your expansive kitchen and dropping the large paper bag down. You’re half paying attention when the employee brushes you off, as your hand pulls container after container of food from the magical Mary Poppins-style bag. Getting to the bottom, you grasp for a pair of chopsticks, only to find several sets of them, along with a dozen fortune cookies. You take a moment to look over your four entrees and styrofoam container of sushi. The audacity of them to think you would be sharing any of this. 

Finally, you address the matter of your dramatic tech director. “What’s the deal over there Hollywood?” You chide, before your phone is ringing, leaving you to hang up the video call to answer the phone. It’s your publicist and you know better than to let her calls go unanswered.

“Check your inbox.” Her voice is frigid instead of it’s usually cheery demeanor.   

“Hello to you too?” Begrudgingly, you do as she commands, finding the email she sent to you. 

Jonah Carter agreed to sit down for an interview with UsWeekly, post-breakup to clear the air and to make sure no one else would fall for his ex-girlfriend's (Celeste) playful, girl-next-door-ish facade.

"At first, it felt like a dream come true," Carter, an up-and-coming actor within his own right, said almost sheepishly. "I thought she was talented and kind, but I should've known it was too good to be true."

But there's more to this pop-star than Jonah says meets the eye. In addition to the vanity and self-importance that seems to plague this generation's starlets, Este was a vindictive slob who routinely talked behind the back of even her closest friends. "It makes me wonder what she's saying about me, now, after everything I've heard her say about those who think are closest to her." The concern for others is written very clearly on the actor’s face as he speaks. When I question the songstress’ messages about authenticity, the man adjusts in his seat as he holds back a laugh. 

"She'd like you to believe she writes all her own music, but I'm not sure she could write a full sentence without the help of her team," Jonah chuckled nervously into his coffee. "Sorry, that was rude. I don't want to stoop to her level." Cowed brown eyes made me wonder what else he had endured behind closed doors. It struck a chord within me. 

“Why did you stay as long as you had if this was what you were facing?” I ask him. The expression of his kind features morphs into despair. 

“When we first met, Celeste was someone I admired. Her compassion, her drive and her dedication to the things she valued spoke so deeply to what I did, what I still do-” he fumbles as he attempts to source the proper words, “They just… weren’t her beliefs. They were her team’s.” Jonah lets out a pained sound, “I think when we got toward the end of it, I realized that she has this way of manipulating what she says, how she acts, to make herself look good. She puts on a show, on and off the stage and you pay for it one way or another. So, I knew what she was capable of. I knew she could be that person if she really wanted to and I wanted so badly to help her see that. I eventually learned that people see what they want to see.”

God, what a load of hot garbage this was. It was a particularly rare batch, clearly it had been baking in a dumpster in the scorching sun with the lid closed. All damp, with a horrendous mix of something rotting and old crusty seaweed. 

The tour was supposed to be announced on the first of the month and here your ex was selling stories (horribly narrated and mangled stories) to the press. You might as well have been kicking puppies at this point. 

“Isn’t he just swell? Nothing but peak wisdom from good ol’ Jonah.” Your eyes could’ve strained themselves with how far back they rolled. Probably the only time he’d ever made them do that too.

“I’ve already called a team together to brainstorm. I don't want you to respond. Stay offline, away from all of it and don't entertain any of the discourse. Not until I have something to work with.” 

“None of it is true we both know that-” You begin to laugh but she cuts you off.

“As much as I want to be on your side here, we are working to put out a fire. Your silence the last three weeks has put you at a massive disadvantage and frankly? The public eye doesn’t see you in the greatest space right now.” You know she’s right. She always is, and right now ‘Celeste’ was synonymous with ‘cynical, fake and fraudulent’. You wouldn’t be shocked if the uproar demanded you be canceled based off of this testimony. 

It wasn’t all but two days later that you were called in by your PR team. Into the office in New York for the first time since before Thanksgiving. It had been a busy end of the year and now that the new one was coming in so ferociously you weren’t looking toward any of the things you once had been. This was the first time back into the light and so you had made sure that the inevitable cameras had something to look at. You’d dressed yourself in your favorites, in an effort to boost your confidence as best as you could. Putting on a show, just like you had been when things had been on the rocks with Jonah. 

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Getting to the office, you’re nearly trampled with the amount of people that swarm you. It’s not normally this bad - hell it’s never this bad. It isn’t until you catch sight of a football jersey and an ESPN logo that your brow furrows. Odd. 

Stepping into the building, you’re pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, looking down at your ringing phone and trying to slide your coat off simultaneously. Instead, you crash right into what you think is a wall, but is instead a broad man, looking rather lost. 

“Easy there, Twinkle Toes.” You guffaw and look up at the blonde man before returning your eyes toward your feet. Of course, the bedazzled statement boots on your feet call attention to themselves before the rest of the outfit can balance itself out. 

“Alright, Prince Charming, you first.” You snicker before stepping out of his way and start to the elevator. Unfortunately for you, he’s apparently heading your way as well, needing access to the lift to the next floor. 

“Prince Charming, huh? I mean I’ve been called worse.” His shoulders roll backwards as the elevator dings to one of the other floors. You keep your head trained forward, suddenly remembering the rule you’d been given. Stay quiet, don’t engage. And here you were giving sass to a stranger and showing up in bedazzled booties. You were really digging this grave deeper than necessary. So, instead of giving him another sassy response, you keep your eyes locked to the neon numbers as the elevator passes each floor. “Oh so, now I’m getting a cold shoulder? Darn, I was really ready to ask you all about the boots on your feet, too.” You can’t help but let your eyes move back over to the broad male, just out of the corner of your eye. His face is completely locked on you, shamelessly at that. “They expensive? They got that waxy red paint on the bottoms of ‘em?” Silently, you turn one of your feet up to give him a glimpse at the blue bottom of the shoe. “Huh, blue. That’s fun. That more expensive than the LouButton or whatever they are?” Finally the elevator reaches your floor, hopefully shutting this chatterbox up for the time being. Yet the questions continue like an immature toddler as you rise up the floors - going to the same floor nonetheless. “Hey, you’re that Celeste chick aren’t ya?” 

“Yes.” You finally answer one of his questions, his face lighting up.

“Oh look at that, she cracks.” Another eye roll times well with the sound of the elevator reaching the desired floor. Instead of responding, you quickly find your way through the glass hallways and to the desired room. You are so glad to be in the presence of the familiar group, the stranger in the elevator having rattled your composure somewhat. Your manager comes in with a cup of coffee and a smile, which immediately puts one on yours. 

“You didn’t have to do that!” You cheer, reaching out for it as she sits beside you. 

“When you see what Rachel has come up with, you’re going to need it.” Oh. Reassuring. 

You see her point when Prince Charming steps into the board room, followed by a host of men in dress clothes and suits, all matching the blue soles of your boots. Charming sits directly across from you, a hand wiggling his fingers as he waves at you. Oh good. 

“Thank you everyone for coming. I know this is a very polarizing group, so before we get ahead of ourselves, I want to introduce Celeste, or Este as we all have come to call her over the years.” Awkwardly, you wave at the foreign men. They grunt and nod. You were already having doubts and not a word had been spoken on their end. “I also want to introduce Beau Simpson, public relations coordinator for the San Diego Sea Lions, Coach Natasha Trace, and Sea Lions owner, Tom Kazansky.”

Sea Lions? As in the NFL team that had been built not even three years ago but had made it to all three playoffs in their short time? The one that Jonah had ridiculed immensely when it joined the league because ‘California doesn’t need another group of inflated egos in the league’? 

“I’m really feeling the love here, Rach.” Charming speaks up and the raven haired woman on the other side of the table sighs. 

“This is Jacob Seresin, starting quarterback for the Sea Lions.” The coach speaks, the blonde man brushing off her introduction. 

“No need for full names, Trace. Clearly we only do the stage name around here.” That was a clear jab to you if you’d ever heard it. “Hangman’s what they call me.” His hand juts across the glass, toward you. Your hands stay tucked under your biceps. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” It’s passive, turning to your team leader. “Rachel. I’m not seeing a connection here.” 

“Jacob is in the same pot of hot water you’re in.” Your attention moves to the similarly broad man who stands up, towering over Rachel. “We feel as though we can spin this to both of your advantages. Jake needs to stop sleeping around–”

“Easy now, Simpson.” The eldest in the room stands up and he gives you a kind smile. It’s not a farce though. You’re not entirely sure what makes it so genuine, but you smile in return of seeing him stand, despite it taking a slight bit of effort to do so. “What he means is, Jake’s professional status has changed due to the words of someone else and we’re determined to alter that. Rachel identified this and made quite the proposal.” The young woman seems all too cheery to cut off the old man. 

“You’re both having relationship woes–” The raven haired woman on Jacob’s team speaks under her breath. 

“Wouldn’t call them relationships.”

“And by putting you two together, we feel as though we can put you into a positive light. Let’s face it, putting two very successful, and attractive people who are already in the spotlight allows people to follow the developing love story. Este attends games, plays the WAG card, has an opportunity to be seen in the public eye more frequently and dispels the ill-spoken words that were published about her this week. Jake gets the proof that he isn’t just a love-em-and-leave-em type.” Your eyes spell out the doubt you’re feeling, looking at your team who is just as skeptical. “That’s just the beginning! Celeste is going on tour this year. Stadiums all across the country have her booked and ready for the summer. We have a captive audience already following these games to see Este and Jake together, and we get brand recognition. The conversations that will come as she gets to witness her betrothed play in a stadium she would be performing in that very summer.”

Now you see where the benefit actually is. Clearing your name while simultaneously promoting your tour in the process. Seeing stadiums you’ve booked and would hopefully sell out. 

“So how are you proposing this works? We’ll need a start, an end - a story on how we met–”

“Well,” Beau settles in his seat, twisting in the desk chair as he draws in the attention of the group, “we have the major details hypothesized. Rachel and I will work with one another to get the rest of it together. For now, you two met at a New Years Eve party.” 

Oh joy. Now you get to remember that bitter break-up that led you here, every time you speak about him. 

The man looks like he walked out of a surfing magazine, as it were. Now, the scowl on his features paints him as a devil. Long hair, muscular arms on display as he leans into the table in front of him. 

“If we don’t do this?” Jake leans back in his chair, a hand coming to fiddle with the lingering 5 o’clock shadow that he has omitted in his morning routine. 

“We don’t do this and there will be a lack of support for the Sea Lions. You’ll have painted the entire team as jackasses who can’t focus to save their life, especially if you continue to party and hook up with whomever your dick has the hots for that night-” Beau has gone off the handle and Tom speaks up again. 

“The point is, public favor will stay low and it will not bode well for the team. With a lack of support, we have empty seats. Empty seats translates to less viewers, then to less money and you know the song and dance. Not to mention morale for the upcoming playoffs. We need to keep the team happy, Hangman. It’s time to do something to benefit everyone.” 

Jake’s expression deepens, as though he was a young child just scolded by his father for his poor behavior. Green eyes shift and face you, his hand jutting out toward you. 

“I’m in.” His hand hovers. Waiting for you to join him in this grand scheme. Glancing at your own team, they look rather haunted. At this point, it was this or to hope that a long string of possible good stories and fan interactions can redeem you. 

You want this to pass. And if this would make it go faster… you grab Jake’s hand firmly.

“What’s there to lose?”

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You went back onto social media. Posted some photos you’d taken with friends back at the beginning of the month, from the worst party of your life. The photos at least were cute and you loved the dress you’d gotten to wear. Luckily these photos were all taken prior to midnight. So there were no red eyes. No ruined mascara and glitter across your cheeks. No freezing car rides home and empty beds. 

Mindlessly, you scroll through the comments. 

Flameth: can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

RunTao: phony photos

Romanacent: so glad to see you’re not letting him get to you!

H_ngm_n: you’re still gonna let me borrow those boots right

It’s the last one you’d been keeping an eye out for. Boots? Looking back at the photo, you scroll through the carousel until you spot them. 

The same shiny sparkly rhinestone boots you’d worn to your meeting. 

Celeste: @h_ngm_n I’m a woman of my word, of course 🤗

Not even a week goes by before you’re ‘spontaneously’ at a bar in LA. Jake has been there for the last two hours, as he insisted you both show up alone and then end up leaving together. You eventually found him in the VIP section, drinking with his buddies. 

You made sure to keep your distance for a few minutes - after all, his friends had no idea this was going down. The only people who knew about this little arrangement were your respective PR teams. That was it. No one else from your teams, your friends and family, absolutely no one knew what your little plan was. Maybe you should just leave. It was a verbal contract, you didn’t sign anything, you were just trying to make this work for the two of you-

The bartender pulls you from your deliberations. There is now a drink that you certainly didn’t order sitting in front of you. Well there was no going back now. Jake had likely made a show of sending over the drink and now you had to go through with this. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the jock, legs spread, arms resting on the back of the booth chair. Green eyes lock in your direction and send a cocky wink as a garnish to your drink. 

You are about to win your first Oscar with this performance. Throwing on a grin, you pick up the drink and easily sashay your way over to him and his football buddies. Some flash titanium wedding bands, some platinum. Some aren’t wearing them at all, like your date, mister 83 who leans forward upon your approach. “Well, well, well, long time no see hot shot.”

“Speak for yourself, pop star.” Jake stands to greet you, his arms coming around you, carefully as to not spill either of your drinks. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he does so. It’s rich, familiar in the way it reminds you of summers camping. Bonfire smoke and smores. Yet clean, like when you came home to a clean house, citrus floor cleaner lingering in the halls. Pulling back, you almost move forward again to sit in it. Easy does it. 

“Oh come on, three weeks isn’t that long.” You chide. While most of his body has pulled away from the hug, his free hand still sits on your waist, warm against the AC of the exclusive bar. 

“Technically it was a year ago.” Jake smirks before taking a sip of his drink and you want to groan. So you do. But spin it into something more playful. 

“Observant, are we?” You nearly snarl as you take a sip of your drink, Jake’s colleagues standing up. The one who’d sat right next to him grins and extends a hand. He’s tall, lean but has a stunning smile as he steps your way.

“Not sure we’ve met. Javy Machado, running back, San Diego Sea Lions-” the blonde looks at his friend with an amused scoff. 

“I think she knows who the Sea Lions are, Jav.” The look on the captain’s face is one of skepticism and amusement. You were here to dispel rumors. So, as much as you’d like to smack Jake for being a dick to his friend, you shake his teammate’s hand instead 

“In passing. I don’t follow football closely, but I get by. Celeste.” The smile on your face is genuine as the next player stands. Kind eyes, a domestic bar of hair on his upper lip and the build of a pickup truck, he goes for a quick one armed hug. When he lets go, you have to wipe the temptation of any swooning you were compelled to do. Especially since a gold band glistens on his left hand. 

You’re here for Jake anyways. 

“Name’s Bradley Bradshaw. They call me Rooster.” Your eyebrow furrows as your head twists. Before you can ask, another man on the other side of the room laughs. 

“You should hear him on the field when he’s sacking someone.” This one, curls and meticulously groomed facial hair to boot, leans forward and shakes your hand kindly. “I’m Mickey. That back there is Bob.”  

True to his word, at the end of the bench is a long haired man, tucked into his phone and fiddling with a ring. He doesn’t seem to match the energy of the rest of the group. Curious. “Bob!” He glances up at the sound of his name, blue eyes flitting from face to face before spotting you. When he does he breaks out into a smile. 

“Celeste! Gosh, wow it’s so cool to meet you! My girls adore your music.” This catches Jake’s attention, a brow popping up. 

“Aren’t both of ‘em less than five?” He asks and Bob looks between the two of you. 

“Yeah? It’s never too early to introduce them to great music and influential women.” There’s no faking the smile on your face as you reach over and shake his hand. When you do, you look at Jake with a ‘would you look at that’ coded grin. 

“That’s amazing to hear! I’m glad they have fun with it! That’s why I do it.” You glance back at Jake as he comes behind you, hand shifting to the small of your back. 

“Pay’s in the bathroom, I’m sure you’ll meet him sometime later tonight.” The quarterback gives a nod to his group, before guiding the two of you to a high top table not too far from them. When you sit down he looks at you with a laugh. “Flirt much?” 

“Excuse me?” Jumping to the defense, you watch Jake roll his eyes and then look back at Bradley, before facing you. 

“You were practically eye-fucking him.” 

“Was not.” 

“He’s happily married, leave him be.” The blonde sips at his drink and you can’t help but laugh when you realize he’s giving you a hard time. 

“Right, right, guess I’ll bother you instead.” The tease is off your lips in two seconds. Maybe he was right, you were coming off strong. You huff and sink into yourself briefly. “I don’t know if you realized this, but I haven’t had ‘flirt’,” your fingers mark the quotation marks in the air, “with anyone in a while. Let alone fake it.” 

Jake leans back in his chair, downing the rest of his beverage a smirk making way when he sets the glass down. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t be faking it for long.” 

The two of you sat at that table for probably an hour, bickering over which of the Pirates of The Caribbean movies were the best, and why glitter was a detriment to society. Another round of drinks and the football star return to the table as he laughs when he spills a little of your overflowing drink. 

“No, no I assure you. Glitter originated in some high tech nuclear weapons factory to make the enemy go insane upon introducing it to an environment.” He pushes your drink toward you as you pull your hair back. Not only were you not anticipating for him to be this passionate about it, but you weren’t planning on the night going like this. 

You were enjoying yourself. Jake had told you about his time at UT, six years spent studying communications no less. 

It made sense when you really dissected it. Jake had the ease to hold someone’s attention: he’d held yours this long after all, and he was well spoken. Both were things that were shocking to you. He soon enough revealed the plan had always been football. Communications was for post-retirement, when he got tired out and wanted to be back in the stadiums. 

Stories of his dad commentating his high school games came fondly before he asked about your background. You were a bit hesitant to divulge too much, but what you had was pretty bare-bones. 

Music had always been a hobby but never a career choice. You’d planned to go into school for a degree in education, a masters in English. Go and teach for a bit before getting your PhD in some niche of the world of writing and then become a professor at your alma mater. 

With the rise of social media and the multitudinous connections of the internet, a little original song of yours got popular. Local radio picked it up and then your label signed you. 

“It all was pretty spontaneous, really,” you answer. “My career was in no way by design, but… I wouldn’t change it.” The smile on your face is small, but genuine as your hair falls back around your face. Tracing the rim of your glass, you keep your eyes down before a hand pushes your hair out of your face. Coming eye to eye with him, he grins. 

“Guess it was written in the stars then.” His response catches you. Jake’s eyes are much softer than when you’d approached him earlier. They were dark, focused and possibly a little mischievous. Now? They were gentle. Every shade reassured you that the boisterous man you’d seen in the office and the press was nothing like the man under the helmet. 

It made far more sense to you now. How he’d gotten women hooked on him. The abrasiveness and bold exterior was the casing to the real character. 

How many women had actually made it past the outside?

The rustling of a fabric on leather comes from in front of you, watching as the blonde pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket. 

“Please tell me this isn’t you trying to buy my affection there, Seresin.” As he stands up, pushing his wallet back, the grin carved on his face doesn’t leave when he shakes his head. 

“No, no, princess. This is for the bartender. Turns out you’re not a cheap date.” His knuckles wrap onto the table briefly before he disappears. You blame the blush on your face on the humidity inside the building. 

The two of you bid your goodbyes, before starting to the front of the bar to exit. Reaching the street, it’s expectantly empty. He takes the side closest to the street as the two of you head down the way, toward the row of restaurants and shops that were quiet for the night. 

“Are you hungry?” Jake’s voice breaks through the cold of late January air, looking at him quizzically. 

“If you’re hungry we could go back-” His hand comes to your back again as he shakes his head. 

“Oh-ho, no ma’am I promise, I’ve got something way better.” 

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Unfortunately, he was right. The two of you stand in the glow of food truck lighting, beyond messy tacos in hand. He’s watching you with a smirk on his face, obnoxiously chewing the fish taco in his hand. 

“Is that not the best taco you’ve ever had?” Again, his voice is filled with ardor as he watches you attempt to maneuver the soft corn tortilla that seems to be spilling into your napkin. 

“It’s… a taco.” You shrug, looking down at the brown beef meal in your hands. Jake shakes his head, still chewing. 

“No, no, I will not have you slander Ganso’s Tacos. Absolutely not.” He sets his red basket down on a table, hand in a vice grip around his taco. “Here, open,” he maneuvers closer and you shake your head, backing up. 

“I am not eating your taco!”

“Eat it!!” The two of you laugh. Finally, you concede and take a bite of the hand fed taco. When he finally takes it back to his plate, his expression eagerly waits for your reaction.  One hand covers your mouth as you chew, nodding as Jake looks like he just stole the Mona Lisa without getting caught. 

“You’re right.” One singular fist to the air and he’s back to scarfing down his tacos. 

“I told you. Way better than bar food. This is by far the best taqueria in all of California. And I stand by that.” 

With full stomachs and messy hands, the two of you start back toward the bar, where Jake’s parked. When you do, you finally notice a car has been tailing the two of you since you ordered your meal. 

The crowd in front of the bar proves that your teams were certainly on to something. Flashes of light start in an onslaught, your hand coming to block your eyes. Still, you keep walking toward them, only for Jake to grab your hand and guide you toward his car. 

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Voices shout, questions sail through the air, your name, his name, Jonah’s, more questions about football- it all gets crammed into the cacophony before the passenger door opens under Jake’s hand, guiding you to your escape pod. 

The driver side door causes the car to shake with an unceremonious thud. In seconds, the engine to the sports car is ignited and the two of you are underway. 

It isn’t until you get about two miles out that one of you finally speaks. 

“How long do you think it’s going to take for those to show up online?” White lines on the road disappear as you head further and further from the bars and closer to the hotel you were staying at for the weekend. 

“I give it maybe six hours. Four if we’re lucky.” He laughs, but it doesn’t match the hearty ones he shared with you earlier.

A sports broadcast plays lowly on the radio, both of you overwhelmed by the cameras that stimulating conversation was far from what either of you were concerned with. It isn’t long until you spot your hotel. Jake navigates into the lane closest to the front of the building, pressing down on the brakes. You’re just about to unbuckle when he pulls back out into the other lane, lurching forward and away from your accommodation. 

“Um. Hello?” You question. The car whips around a turn, green eyes fixated to the rear view. Shifting in your seat, you glance behind you. 

“We’re being followed.” Jake just barely makes the light before it turns red, leaving the tailing SUV behind. 

“It’s probably just paparazzi, no big deal.” It’s easy to shrug off for you, but Jake huffs. 

“Yeah. And I’m not dropping you off at a hotel alone with vultures circling.” Navigating the CarPlay in the vehicle, he quickly moves to messages and asks his phone to send someone to your hotel to gather your things. 

“Jake, I’m-”

“You’re staying with me.”

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[crazyinlovewithbucky]

"My Girl"

Pairing: (tfatws)Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sam took Bucky clubbing one day to ease Bucky's tension and bad temper then Bucky met you and since the moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew that he wanted you to be his girl.

Warnings: flufffffffff, smut, Sam & Bucky being sarcastic, alcohol, alcohol consumption, making out, nudity, dry humping, oral (f receiving), protected/unprotected sex, d in v sex, drunk friend, sergeant kink, Bucky being obsessive, lipstick stains and marks, cum eating, overstimulation, lots of fluff + smut.

This smut was somewhat inspired by the song Girl by The Internet (feat. KAYTRANADA)

AU/N: hey guys, I've been having the worst writer's block and I've been writing this piece for almost 3 months now. My job is taking all of my time and consuming my days that I barely have time to write so this is the reason why this piece might be a little longer (5.9K words) than my previous ones lol. Hope you enjoy it and I'd like to remind you that English isn't my first language so excuse if I misspelled or mispronounced anything.

======================

It was a somewhat normal Friday evening. Sam and Bucky just finished another successful mission in Europe, and they needed time to relax. Sam knew about that great club in New York and begged Bucky to come and blow off some steam. Eventually, Bucky agreed to drink, spend time with his best friend, and maybe see how people nowadays party. They entered the club and headed to the bar right away before the club owner himself came and greeted them and told them he had a private VIP table for them on the east side of the club. The two Avengers thanked him but wanted to have a few drinks at the bar first.

"Gosh, Steve would've hated this," Bucky shouted due to the loud music, feeling a little uncomfortable as he's not used to loud music, not used to people drinking and dancing around wildly like this, and also not used to crowded places like this. Sam laughed at his comment and gave him a glass of whiskey.

"Believe it or not, buddy. I brought Steve and Nat here a couple of times, and they didn't actually hate it. They were uncomfortable at first, yes. But after a few drinks, I kid you not, Steve almost went home with three blondies who promised to show him "how grateful they are for him saving the world" until Nat and I had to actually grab him by his shirt and drag him out of there." Sam chuckled while telling the story, and Bucky almost spat his drink out of his nose, laughing.

"Yeah Yeah. That does sound like Steve." Bucky kept chuckling as he swallowed the rest of his drink. He put the empty glass on the bar and asked the bartender for a refill. His eyes roamed the place, looking at the people on the dance floor, then his eyes landed on you.

You were dancing your heart out and wearing that new short, tight black dress that had no sleeves, feeling kind of tipsy from the three or four drinks you had. Your hair is all messed up from the heat of dancing, which made some of your baby hair stick to your forehead due to sweat. Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off of you; he didn't know why, but for him, you were so attractive, with that tight short dress hugging all of your curves perfectly, your hips and body swaying to the music, and your shiny, beautiful hair swaying and moving with your body too.

He kept staring at you, lost in your beauty until he felt a rough hand hitting his shoulder. "See something you like, Barnes?" Sam raised an eyebrow at him, following Bucky's intense gaze at you. "Go dance with her," Sam chuckled, pointing at you with his glass.

"No fucking way, Sam. I don't dance." Bucky took a deep breath and swallowed the refilled glass in just one sip. He put the glass again on the bar table and motioned for the bartender to refill it again. Somehow all that built-up and buried sexual energy in him started to resurface as he got reminded that the last time he had any sexual interaction with a woman was in the 1940s. He really needed to take it out of his system and ease that sexual tension inside of him. He knew that he had to do that one day or another. Hell, Sam even knew and noticed that too, as Bucky's anger issues and frustrations were getting out of hand and Sam had enough of this attitude. He thought that maybe with a few drinks and a nice night out, Bucky might be less tense. But when a pretty lady gets Bucky's attention and he starts to act all frustrated again, it all clicks for Sam now, as the reason behind Bucky's frustration is just built-up sexual energy. Poor Bucky hasn't gotten laid since the 40s; he must feel like a virgin now, Sam thought.

Bucky kept staring at you and the way your body moved to the music until he saw you moving toward him with one of your friends. You were headed towards the bar while laughing with your friend, and you moved and stood very close to him and shouted the names of some drinks for the bartender. He could smell you. You were sweaty as hell, but for him, you smelt so nice and sugary; your body and hair smelt like a mix of coconut and jasmine, and he loved it so much that his body stiffened and he stood straight, trying his hardest not to look at you and the way you kept scratching your scalp and flipping your hair from the heat you felt from dancing. You took out a scrunchie from your purse and tied your hair up in a messy ponytail, and he almost fell on his knees as he saw drops of sweat running down your neck. You were so hot and beautiful, he thought he'd lose his mind.

Sam was standing on the opposite side of Bucky and you, watching Bucky's reactions with a smirk. "Hey ladies, can we buy you some drinks?" Sam said this to you and your friend, startling you both out of your conversation. Your friend looked at him and Bucky and gasped loudly.

"Oh my god! You're the Avengers!" Your friend screamed, which made you get confused, and you looked carefully at Sam, then turned your head and found very hungry blue eyes looking back at you. Your mouth opened a little at the sight before you. You thought that this was literally the most beautiful and handsome man you'd ever seen in your whole life. You both kept holding that intense eye contact; you didn't realize you were so close to each other until your friend pushed your shoulder to grab your attention, and you almost fell on him. Bucky was quick, and he held you by your waist and helped you stand up straight, never breaking eye contact.

"Are you okay?" He said that as your heart kept beating so hard and loud, you were very nervous, as you had never had that much tension with anyone before—even your friend and Sam sensed it. You nodded your head at Bucky while smiling nervously, then tried to breathe normally as you felt like you were choking out of air. You also felt that strange sensation of tingling between your legs. You couldn't help it; as per lots of previous experiences, you were well aware that alcohol makes you horny. But alcohol plus the hottest man you've ever seen—that was too much for you, and you felt out of breath.

"Y-You don't need to buy us any drinks, we were actually getting those last drinks and leaving afterward," you said nervously to Sam as you held your friend's arm. You smiled with a nod at the bartender when she put the two drinks you ordered in front of you and your friend.

"What? Noooooo, Y/N, I wanna stay," your drunk friend whined. "You can do whatever you want to me, Mr. Falcon." Your friend flirted with Sam and touched his hand and squeezed it while winking at him, which made Sam blush and smirk at her.

"Oh, I think you had enough drinks already." You cringed at your friend, squeezed her shoulders, and pulled her away slowly to leave.

"At least, let us drive you home." Bucky's voice behind you said that, and your breath hitched. You were trying your hardest not to interact with this man because, you swear, you were so close to jumping on him and doing very unholy things to him.

"Y-You don't have to." Your voice was shaky, and you tried to keep your friend steady.

"But we want to. Please." He touched your arm softly, and you got goosebumps all over, feeling hotter, and that tingling feeling between your legs was more unbearable.

"Okay," that's all that you managed to say, as there's nothing on your mind now except for the various positions and ways he could fuck you with. Yes, you were that horny.

Sam got his wallet out and paid for his, Bucky's, and your drinks. You kept holding your friend, afraid she might trip and fall. Meanwhile, Bucky was walking beside you, guiding you to the main exit and shielding you from the crowd. He was very gentle and kind to you, and you just couldn't stop looking at his strong, veiny hands and imagining them wrapped around your neck.

By the time you got outside the club, Bucky had guided you and your almost knocked-out friend to the parking lot, where Sam was already waiting there next to the black SUV. Normally, you wouldn't ever consider going out or taking a ride with strange men you just met at the bar. This is a never-in-a-million-years action from you. But your cautious side left the room when you acknowledged that these are the actual Avengers and they couldn't ever hurt you. And if they did, you're going to make a hundred percent sure to sue their asses afterward. You smiled at yourself at that thought, and that caught Bucky's attention.

"What are you smiling at?" Bucky said to you as he smiled too. Your smile dropped immediately as he caught you off guard, and you felt so embarrassed. Of course, you're not going to tell him you were just thinking about suing him if he did something to you, and that made you smile. What the hell are you? A psycho?

"Ummm, nothing." You smiled awkwardly. "I am just a little drunk." And you awkwardly laughed. 'Gosh, can this get any weirder?' You thought to yourself. 

"Are you okay?" He said this in a concerned tone while opening the doors of the backseat in the car and guiding you and your friend in. You nodded at him with a smile, sat your friend carefully in the backseat, and seated yourself next to her. Bucky got in the passenger seat while Sam started driving and pulling out of the parking spot.

"So, do you ladies have a place, or are we going to drive all night?" Sam said this in a sarcastic tone while opening the Google Maps app on his phone. He gave the phone to Bucky to start typing your addresses in the search bar.

You laughed at Sam's question. "Yeah, but Y/F/N lives closer, so can we drop her off first, Mr. Falcon? Shit. Sorry. I mean Sam." You cringed at yourself for calling Sam Mr. Falcon like your friend did. You don't know if it's because you feel awkward, or the tension between you and Bucky, or the four drinks you had earlier.

Sam and Bucky laughed softly at Sam's new nickname, and that made you feel more awkward, and that made you laugh nervously. Bucky noticed that and said, "That's okay. I call him sometimes "Daddy Falcon," just like those girls on Twitter, just to tease him." 

"Hey man, what the hell? You promised you would not say that again. Why are you telling her, you freaky cyborg?" You laughed so hard at the way they speak to each other and their weird nicknames for each other.

"Wait, What? Cyborg? Is that your actual nickname?" You laughed at Bucky while your friend was napping silently with her head on your lap.

"No, actually Bucky is my nickname," he overstressed the word 'Bucky' while looking at Sam, giving him a death glare, which made you giggle more. "But Sam just loves giving me a hard time."

"What? Man, who's giving who a hard time with that "Daddy Falcon" bullshit? I ain't nobody's daddy." Sam said while focusing on the road. You can't stop giggling at this point.

"Whatever, Sam. I'm sorry, okay? Truce?" Bucky said to Sam, smiling and looking at you from time to time through the rearview mirror.

"Fine," Sam said while still looking at the road ahead and rolling his eyes at Bucky.

"Shit, can I put the location on the map? because I think we're close to her apartment." You snapped out of your laughter and motioned with your hand for Bucky to give you the phone and type in the location. Bucky handed you the phone, and you started typing in your friend's apartment location, which was only five minutes away from your current location. You handed the phone back to Bucky, and he started directing Sam to the location. *

You made sure your friend was comfortable and sleeping well in her bed after you took her shoes off, tucked her under the blanket, turned off the light, and left. Buck and Sam were waiting for you downstairs outside the car. You walked toward them and smiled, saying, "I'm so sorry guys, we've been such a huge burden on you tonight. I really appreciate your help and kindness. Thank you."

They both smiled at you, saying stuff like "Don't mention it", "It's okay," and "We're happy to help." The three of you went into the car again, and Sam started driving to your house. The distance from your friend's apartment to yours was around fifteen minutes, so you started chatting with them and getting to know them better. You learned that they were staying here at the Avengers Tower and that Sam is not from around here usually, but Bucky is from Brooklyn. He kept telling you about his life back then, in the forties, and how he was adjusting to this new world. You and Sam joked a bit about Bucky's age, but he didn't mind it. He actually laughed at some of your jokes.

You were startled by the voice of the GPS lady saying, "You've arrived at your destination," and you felt upset for leaving them too soon. You exchanged numbers with Bucky and Sam and promised them to hang out with them soon and have brunch.

Out of politeness, you invited them over to your apartment for some coffee, and Sam agreed right away, while Bucky was just thinking about it. You were kind of surprised by his immediate agreement, which made you question if they had other intentions towards you. But you brushed these thoughts away when you saw that kind, loving, and gentle look in Bucky's eyes when he looked at you.

As soon as you got out of the car and were guiding them to your building's entrance door, Sam stopped in his tracks and exclaimed loudly, "Oh shit man, I forgot." You and Bucky stopped and looked at him, worried.

"I promised Sarah I'd call her tonight, and I completely forgot. Man, I hate when this happens. She must be worried, thinking something happened to me or else. I've got to go. Sorry, Y/N. It was very nice to meet you. We'll catch up soon, okay?" He gave you a small hug and pulled away. “Sorry, Buck, I've got to head home. You have Uber on your phone, right? Remember, I taught you how to use it." He smirked and winked at Bucky, who was, by the way, giving him the most deadly glare ever as he connected the dots and figured out Sam's plan to leave you and him alone. "You finish that cup of coffee first. I think you need to sober up a little." He gave Bucky a small hug too and whispered something in his ear that you couldn't hear, even though you tried eavesdropping. "Again, Y/N, very nice to meet you. See you later. Bye." He sprinted to his car, went in, and started to drive off.

"Okay, so I think it's just the two of us then." You smiled at Bucky and turned your head away from him to open the building's door with your keys. You guided him inside and went to your apartment, which was on the third floor. You opened the door to your apartment, invited him in, and apologized for the mess, which was not so messy, but you just felt awkward. Especially in the presence of him and the fact that both of you were finally alone in the privacy of your own house, which made the very unholy thoughts about him grow wilder.

You both took off your jackets and sat on the couch. You excused yourself to go make the coffee, but as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, you forgot that you ran out of coffee this morning and that you were supposed to go buy some the next morning. You cursed at yourself and felt so embarrassed. You went back into the living room and found him texting on his phone. Little did you know that he was texting Sam "very uncool" for what Sam did and for that lame excuse to leave you both alone.

When he noticed you were in the living room with empty hands and pouting lips, he asked if everything was okay. "I forgot I ran out of coffee this morning; I'm sorry." You pouted your lips and dropped your shoulders. He smiled at how cute you looked right now. "I have tea if you like." You smiled at him, and his gaze turned so softly toward you.

"Tea would be great. Thanks." He said it, smiling. You hopped on your feet, turned, and went to the kitchen, making tea for you and him. After six or seven minutes, you returned with two hot mugs of tea. You handed him his mug and sat next to him on the couch.

You started chatting and talking about everything and anything. Despite all the talking and chatting, without your awareness, you both started to get closer to each other. It was like your bodies were magnets for each other. The tension thickens, and both of you can't help but stare at each other's lips while talking, drinking tea, or doing anything else. You noticed that he licks his lips before saying anything, and he noticed how you bite your lips when you're concentrating on what he's saying or when you're staring at his lips.

After an hour or so of talking, you noticed that you were so close to him now that you could feel his hot breath on your face and how he was controlling all your senses now, with his hands touching your leg, his musky and minty scent surrounding you, and his blue eyes gazing softly at you. You were snapped back to reality when you became aware that you both hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes, and you even forgot who stopped talking first or who said the last word. You were just staring and looking at each other with very hungry eyes for one another.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered while looking at your lips with his lustful blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat at what he said as you became too excited and became more aware of the wetness growing between your legs.

You nodded as you tried your hardest to hide your grin. "Words, Honey. I need to hear you." He said this while looking at your eyes, then moving his gaze to your lips again as he moved his hand up and held your chin up while moving his thumb on your lip, pulling the bottom lip down and freeing it from between your teeth. You didn't notice; you were biting your lips the whole time.

"Yes, please." You whispered, but it came out more as a whine. He smashed his lips against yours. Kissing you passionately and hungrily. He poked and licked your lips with his tongue, asking for permission, which you happily granted him, and you opened your mouth to him so he could devour you more with his kisses and tongue.

You were so lost in the moment and in him, and you kept tugging and pulling his shirt, asking and wanting more. He pushed you down on the couch with his body and laid on top of you, making out with you fiercely. Needing you more than you need him. You started lazily pulling his shirt up while bending and lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You felt his erection poking and rubbing your inner thighs, which made you moan into his mouth.

He pulled away and started taking his shirt off while you were lifting your short dress up to your hips and waist, exposing your black lace underpants. Suddenly, you felt like you were rushing into things, and the situation between you two escalated too quickly. You don't want him to have the wrong idea of you, just as you don't want this to be a one-night stand. You want more. You want him to be yours.

"I-I just want to say that I don't do this at all." You said this while panting from the heat of it all and from that passionate make-out you just had.

"Do what?" He frowned and was confused. He thought you were backing out, and he was just embarrassing himself by taking his shirt off, thinking there could be more to this.

"I don't take guys I meet in the club home and sleep with them; I don't do one-night stands." You helped yourself sit up with your elbows while he was sitting and straddling you.

"I don't do one-night stands either." He smiled at you and cupped your cheeks as he kept moving his thumb on your lips. "I just can't help myself around you and can't help how my body reacts to you. I never had this feeling or attraction to anyone before." He pushed you down and started kissing your exposed neck. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. I've never seen such a beauty like yours before." He looked into your eyes while grinding his hardened length into your clothed core. You moaned slightly, which was an opportunity for him to bury his tongue in your mouth again. 

"Can you be mine for tonight?" He groaned against your mouth while still grinding into you. "Can you be my girl for tonight?" He started leaving wet and sloppy kisses on your neck and collarbone, moving down to your chest.

"Yes, please, Bucky. I'm your girl." You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist again while your hands kept rubbing and playing with his hair.

You noticed the scars on his left shoulder near his metal arm, and you suddenly remembered who he really is and his dark past. You wanted to reassure him, so you started kissing the scars on his shoulder and paying more attention to them. "You are perfect, Bucky. So perfect, I could just eat you." You said this to him while grinning and tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. You could clearly see his gaze soften and his cheeks turn bright red as he chuckled shyly.

"Look who's talking." He smiled and started kissing you passionately again. "Can we take this to the bedroom, plum?" He kissed your cheek and kept moving down, kissing your neck and collarbone.

"I was about to tell you that. The condoms are in the bedroom, anyway." You said that out of breath. You felt his arms wrapping around you and hugging you tight to his chest as he pulled you up in his arms and held you tight as he stood up, and you directed him to your bedroom while filling his neck with kisses and noticed the red marks of your ruined lipstick on him. You took a look at his face and found his mouth all smeared with red lipstick. You smiled at that sight. "This shade looks very flattering on you, Sergeant Barnes." You giggled and swiped your thumb on his lips while cupping his cheek in your palm as he was smiling like an idiot at you.

He turned on the light in your bedroom and threw you gently on the bed. He threw himself on you after taking off his dark pants, while you removed your ruined dress and threw it on the floor, leaving the two of you bare-chested. You kept making out more with him while he kept grinding his length on your clothed cunt and moaning in each other's mouths. "Can I?" he panted as he hooked his fingers on the elastic band of your underpants, asking for permission to take them off.

"Yes, please." You breathed out and lifted your hips off the bed, making it easier for him to take them off. He removed it gently and threw it across the room. He placed both of his hands on your knees and opened your legs widely. He gasped a little at the picture in front of him—your soaking wet cunt bared to him as you're fully naked underneath him with your perfect-rounded breasts moving up and down because of your panting and your perked nipples being so tempting for him to just suckle on them all night long. His mouth was open, and his eyes were full of nothing but hunger and lust as if he were eating your body with his gaze.

"Fuck, you're perfect." His hands slipped so nicely and easily from your calf up to your hips, and he started circling your sensitive bud with his thumb. "I want you to be my fucking girl forever." He started kissing your body all over. From your hips to your arms to your belly button to your breast, he kept sucking on your nipples for a little bit. All of that while his metal hand never left your cunt, as he kept rubbing it and toying with your sensitive clit with his fingers. "If you let me in, doll, I don't think I'd ever be able to leave." He looked into your eyes while saying that.

Seeing the look on his face and the way his eyes were lost in yours, you got the feeling that it wasn't just some dirty talk and that he actually meant it. "Then don't leave, sergeant. Make me yours." You pulled him in for a long, deep kiss that left you both out of breath. You gasped loudly as you felt his finger enter your hole suddenly and stretch your it.

He pushed another finger in and kept pumping them slowly inside of you, curving and scissoring them and stretching you.

You can't control your need for him and his throbbing cock inside of you, as you can already feel it nudging your inner thigh and feel the wetness caused by the precum. "Sergeant, please, I need you. Stop teasing." You whined and pushed your hips up a little, signaling to him how desperate and needy you are for him.

He chuckled and asked you about the location of the condoms, and you motioned to him their location in the drawer of your bedside table. He lifted his body from on top of you, took off his boxers, and went to the condom drawer. He took some, threw them on the bed next to you, took one in his teeth, unwrapped it, and put it on his cock.

You looked at the four or five extra condoms next to you and looked at him, confused, with an evil grin on your face. "Don't worry, plum. You're my girl now, remember? And tonight, I get to fuck my girl as much as I want. And I really want to keep you impaled on my cock all night long. Is that okay with you, doll?" He was massaging your inner thighs and mirroring your evil grin.

"Yes, sergeant. I'm all yours to fuck." You teased back and opened your legs more, giving him more access. He smirked at you and lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. He started to push in slowly while you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, which made him push half of his cock into you. You cried out at the burn and stretch of his cock, which you thought was carved by the gods because of how magnificent and big it is. 

He pushed his cock into you until he bottomed out. You felt so full that if he switched the angle, he'd be able to touch your cervix with the head of his cock. He was that deep in your cunt. "You're so tight, doll. So perfect for me. Fuck, I won't last long." He groaned as he started moving and thrusting slowly. You just can't control your moans or cries at that moment, and you don't care. His name was falling out of your mouth like a prayer as he picked up the pace and started to thrust faster and deeper.

He lifted your legs up and placed them on his shoulders. This new position made him go even deeper, and as you thought, his cock is hitting your cervix and that deep spot in you that makes you scream like a woman possessed. He hugged your legs with his left arm, and the other one was pressed against your lower stomach while his thumb was moving in circles on your swollen clit. You were so close, and your throat started to itch and soar from your uncontrollable screams and cries. You've never been fucked that good, you thought to yourself. He was hitting all the right spots, moving at the perfect pace, and just being irresistible enough to make you fall in love with him. He stole your breath away from that first glance at the bar, but now? Now he was fucking you like he knew you, your spots, and what you wanted and liked. It's like you were made for each other.

Your orgasm crashed into you suddenly, and by then you were just a whimpering mess. Bucky didn't stop and kept fucking you through your orgasm, making it last longer and focusing on pleasuring you more. You were clenching around his cock like crazy, and he kept moaning and whimpering like a teenage boy losing his virginity for the first time. He snapped and emptied his load inside of you as his thrusts got sloppier. "Fuck, doll, I think the condom broke." He noticed that when he looked at where your bodies were connected and saw that big cut on the head of the condom. He chuckled softly and looked at you.

You pulled your legs down from their positions on his shoulder and lifted yourself up on your elbows to see how it broke. "What the hell? How did that happen?" You were panting, then you looked at him and chuckled at that dumb accident.

"I don't know. Maybe because of how hard and fast I was going and with your cunt choking my cock like a vase, I'd say I'm surprised it snapped like this instead of being taken off by the pressure." He giggled, moved his head down, and kissed you. "But don't worry doll. I got you." He pulled himself out of you and moved down your body until he was face-to-face with your swollen cunt. "I'll make sure you get all cleaned up." He said this before lapping and licking your mixed white liquid. Which didn't help your oversensitivity and made you get overstimulated quickly.

"God, Bucky, I'm going to cum again." You cried out, pulled on his hair, and pushed your hips up a bit, almost riding his face. He hummed and groaned while sucking your clit and shaking his head. That made you fall off the edge quicker and you came and gushed all over his face.

He didn't stop until he cleaned you up of everything, and you kept twitching and shaking from the overstimulation, but it felt too good to tell him to stop. After he fulfilled his promise and got you all cleaned up with his tongue, he pulled away and threw himself on the bed next to you after taking you in his arms first and hugging you closely. You lifted your leg over his and hugged him back. You both kept cuddling for a while in your bed, trying to catch your breath while looking at each other and smiling like stupid kids.

"Thank you." He said it softly and kissed your forehead. while stroking your arm gently.

"For what?" You smiled in confusion and looked deeply into his hazy blue eyes.

"I'll tell you later, but now my girl needs to rest for a while because I'm not done with her yet." He tickled you, and you both were laughing and enjoying each other's presence so much that you didn't want to leave each other for one second, and your hands couldn't get off one another.

Of course, the rest of the night you spent it talking and learning more about each other, and to take a break from all the talking and trauma dumping, you kept fucking like rabbits. You don't know how or when it happened, but you fell deeply in love with him and wanted him to actually be yours. 

The next day, you woke up and found him making breakfast in your kitchen. You were so happy to find him discovering things in your kitchen and making food, and you wished silently to wake up every morning to this sight. Later, while you both were eating breakfast, he asked you out on a date and told you how much he liked you, enjoyed your company, and wanted to be your boyfriend. You agreed immediately and kept making out with him for the rest of the day until he had to leave because of an emergency meeting that occurred in the tower. You found it so hard to let him go and kept clinging to him, even when he was getting dressed, but he promised he'd come right back to you once he finished the meeting. You eventually agreed to let him go, and he told you he'd take you out for dinner tonight as your first official date. You gave him one last passionate kiss, and he left.

Later on, and after hundreds of dates and dating for almost a year now, he finally told you what he meant by thanking you after you both hooked up for the first time ever. He explained to you how this was his first time having sex since the forties, how he had that built-up sexual tension and frustration that almost made him lose his mind, and he started to feel insecure because of that, and how it all changed when he slept with you for the first time, and how you made it so easy for him and let him get back to his old self and feel like the old Bucky again, whom he thought was dead since that moment he fell off that train in Europe. Your relationship with Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to the two of you. You both changed each other, helped each other grow, and found out what being in love is actually like. He literally said "I love you" after the third week of being together and during a very hot love-making session, which was the best sex you've ever had in your life. Bucky was the best lover you could've asked for, and you were so grateful for him and for that night out with your friend in that Manhattan club that you were reluctant to go to in the first place. It was fate that brought you together.

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #4

Light My Fire

kinktober day four | temperature play & monsterfucking (?) | cw: 18+, self-explanatory. Good!Loki is a Jötun and Avenger!You have fire powers. Rather fluffy, just two dorks in love goofin' | word count 2k | click here for full list of planned fics | author's note under the cut |

“Darling, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You are occasionally a little over 8 feet tall and very cold and blue. I am average tall but set myself on fire regularly without repercussions. I think we passed these sorts of questions a good while ago.” You pointedly bit into your toast, watching Loki watching you over the rim of his teacup.

Why did he insist on having tea from one specific antique tea set - and having to refill the cup at least five times in the process - instead of getting a mug like a normal person, you did not know.

Slumped over your breakfast in your Garfield pajamas, you eyed your boyfriend pat the corner of his mouth with his monogrammed kerchief before he vanished it away and stood up. His green button-up clung to his chest deliciously.

“Such a way with words.” Loki chuckled and patted over to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “But I see your point. We could either seriously harm each other or end up having a wonderful, one-of-a-kind experience.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded. He stole a piece of toast and pointed it at your nose, tapping the appendage gently with the hard crust. “And Tony would never forgive us if we at least did not try.”

“Since when do you care about what Tony thinks?”

Loki gave you an impish look. “He's not all terrible. Remember the time he 3-D printed an exact replica of Mjolnir and I haunted Thor the entire day with it?”

“Thor had a mental breakdown.” You replied dryly even as your mouth involuntarily curled into a smirk.

Loki, however, gave a wide smile. “Uh-uh. Tony filmed the entire thing start to finish.”

A chuckle broke out of you before you could stop it. You liked Thor, you ready did, but that had been just a single instance of mischief in the multiple-century long prank war between the brothers. The blonde had gotten you several times in the process of getting back at Loki and you would be lying if you didn't feel vindicated for all those times you had found glitter in odd places and worse...

Not that you yourself lacked your fair share of questionable life decisions. Having fiery super-powers, being an Avenger, being Loki's girlfriend, challenging Natasha to a knife throwing competition... The list goes on. So what if you wanted your icy boyfriend to be icy in bed? So what if he wanted your fiery self be fiery in bed? They do say opposites attract and yada-yada-yada...

“Makes me wonder what the fire giants look like,” you said absent-mindedly later that night while the two of you lounged in your oversized tub. You rolled a small fireball in your palm as Loki sipped his wine.

“Like demons,” he snorted. “Nothing attractive about them.”

“Some would say demons are attractive,” you shrugged. “I think Jötuns are attractive.” Using your free hand, you squeezed a slender, muscular thigh. Loki flexed it and you ran your knuckles over the hard muscle. “Although you're the only one I've seen. Might have to tell Tony to ban any more from Earth least they come to steal all the women away, being this handsome.”

Loki's cool hand reached up over your stomach to idly toy with your breast. “Is that so? Is my Asgardian form not as stimulating?” He mused.

You pushed into the touch, purring. “There's just more of you to love, babe.”

His unmistakable laugh filled up the bathroom, genuine amusement as he flicked at your nipple and leaned down to kiss your neck. “I do not think that is anatomically possible.”

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “Ye of little faith! Have you been on the internet? Anything is possible, provided there is an adequate amount of lube and some leverage.”

The internet - surprise, surprise - was wrong. Loki expressed an unfair amount of amusement at this, and you daredsay, even gloated a little bit. Shutting him up in this form was harder than when he was regular Loki, but not doable. It was, as you both had agreed, a learning curve.

He was cold to touch. Not as a metal pole at a ski resort as you had previously thought, but enough to cause a pleasant, clean chill to settle in the back of your skull as you took the tip of his hard, blue cock intro your mouth. That was about as much as you could fit without going full Chelsea Smile around it. Your hands, kept warm by your powers, slid down his shaft, tender fingertips tracing the textured ridges covering every inch of his skin.

They were truly everywhere, and they were sensitive. Splayed on the various animal skins in front of the fireplace, Loki was a sight to behold: all cerulean blue and raven-haired, red eyes lidded with desire as they observed your exploration with mirrored curiosity. As you warm hands curled around him, a low hiss left his lips.

Attempting to say, “did that hurt?” with your mouth so full was a disaster. Loki chuckled anyway, and brought a large, cool palm to rest atop your head.

“No, darling,” his voice, in this form little more than a low growl, did something indecent to your insides. “Feels incredible.” A sigh as you swirled your tongue around the sensitive head. “I surely wish you'd let me at least keep my Asgardian measurements...”

Yes, but no. It would have been more practical, sure, but it wasn't the full Jötun experience you were seeking. With a wet pop, you dislodged your mouth from his cock to delight in his full-body shiver. To remedy the lack of your mouth, heat began to radiate from your palms; roughly the same temperature as the inside of your mouth.

“Not unless you are on board with me keeping the fire lukewarm,” you teased gently, watching his red eyes darken to a lovely burgundy. Slowly, you slid your hands over his lubricated flesh.

Loki was generous with his microexpressions in this form, with him being larger allowing for easier observation. Lust, love, yearning, a dash of insecurity and concern. He was your Loki through and through, simply blue.

“I fear I may have less allocated space for patience in this form,” he mused.

Captivating. His reclined position and the fire dancing over his skin, the horns growing tall and strong above his forehead - the helmet imitation did them no justice - Loki was a vision to behold. You wanted to eat him like the world's most exotic ice lolly and ride that fanged mouth until you forgot your own name and knew only his.

“Fuck,” you eloquently summarised your train of thought just as your hands stroked him to full mast. Loki merely tilted his head. Knowing that look well, you batted your eyelashes and gave him the final stroke before shamelessly climbing up onto his lap.

You wore nothing but a thigh-length slip of fine Asgardian silk, just like you knew he liked. Your hot, glistening cunt connected with the shaft of his cock as you settled above it, eliciting a sigh of wanton relief. Loki felt like a bag of frozen goods. You wanted to press him against everything sore.

His large, cold palm stroked the side of your face.

“Mmm,” you leaned into it, unconsciously shifting your hips to press closer to the textured hardness of his cock. It twitched as your wetness joined the spit you'd previously covered it in. Some adjusting was to be had - Loki waited patiently as you found your spot, and used his other hand to make you sit down just right. With that first, slow, slick grind, both of you were gone.

It came naturally. Loki's hands on your hips, on your face, sliding your slick cunt over the tip of his own leaking cock. His abs flexed with each measured movement; you kept your palms in closed fists, knowing better than to open them when you were this riled up.

Hurting each other was both of yours' biggest fears and it showed in the way you'd swallowed some of your moans upon feeling the beginnings of a spark crackle on your tongue. Loki refused to take his darkening eyes off your face for he would definitely lose himself in the moment and do... Something.

The intensity of your coupling grew. Your cunt provided ample lubrication on the account of your clitoris receiving all that extra stimulation from the ridges and valleys covering his cock. On harder thrusts, the very tip of his cock snagged the edge of your entrance, causing him to growl and you to whine when your hungry hole was forced to relent and clench around nothing.

It was exhilarating torture. Your cries of pleasure, as usual, only spurred the Jötun prince on.

As you arched your back and moaned loudly and brokenly up to the ceiling at a particularly hard thrust, Loki's deep growling added to the delightful cacophony of sex. He firmly held your hips, sharp nails digging into the meat of your ass, and pushed you down on his cock, missing your hole by sheer luck.

“Come for me, darling,” he rasped in that icy-sharp, husky voice. “I can feel your little quim begging for me. I may not be able to resist fucking you if you cry for me so sweetly.”

Never being the one to disobey reasonable orders, you and your abused pussy gushed your agreements as heat burst from your lower stomach and spread into your body and limbs. Loki's drawn-out hiss had you weakly trying to scramble, to get away from him least your elevated temperature burn the Jötun, but he held steadfast.

Eyes so deeply red they were almost black, Loki looked you directly in the face before his cock twitched for the last time.amd coated his chest and your front with an abundance of silver seed. His body shook with restraint even when his mouth had fallen lax and eyes lidded low; he let you rock forward to rest a hand on his hard chest as both of you caught your breath.

Giving into your body's demands, you fell ahead, uncaring of the mess. Immediately, a cold arm draped itself over you. A moment of silence was had. You licked your dry lips, sputtering somewhat as sticky - but not unpleasant - seed made way into your mouth.

“Are you alright?” Loki drawled, still breathless.

You briefly contemplated the phrasing of what you were about to say, but in the end decided to be completely honest as you two had sworn to be to each other.

“Your come tastes like snow. Literal snow.”

You heard Loki's heart skip a beat and then his chest shook, the chuckle as incredulous as your discovery.

“Noted.” Pause. “Yours feels like lava.”

Despite everything, you simply shook your head and laughed. “That's what were writing down in our science report for Tony?”

“Yes.” Loki nodded seriously. With a careless swipe of his hand, the mess disappeared, and you promptly found yourself staring at the ceiling. “Experiment number two. I am going to find out whether it also tastes like lava,” he said impishly.

Your tummy clenched in anticipation, but then you heard the proverbial sound of brakes skidding in your head. “Wait. How do you know what lava tastes like?”

“I be in situations,” ever the dutiful boyfriend, Loki mumbled his reply into the fat above your cunt on his way down to make you see stars once again. You were not complaining at all.

a/n: I'm personally very impartial to Loki being a little over 8 feet tall in his Jötun form. For, you know, reasons. My nature's pocket can fit a lot of fun things in it, but I don't know about yours so... I left the fine details to your imagination. See how I don't describe the size of his appendage? Very demure, very mindful. ✨

Additionally, I don't think Asgard has a book on erogenous zones of peoples they conquered and genocided. I'd like to think that they're both clueless here and Loki is getting to know his Jötun body in a sexual setting. But that's just me.

[directdogman]

Hi, I hope you're having a decent day! I'm sorry if this is an invasive set of questions - feel free not to answer - but do you still actively like DSaF as your own creation, or is it more of a "it was fun while it lasted but i outgrew it and it's for the best to leave it behind" kind of project? Do you ever regret making the games? If you knew they would get so popular, is there anything you would have changed about them? Is there anywhere I could read more of your writing.

It fluctuates a bit. These last couple of years, I've really just been sorta nostalgic for it. I've seen a lot of people discuss those games being a source of comfort during bad times in their lives, people talking about how much the characters mean to them and it's hard not to smile when you see that.

It's a funny thing for close friends of yours to see people WITH fanmade DSaF merch out in the wild, or to watch a random youtube video and being hit with a DSaF reference outta nowhere. It happens from time to time, even today. On a few occasions, I've even had a person reference my work to me in real life and not realize who they were talking to, believe it or not. It's really fun to play dumb and get someone to explain your work to you like you don't know what it is.

I certainly didn't think any of that would happen when I first made the series, or even during development. I think the normal assumption would be to look at DSaF as it exists now and assume its release was a peak for it, but believe it or not, the official discord only had 30 people in it shortly before 3 dropped! The archive listing of the series (reposted to a single page after the series ended) is now sitting at over 1.1 MILLION downloads.

People kinda assume the true heyday of something is when it's new, when it's fresh and novel. For instance, some people look back at when FNaF itself was new and see that time as its peak because it had a lot of internet cultural relevance as big new indie thing on the block. But, raw numbers don't lie. The series has been continually growing since its conception and that growth has similarly bled over to its fan projects. This explains why DSaF, despite not having a new series release in almost 6 years, seems to be inexplicably growing.

Just recently, I saw someone post footage of a scene from DSaF 2 on Twitter, which got over 16k likes. People praised its writing and largely celebrated the scene. The ironic thing about that particular scene is that I remembered being unsure if it was good or not, so I showed it off in one of the FNaF community hubs. The response was broadly lukewarm to negative. Now, it's held up as one of the best scenes in those games. That's kind of the point I'm trying to make, my thoughts on the series have certainly changed with everyone's else with years of hindsight.

Heh. I'm not sure if I've talked about this in a long time, but y'know, the very first scene I implemented in-game was actually the very first Phone Guy scene in DSaF 1, more or less exactly how it appears in-game today. This was before I'd even written the bulk of the game. I was pretty unfamiliar with visual novels as a whole, pretty unsure if something like this would be palatable to a fandom that was really just used to sit 'n' survive stuff that were far more gameplay than text. I mean, there wasn't any FNaF fangames really LIKE DSaF before that point. Closest was FNaFb, a jokey turn based RPG made in the same engine.

The engine I made the game in is also not exactly fit for VNs out of the box either, and I wasn't 100% sure the idea would actually work. But, the very first time I added the image of the prize corner, Phone Guy, the audio of that iconic cheesy stock track and booted up a test screen, I had a little moment where I said "Oh. I think I'm onto something interesting here." I kinda remembering instantly realizing in that single moment how much potential the idea had. Over 8 years later, I still remember that moment like it was yesterday.

I think lately, that's the sort of stuff I think of when I see people coming to me and asking about the series. Yes, it's really rough around the edges, yes, there's jokes that've aged poorly. But, it is a source of comfort for people and entertains tens of thousands of people each month. And that's gotta count for something, right?

[yandere-paramour]

Whats it like when Darling has their first time with Noelle?

First time with Noelle - NSFW

It was hard to pin Noelle down. Ever since you moved in, you two had followed the same routine. She gently encouraged you to work less and less because it made you oh so exhausted, to stay inside for your own safety, to lay back and relax because she would take care of everything. You became a housewife who didn't actually do anything. Noelle had a woman come in to clean and cook and deliver anything that needed delivering, your job, she said, was to be adorable.

And you were. You slept 10 hours every night and usually found the time to take an afternoon nap. You ate and drank when you were supposed to and looked pleased with the praise Noelle heaped upon you when she checked when she came home. You let her dress you in soft, flowy fabrics and coo over what a lovely little sweetheart you were. You even let her bathe you and wash your hair while you lay boneless in the bubbly water.

It was a relaxing existence, albeit a boring one. Any form of entertainment you asked for, Noelle delivered. Any book, streaming service, or gaming console would be delivered, and you were free to browse the internet and try as many new hobbies as you desired. Spending your days with Sasha as company, you lived like a pampered queen, and Noelle worked hard every day to provide for you.

And that was the one problem.

Noelle worked with Ms. Atalanta five, sometimes six, days a week, and the hours were never consistent. Some days she would be gone from before the sun rose to long into the next morning, other days she would be strolling back in the door in early afternoon. This kind of sounded stupid, but it was hard to find time for yourself. Especially... in that way. It seemed that any time the heat started to pool in your core, when your fingers got itchy and started to wander lower and lower, Noelle would come in the door looking for you, and you would have to throw on your clothes and act like you hadn't been furiously masturbating. It was infuriating.

And you couldn't go to Noelle with this. Sure, you two had done some kissing and heavy petting, and while she had been under your shirt, you both had never crossed the waistbands of each other's pants. There just... weren't enough hours in the day, and Noelle really didn't seem interested. You expected her to initiate one day, and you would gladly have spread your legs, but she never did, and you were too shy to do it yourself.

You were really starting to get frustrated. When you moved in, you had brought your toys, but they must've gotten mixed with you and Noelle's things somehow because you hadn't been able to find them. And trust, you had looked. You hated admitting to this, but you were turning into a horny animal.

And the horny was turning your brain to mush. At least, that's how you rationalized it as you lay prone on the bed, blue silk panties in a pool on the floor, your fingers frantically pumping in and out of you as you chased an orgasm too far out of reach. You sure weren't shy anymore.

"And what do we have here?" A familiar voice came from behind you and ice filled your veins.

Your head whirled over your shoulder. You must've looked like an idiot, face down, ass up, fingers still inside you as you looked at Noelle, leaning against the door jamb, eyebrow raised as she took you in.

Slowly, you took your hand out, careful to keep the excess fluid from dripping on the silk sheets. You turned over, trying unsuccessfully to regain some dignity as you pulled the blankets over to cover yourself.

"Hi Noelle," You swallowed dryly, "When did you come home?"

"Just now. And to something interesting, I might add. What are we doing?" Noelle gave you a mildly disapproving look and your face burned with shame, then anger.

"This is your fault!" You exploded at her, "What the hell do I have to do to get you to touch me? I've lived with you for eight months and you never go past kissing! I'm in your bed every night in a silk neglige and no panties! Am I not attractive to you or something?"

You started to lose some steam, and tears came to your eyes, "Don't you love me?"

Noelle was silent for a minute, and you started to wilt. As small as she was, she had an incredibly imposing presence and you had never even spoken sharply to her before, let alone yelled at her like this. You had no idea why she was looking at you in that way, or what she might say or do. You didn't want to admit it, but you were kind of scared.

"Oh, baby..." Noelle looked at you with pitying eyes, "I clearly have not been taking care of you the way you needed. I had no idea, Princess."

Well, this was unexpected, "What?"

"I was trying to take it slow and really ease you in, but I guess I was a little too slow. I just didn't want to push you too fast."

"Huh? What do you-"

"Take off the rest of your clothes. On your back, legs spread. I'm going to the closet for a minute, and you will wait here for me."

"Noelle, I don't understan-"

"Now."

At the sound of her authoritarian voice, you hurried to obey. You tore your shirt off and lay on your back wide open as instructed, your genitals lubricating despite your confusion and apprehension. What was she doing? Was she going to punish you? Was masturbating not allowed here? You had been punished before but never sexually, and Noelle had never made the rule clear if it even existed, but would she listen if you protested? You were unclear how important this was to her; maybe she was angrier than you'd ever seen her and she would spank you. You heard Ms. Atalanta did that to her wife and she reported it was effective at curbing disobedient behavior. But then, why would she order you on your back?

A sound came from your right and you turned to gape. Noelle was naked, every inch of her soft pale body on display and illuminated by day, making her look like a goddess emerging from the sunlight. You had seen her naked before, you both bathed together most nights, but you had never seen the harness and erect dildo she had strapped to her front. The contraption was massive, making Noelle's body look smaller in comparison, and what little ration you had left in your body wondered if it would fit. You weren't a virgin, but you were tight and unsure if you would stretch to fit that mammoth thing inside you.

You tried to sit up, but she was on you in seconds, that snake on the front of her body lining up with your hole. You stilled, and some of the fear must have bled into your eyes because Noelle paused. She put her hands on your face, making you look her in the eye.

"Are you scared? I'll stop if you're scared," She said.

"I-I'm not scared, just... will that fit?"

Noelle popped two fingers down to check you, "It'll be a little of a stretch but you can take me. I'm sure of it."

"I-I can?"

She grinned, and the love in her eyes comforted you, "You're my girl. I know you can."

With that, she entered you in one swift motion. She surprised you, enabling your muscles not to tense up until she was fully inside. You yelped, more in surprise than discomfort, and Noelle chuckled. She was right; you had been able to take her with little more than the burn as you stretched deliciously around her. She gave you only a few seconds to get used to the feeling of her inside you before she started. She was only gentle for a few strokes before she truly found her rhythm, folding up your legs onto her shoulders in a mating press so she could fuck you harder. She pounded into you roughly, the soft mattress bouncing you up and down as you struggled to keep yourself steady. Noelle's soft grunts came with every stroke and you mewled like a kitten and drooled as she took you.

It truly surprised you the strength this small woman had in her body. She mounted you like an animal, pumping away with everything she had. You could see the strain in her muscles, and you wanted her to take a break and rest before she exhausted herself, but all your mouth could say was "Yes" and "More" and "Please please please".

Ever the observer, Noelle noticed when you were nearing orgasm. She growled something dominating in your voice, commanding you to orgasm for her, and you howled like a coyote as you came. Tears rolled down your face, and you collapsed dizzy, exhausted, and sweating back onto the bed. You must've looked like a sight, fucked into a state of bliss and drenched in your own fluids. Noelle pulled out of you, looking down at you warmly as she swiped some of you off the dildo, bringing her fingers to her mouth to taste you.

"I knew you would be sweet," She chuckled, lightly pinching your cheek in a gesture of fondness.

"N-Noelle, that was-"

"I know, Princess. Try and relax, okay? Let me take care of you."

"Take... care of me?"

"You've lost a lot of fluids," She gestured between your legs, "Let me get you some water."

"No," You grabbed her arm to keep from leaving you, "Not yet. Don't go yet."

"I'm not leaving you, sweetheart. I'm just going to get you some water and something quick to eat."

You gave her your softest, most pathetic gaze, "Not yet, please? I just want to cuddle first."

Noelle froze for a second in that shocked look she always gave you when you surprised her, then softened, "Well I can't deny that request. Scoot over, baby."

Noelle slipped the harness off her hips and dropped it on the floor to clean later. She slid in behind you, tucking her body around yours, and you curled in response to her becoming the big spoon. It was safe here in her arms; she was so much stronger, smarter, more ambitious than you. It was easier for you to just settle in her arms, content to be a pretty pet for her to love and care for and occasionally reward with a good fucking. Maybe the necklace she gave you was her inconspicuous way of collaring you, her way of marking you as hers before others, or even you, knew for sure.

Noelle whispered about how good you were, how well you took every little thing she gave you and how perfect you looked with her cock spearing you in half. You listened, her words liquefying your mind and the pleasant tingling in your used genitals soothing your body. You would be sore later, but now you were snug in her arms, the hormones of your orgasm and the soft song Noelle hummed putting you to sleep.

She kissed your forehead, and you made a soft, sleepy noise in response.

Noelle chuckled, "Go to sleep, angel. I'll be here when you wake up, and you and I can have a long conversation about new expectations when you wake up."

You made a confused sound, and she patted your head and hushed you.

"I know, Princess," Noelle pacified you, "I know what you want and I promise, I'll do that a lot more often. I'd give you anything, remember?"

You gave a small happy wiggle and snuggled back in, pleased that your amazing girlfriend knew you better than you knew yourself, and had promised to fuck you like a dog in heat more frequently.

[shinesurge]

Webcomic rings run by people within the community are cool and you should support them

I've been loudly struggling a little bit with corporate webcomic Stuff lately so I want to mention something positive to balance it out: webrings run by small groups of creators earnestly trying to support each other are slowly making a comeback and I for one am delighted.

If you weren't around for them in the before times, webrings were just some folks who hang out a lot who feature each other on their websites. That's literally it lmao. There's generally no money involved and it only really functions the way it's supposed to if people have control over their own websites AND genuinely want to participate and get excited about other folks' work, which means the practice has pretty well fallen by the wayside over the years in webcomic culture given. Everything. In the rare event someone decides to do something like this it's usually in the form of a link list somewhere on their website; this doesn't usually indicate any sort of mutual support, it's just a list of what the creator is reading themselves.

A webring, though, is an official banner or hub that people gather under intentionally where each member is more or less on equal footing. It's essentially the concept of "a rising tide lifts all boats" put into practice, each creator brings their own audience to the table in a passive, opt-in sort of way that's different from working for a publisher since there isn't necessarily a Top Spot or a paycheck everyone's vying for, and individuals retain autonomy over both their own work and how (if) they promote each other. You're all at your own tables in an artist alley rather than fighting over the table in the front of the book store, essentially.

I have two rings and one collective for you today!

Webcomic Ring was brought to my attention AGES ago by Holly, one of the artists featured there, and I might have brought it up at some point but I'm doing it again lmao. This is exactly the kind of thing you ought to be looking for; a small group of enthusiastic folks having a good time making their weird little comics. You probably haven't heard of much in the catalog, that's PERFECT in the context of webcomics that's where the GOOD SHIT is. Finding something like this is A Gift go dig around in the longboxes for a while.

Then a few people have pointed me in the direction of the KNIFEBEETLE collective and that's neat too! Most of the comics there are already fairly well-known, but the vibes are excellent and I haven't seen a lot of talk about the collective /itself/ outside folks already in the know. I think it's important for this sort of thing to be more visible to folks who aren't terminally steeped in webcomic culture already so here I am telling you about it. You were probably reading several of these before I suggested it, but that's how a webring works! For it to do its job you should take those bigger creators' tacit recommendation of the less popular titles as a sign to go read something new and strange. Wild, I know these are practices held over from the old internet, but I think we should try and bring them back.

Lastly, I want to mention Spiderforest, which is a collective (slightly different from a webring) BUT still a very cool project readers starved for new stuff should pay attention to.

You've probably seen Spiderforest kicking around for a long time already; they're wonderful and have always been an overall positive force in the community in my experience. They really focus on building up a community, and especially welcoming newcomers and helping them get their feet under them. Full disclosure, I've been asked to apply by a few different folks over the years and the only reason I never did is I don't have the ability to participate in their forums and such as frequently as they want their creators to; it's a very good system (from my outside perspective) that might contribute to the community staying mostly healthy in ways that art communities usually don't and I appreciate it a lot!

ANYWAYS that's all I got for now, just trying to balance out some bad feelings I've been having by talking about some good stuff. Please go binge an archive this week.

[henrycangelbaby]

In which: “It's not that the amount of love I had changed, but I feel so proud about it now, like that I want to shout from the rooftops and tell everyone of my loved ones how much I love my wife, MY wife, ya know?”

Or

An interview gives unique insight into Pedro Pascal and his vast amount of love for his wife

I make my way through meeting the cast of HBO's unexpected hit “The Last Of Us” rather easily.

Bella Ramsey lives in a far nicer apartment in London than anything I would have been able to afford at the same age. Despite their fame and talent, they remain settled and down to earth, dressed in an outfit a little too cool for me to understand and eager to show me around their lovely apartment that is decorated in a way that I quite liked but I'm sure my baby boomer father would find offensive. I even end up meeting Ramsey's girlfriend, a fellow actor (who I admittedly had never heard of) who is equally as young and pretty as Ramsey is. They are both lovely and down to earth, a sentiment I don't often find relatable working with celebrities.

Kaitlin Denver is in her late 20s and still looks like she could be in high school. She lives in a shared house with her sister, whom she also shares a music career with. Despite the controversy surrounding her character in the show, she seems to remain completely unfazed by the backlash and threats that surround Abby Anderson. Denver merley shrugs when I ask her how she deals with it, leaving me to assume her vices when it comes to dealing with unprecedented hate.

I meet other stars of the show too. Gabriel Luna has all the southern charm of Tommy Miller and more, making me question whether he really does any acting when playing the sweeter, younger Texan brother. Isabela Merced is very beautiful in person and is also far shorter than I had imagined. What she lacks in height she makes up for in personality and charm.

Of course, when you think of the stars of The Last Of Us, there is probably someone else that comes to mind. Securing an interview with Pedro Pascal is probably one of the harder things I have had to do in recent years. It's not that Pacal is hard to come by; in fact, in recent years we haven't been able to escape him. I originally doubted that I would even be able to secure an interview with the internet's "daddy." Pascal has had a busy few years, and this one is no different. With multiple projects coming out this year, including the new season of The Last Of Us and his highly anticipated entry into the MCU as the iconic Richard Reed, it seems that everyone wants a piece of him. While all the other actors on this list do have notable careers outside of the show, the point of this interview series was to be able to interview the main cast members of the show in anticipation for the new season; however, I found that same sentiment hard to carry across when interviewing Pascal. I don't want to spoil the show for anyone, but I will just say that he won't be back next season. Whether that's due to internal conflicts or simply being too booked, we’ll never know.

I was rather ecstatic to receive a phone call from someone on his team letting me know the time and date for our interview. Like normal, I'm given an NDA to sign before receiving any personal information, such as his address (which I did require for the purpose of the interview). But everything else seems to go off without a hitch. 

I was admittedly nervous to meet him. In the best way possible, his reputation definitely proceeds him. Pascal is only ever described as kind, loving, funny, and any other positive synonyms for a massive sweetheart that you can think of. I personally have been a big fan of his work since he played forever thirsted over narcos agent Javier Paner. I know they say you shouldn't meet your idols (and trust me, I've had my fair share of heartbreaking realizations that someone I once admired is actually a piece of shit), but I had high hopes for meeting Pedro. And I am happy to report that it did not disappoint. 

I arrived at his home in Los Angeles ten minutes earlier than I should have. Not that I'm kept waiting, as before I can get a second knock in on the door, a young woman flings it open, smiling at me tightly. She quickly lets me in, introducing herself as Pascal's assistant, offering me tea or coffee, and ushering me to sit down on the comfy-looking couch while I wait for her boss to arrive (which she insists should not be too long). I take a moment to look around the room while I'm waiting. The room is sweet and welcoming, much like the rest of the home, which feels very well... homely (like stepping into your best friend's house and chatting with their parents at the dinner table). It's a hard feeling to describe, such a sense of nostalgia from a place that I had never been in before. It feels fitting though that a man so beloved as Pedro Pascal should have a home that feels so nice. I snoop to get a closer look at the photos that hang up on the walls and sit on cabinets. Most of them seem normal. There are a few faces I recognize within the photos; Oscar Iscac can be spotted alongside a younger-looking Pascal in one of the photos on the wall. I spot John Favro amongst a few people in a photo that looks to have been taken on the set of The Mandelorian, but apart from that, the photos seem normal. They depict family and friends in various places over various years; it appears that Pascal cherishes his relationships with loved ones above all else. 

I'm stopped in my snooping by another face in one of the photos, a face I recognize instantly, a face that has been all over the internet and tabloids for some time now. Pedro's wife. The photo is the first one in which she features prominently, sitting alongside what I can only assume to be one of her husband's sisters. It's a sweet photo, one that I can imagine Pedro was on the other side of, grinning wildly while taking. Y/N Pascal is an elusive figure that the media and her husband's fans have been trying to know better for a few years now. She is what is best described as a "normie," that is to say that she is just like you and me; that is perhaps what makes her so interesting to fans. She doesn't appear to have any ties to the industry; she isn't some big-wig producer's daughter; in fact, despite their insistence, fans have been unable to find anything on her. She has no public social media accounts, no company profiles online, and no one she went to high school with has come forward with a tik tok horror story (yet!). The couple are shrouded in mystery; no one seems to know how they met, where Y/N is from, or even the highly shrouded question of her age. She certainly appears younger than Pascal by a good few years, and I'm sure that I could find thousands of posts online speculating (or being downright nasty) about how young she is. But out of respect for the happy couple, I leave it a mystery. 

The sharp heels of the sensible shoes that Pascal's assistant is wearing suddenly come back into earshot. She warns me to be ready with my stuff as “they” will be home soon. I don't think twice about her words before hauling ass back to the couch and trying to pull myself together. It's not long before I hear the front door open. Amy (Pascal's assistant that I had only just remembered the name of) runs to the door. I walk slower behind awkwardly, not wanting to intrude (despite the fact that I had spent the last ten minutes snooping around what was essentially a stranger's house). I peek round the corner to be greeted with Pascal's broad back. He is facing away from me, talking to his assistant lowly. His assistant finishes speaking and moves past me, wishing me luck in passing. Pascal doesn't turn around to greet me yet; in fact, he drops down onto one knee to reveal to my utmost shock his wife. Neither of them pay me any mind as he begins untying her shoes for her, ever the gentleman everyone believes he is. 

It's not a second later that the man of the hour turns around to greet me. He smiles widely at me, and I find myself blushing slightly at his unwavering eye contact as he introduces himself. He only introduces himself by his first name, not something I find often when meeting famous people; they are often eager to give me the name that everyone knows and loves them by. It seems a bit of a strange phenomenon in Hollywood that has missed Pascal. His wife then steps forward to introduce herself. I hate to be the bearer of bad news to the millions of jealous fans, but Y/N Pascal is strikingly beautiful; even as I meet her in her own home with no makeup, she glows ethereally with a striking smile that looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine. In that moment meeting her I quickly see why Pascal holds her in such admiration.

Much to my disappointment, that is the first and last time I see her during the interview. Pedro ushers her away somewhere out of sight with a protective arm around her shoulder. I can hear him mutter to her lowly, promising to be quick. Before kissing her goodbye with an "I love you." It makes my heart ache with a longing. Much like the rest of the internet, I wish I had a man like Pedro Pascal. We chat for a while, while exploring his house, he speaks passionately about his career, which he clearly loves. He has a flame behind his eyes as he speaks about his long-winded love for the cinema. He tells me stories of his famous friends that are featured on his walls. We laugh together, and he very much reminds me of an old friend. Even though I should be interviewing him, I let him talk, rambling on about things that I didn't find important enough to put in this interview, but they certainly put a smile on my face. 

The house is beautiful; it's decorated nicely and feels authentic and homely. It's not massive, not overly obnoxious in the way many celebrity houses are; it's still big, the kind of size that screams loving family. I don't mean to make assumptions, but it almost feels like it's been brought with the idea of a growing family in mind. I complement the house easily. Pedro smiles at me. For the first time in the interview, he refers to his wife. He tells me that he hadn't cared where they lived; “anywhere is home when you are with someone that you love,” but insists that she had loved the house the moment they first saw it. "She has better taste than me,” he tells me with a loving glint in his eye. "She did a good job.” I compliment, he nods and smiles, "always thought I was biased 'cause I’m married to her, but glad to know it's not just me." I feel awfully privileged to get an insight into Pedro's fondness of his wife. It's not often that he speaks about her publicly; she gets mentioned in passing during interviews and is often spotted at events with him, safely away from the cameras, but it's clear to the general public that his marriage is a part of his life that he wishes to keep away from public scrutiny. 

Its towards the end of the interview that I do ask him about his marriage. We walk past a wedding photo that depicts him and his lovely bride squashed together on one seat, smiling widely at the camera. He doesn't say anything when he notices me peering at the photo. I ask him carefully if he thinks being a married man has changed him. He ponders for a second. "Probably,” he answers me carefully. It's not the response I had expected from him, so I quickly encourage him to go on. "I suppose it has in a way,” he continues. “It's not that the amount of love I had changed, but I feel so proud about it now, like that I want to shout from the rooftops and tell everyone of my loved ones how much I love my wife, MY wife, ya know?” I smile and nod at his explanation. I understand what he is saying—such a sweet sentiment that it makes my heart warm. 

We don't speak for much longer after that; he briefly mentions a few upcoming projects, which he seems excited for. I ask him what he has planned next, after his next few big projects are done. He hesitates for a second. “Truthfully,” he says, “I plan on taking a step away for a bit.” I ask if he wants to settle down more. “Yeah, that's part of it; I mean, I’m not getting any younger.” He tells me, “Things are changing soon, and I just want to be settled with my family.” He finishes. I wonder for a moment what he is referring to when he mentions these soon changes; I don't ponder on it too long; much like a crazed fan, I have a few theories floating around in my head. 

We wrap up the interview from there; he is as polite and gracious as he has been the entire time, shaking my hand and thanking me for my time. I try to thank him for the interview and for letting me into his house, but he simply shakes his head at me, insisting it was his pleasure. He disappears soon after that, saying he has something to attend to (and speed walking in the direction that his wife disappeared to). I'm left to see myself out; I don’t snoop too much after I’m left alone. I make my way back to the front of the house, peering around as I go. I peek inside one room that appears to be in the middle of some kind of renovation or do-over. There are multiple pieces of yet-to-be put together furniture on the ground as the walls look to be in the middle of being painted a pastel purple color. 

I’m about to leave when something catches my eye—on the table by the front door, which has various bits and bobs scattered over it, but none of these catch my eye. I step closer to get a clearer view of what appears to be a small black and white photo. I quickly realize what it is: tucked beneath the wallet I had seen Pedro place down before our interview began is an ultrasound. I smile knowingly as my theory is proven correct; the Pascal family is about to be adding another member. 

Congratulations to Pedro as his wife on the upcoming addition to their family.

[lady-raziel]

long reaction to the update

ok. so they put out an update video! since i've been commentating for the last three days i might as well subject you all to more of my thoughts today.

main takeaway: this was a good apology video. i mean it. short and to the point, no overproduction, heartfelt and honest (and not a ukelele to be seen. thank god.) they took ownership of the situation, apologized, and restated how much they value their relationship with the fandom.

their solution is to make the watcher tv platform into kind of an iteration of patreon where content is available for early access before it is released onto youtube later. this is clearly a better option than paywalling everything for everyone. i'm not sure what the relative breakdown of costs turns out to be when you compare how much they were making on patreon after the platform took their cut VS how much it costs in overhead to run and maintain their own platform (how much it costs annually to contract via Vimeo, essentially). but i'm sure that's part of the calculation.

all things considered, that does seem like the best option out of all the alternatives. it allows them to not completely abandon any of the pans they have simmering over the fire for the time being. i don't think i ever thought they were going to just say "oops, forget about the streaming thing! let's pretend that never happened!" because at this point they've invested quite a lot of time and money into it, and i don't disagree that keeping it in some iteration may help them make up some of the funds they're lacking.

i would say, it's fine to keep the streamer. this is one of the ok outcomes, all things considered-- but if they're going to do it, they've GOT to do it smart from this point forward. listen to both the fans and the consultants intimately. both are going to have valid points, and both are going to be right. listening to too much of either side will sink this thing because each has motives and expertise that the other doesn't. if the fans say $6 is too much, listen to them-- but have conversations with business consultants about how much you realistically need to charge to make things work.

also, i'd use this whole situation as a learning experience. watcher is a young company, and it's literally inevitable that mistakes will happen. what's different is that the watcher crew haven't really been in a position before where they've been on the receiving end of the internet-angry-justice-hammer to this extent. it's one thing to watch it happen to others, but it's a position of extreme privilege (and a bit of hubris) to think "but that won't happen to me, because i'm built different." naw, man-- two things in life are inevitable: death and fuckups. the callout posts get us all in the end.

what's really important is that they use this as a wakeup call that even the most loyal fandoms will only follow you so far to the cliff's edge, and you don't want to push that. you have to strike a balance between the passion projects that you think are worthy and the stuff that maybe doesn't excite you as much anymore but the people want to see. a little fanservice keeps the lights on, as unfair as that might seem. i'm gonna make 50 markiplier choccy milk memes just so i can make one niche political joke once and a while for 6 likes. it is what it is.

i'd also use this as a chance to take a very careful look at company structure and finances. it's not fun to do and nobody likes it. trust me-- this is hard whether you're a single adult trying to pay the bills or the freaking US government (speaking from experience on both-- i have to read the president's budget for work frequently). but you all have to ask hard questions about the ratio of creative staff you take on VS staff for administrative and other business roles, as well as the costs and benefits of everything you spend money on. how many staff members are essential to location shoots? can this video be shot with 2 cameras instead of 3 and thus you don't need another cameraperson? you might even have to come to the decision that instead of pitching a new show it makes more sense to use those funds to hire your essential non-creative roles or contract firms or freelancers.

paying staff a fair wage with benefits speaks highly of what watcher wants their values to be. it's hard to find such a position in a creative role and still actually get to work on things you care about. but it would be much worse if watcher didn't make realistic decisions about finances and it lead to the death of the company and everyone losing their jobs. the whole watcher company can work, in my opinion, but not without some sacrifices. they're going to have to run it more like a business and less like a youtube-channel-turned-business in the future if they want to survive.

last thing i'll add is that while i do think this was a good apology video, i still think they hurt themselves by not putting out some sort of statement on Friday or Saturday just to say that they were formulating a response. As i've said in other posts, it's ok and in fact beneficial to not make a kneejerk reaction, but it's also very important to communicate that you SEE what's happening. you SEE what people are saying and THAT'S why you need more time to respond. saying nothing and leaving the angry public to wonder if you dropped your phone off the Hoover Dam or just don't care? that's a fumble. it's a common mistake companies make in a crisis, but that doesn't mean it doesn't erode trust fast.

this could have been handled better in many ways. we see that, and i'm glad watcher says they see that too. crucial going forward is taking all this and patching the errors that caused all this to fall apart and learning from the experience.

tbh at this point what i'm most sad about is that the watcher crew have probably been too stressed out and upset to appreciate some of the absolute bangers people have been laying down to clown on them. i think if it wasn't about them they might be touched by the collective attitude and creative spirit. /j

[gguk-n]

Tracks & Beats (Max Verstappen x Rapper!Reader)

Face claim- Lee Sung Kyung. Reader is best friend's with Suga of BTS. Google translated Korean. All the pictures are from Pinterest.

Max winning after 4 months!!

y/ngotswings is Max's fan account

2016

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by 3,890 others Tagged bts.bighitoffiicial

y/n.y/l/n 최고의 프로듀서이자 래퍼 중 한 명과 함께 일할 기회가 있었다 Had the chance to work with one of the best producers and rapper

user15 언니 그 노래는 정말 좋았어 😭😭unnie the song was so good user16 collab of the century!!😍😍 user17 사랑해 ❤️❤️i love you y/ngotswings Best song yet!!😭❤️

2019

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by 7,264 others Tagged bts.bighitofficial

y/n.y/l/n 나와 함께 노래를 작업해준 윤기 오빠 고마워 Thank you Yoongi oppa for working on this song with me!!

user18 OMG!!! The way his voices meshes with hers😍😍 user19 Their collab's keep getting better and better😭😭 user20 언니 잘했어 👍👍unnie, good job!! user21 넌 정말 예쁘다 누나 ��you're so pretty, noona y/ngotswings I cried😭😭

2023

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by 10,500 others

y/n.y/l/n comeback season!!!

user22 this comeback was sooooo goooddd!! user23 i loved the album user24 i can't wait to watch you live user25 화이팅 👍👍Fighting!! user26 당신의 미소가 정말 좋아요 ❤️❤️I love your smile user27 나는 너에게 키스하고 싶어 😘😘I want to kiss you y/ngotswings Best album ever!! Can't wait for more!!❤️❤️

2024

Max is twitter user- Redbull gives y/n wings

{Max's POV}

I'm not someone who engages in arguments on twitter but when people kept shipping Y/N with that guy, I don't know why but it was pissing me off!!

So, I might've done something a few months ago in the heat of the moment which was embarrassing when I thought about it too much but now I feel like not so much. I mean, I'm kind of famous, maybe I can use that to my advantage. So, I did something. I asked RedBull to invite her to the Japanese Grand Prix. It's close enough and honestly, I wasn't sure she would agree but she did, so I guess a win is a win.

{Max's POV}

I've met so many celebrities before but non of them have left me feeling this giddy and excited but I've never been a fan of half the celebrities that would come to the races.

Y/N was different, she was so sweet and asked questions which made it seem like she was interested in the sport so I couldn't help but answer those. I mean, we were the hosts.

"Hi, I'm Y/N" she introduced herself. I know I thought. "I'm Max" I replied. "I hear that you're the best right now" she smiled. I felt a blush creep in. "Ah...It's nothing. I just do my best" I mumbled. "No need to be humble if you're talented" she said smiling. I felt my heart race.

She was here for the weekend which meant I got to spend a lot of time with her. She was so much more fun and exciting to be around compared to what I saw on the internet. She was funny and had the cutest little laugh.

As I spent more time with her, I fell in love as if I wasn't already. I mean, I did orchestrate our meeting. "Dude, you have to ask her out" Lando whispered. "What?" I said looking at him. "You've had a crush on her for years now. I remember you rapping her songs even though they aren't in a language you speak since I joined" Lando pointed out. "But wouldn't it be weird" I asked. "What is weird is you inviting her and then staring at her from a far with heart eyes" Lando laughed. "Hey" I grimaced. "Sorry Max, but we all think it's cute. This little crush of yours" Charles interrupted. "Not you too" I whined. "Actually, all of us have a betting pool going" Pierre said. "He wasn't supposed to know" Daniel laughed, shaking his head. "You guys bet on me" I almost screamed. "In our defence, we've never seen you like a love sick puppy. Let us have this" Daniel defended. I shook my head and walked away.

"You look annoyed, everything okay?" Y/N asked. "Yeah" I smiled. "Must be fun, travelling with all these people and getting to do what you love" she asked. "It is. I even get to meet celebrities like this" I said. "I feel like you're more famous than I am. Maybe I should be the one star struck" she laughed. "You know, if you're free" I said twiddling my thumbs. It was now or never, what's the worst that could happen, she would say no and then I would spend the rest of eternity pining for her. "maybe we could go on a date?" I said scratching the back of my head. "I am" she replied. "After I win the race, maybe we could go celebrate?" I suggested. "I would love to celebrate with you" she smiled. Maybe if I died now, I would die happy.

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by 45,890 others Tagged maxverstappen1, schecoperez, redbullracing

y/n.y/l/n Thank you for having me!! Lot of fun watching Max win!!

redbullracing we loved having you!! maxverstappen1 you are always invited back!! Liked by Author y/ngotswings I think I can die happy now user28 OMG!!😱😱😱 user29 ❤️❤️😍😍 user30 Okay...to that one twitter user👀 user31 the second picture is so cute😫😘 user32 예쁜 😍😍pretty user33 사랑해 ❤️❤️love you

Max and Y/N started dating a few weeks after that meeting at the grand prix. Due to their hectic schedules, they weren't able to spend as much time together. Hence, during the summer break, Max was in South Korea, trying to make the most of their time together.

Max was lounging in Y/N's room, when she plopped down next to him. "You know my friend" she began. "Yoongi, the one you're close to" Max finished. "Yeah, he'll be off tomorrow from his duty and he wanted to meet you" she muttered. "Oh" was all that left Max's lips. "I haven't dated anyone in a while because of many reasons" she said looking down, "and oppa, just wants to make sure....you know how older brothers are" she said. "I get it." Max nodded along. "Where are we meeting?" Max asked. "At home, he can't really be out in public without being swarmed" Y/N laughed. "I saw with how many of his pictures are plastered all over the place" Max laughed.

The next day, the table was set. The two of them waited for Yoongi to show up while cuddling on the couch. "Do you think he'll like me?" Max asked, breaking the silence. "He'll love you" Y/N replied while kissing Max's lips. Then the door bell rang, "Must be him" Y/N announced and went to see. She came back with Yoongi in tow. "Hello" Yoongi greeted with his hand out. "Hi" Max replied, shaking his hand. He towered over Yoongi a bit. "How old is he again?" Yoongi asked Y/N in Korean. "The same age as Jungkook, the same month too. Jungkook's in the beginning of the month and he's in the end" she replied. Max was confused as to what they were talking about. "Korea is big on age hierarchy, so I was telling him when you're birthday is" Y/N explained looking at Max's confused face which morphed into one of understanding soon.

They proceeded to dinner, while making small talk. Y/N was happy watching Yoongi getting along with Max, a dream for her honestly. After dinner, while Y/N cleaned up; the two men sat together watching her move fluidly. "I said I could help" Yoongi called out who was now watching her. "You know I'm a control freak. You two should get to know each other" she called out. Yoongi slowly sat down, Max joining soon after.

"You both have busy schedules" Yoongi began, "That's why I try to make as much time as I can. We have a schedule in place, since I'm travelling so much. It's working out" Max quickly replied. "Even then, can you keep her happy?" Yoongi asked. "I'll try my best. I can't imagine her sad or crying and worst because of me" Max shuddered. "Good" Yoongi nodded. "Listen Max, nothing against you but she's like a sister and I don't want anyone to hurt her" Yoongi reiterated. "I promise I won't ever hurt her and if I ever do, which I won't, you know where to find me. Finish me" Max stated. Yoongi smiled patting his back. "I like this one" Yoongi called out to Y/N. Y/N popped her head up, "He said he approves" she called out to Max. "I never said that" Yoongi chided. "Same same" she laughed.

Yoongi soon got ready to leave, "I had a good time. Thank you for the food" he said hugging her. "Thank you for coming. Drive safe" Y/N called out as he was leaving. "Take care of her" Yoongi told Max as he closed the door. Max looked at Y/N; "Great first impression" Y/N stated with her hands around his neck. "I think so too" Max replied kissing her. "I love you" Max stated looking into her eyes. Y/N's eyes widened before she smiled, "I love you too" she said kissing him

[springwitch8]

hots for teacher (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

part 2

summary: you've been infatuated with melissa schemmenti ever since you worked under her as a student teacher. what will happen when you meet again a few years later?

warnings: NSFW content, implied future smut (part 2 on the way??), praise kink, age gap idk

notes: hi everyone! my name is april, and this is my first ever fanfiction. i wrote this for fun and then decided to share it with the community, because i love the little gay women in my phone! i've been reading fics on tumblr for as long as i've been on the internet, so this is a strange experience for me. anyway, enjoy, and let me know what you guys think!

tonight you looked sexy, and you knew it. you wore a sinfully short black dress with colorful butterflies. it was one of your favorites; it showed just the right amount and hugged just the right places to be tantalizing. your eyes were painted with thin black wings and soft, glittery eyeshadow that made you look like a sweet dream. your lips glistened and your hair was tied up in two dutch braids. you were a vision.

all this meant that you were not the least bit surprised when a deep, sultry female voice sounded from behind where you sat at the bar.

"it should be illegal to look like that in public."

you smiled coyly and turned around to face the stranger.

"why? see something you like?" when you turned to face her, however, you were met with a familiar face. it was a face you'd seen in your dreams time after time: your former boss, melissa schemmenti.

you had been assigned to work with melissa as a student teacher while you were in school for your teaching certification. at the time, she was teaching two grades simultaneously, so she was grateful to have you there to ease the burden. it didn't hurt that you were always so eager to please. you wanted to learn and become the best teacher you could be.

of course, your motives weren't entirely pure. you were attracted to melissa from the moment you saw her. you remembered it like it was yesterday: her flaming red hair was slightly messy from trying to wrangle her double class, and her glasses sat askew on her nose. then you came along and turned everything around. she would give you to-do lists, and you would finish them before lunchtime the same day.

"great job, hon! you're so good, don't know what i'd do without you..." she'd say each time, beaming with pride at her new prodigee.

"o-of course, ms. schemmenti. what else can i do for you?" you'd respond, blushing profusely at the praise and struggling to hold her intense gaze.

within a week of having you, melissa was caught up on all her work. she couldn't help but feel like you were an angel, or some kind of gift from god. whatever you were, she cherished you. as the two of you spent more time together, she started to want you more and more. every project, every conversation, every smile you two shared only added to your chemistry.

she had fun with it--teasing you with special pet names and praise, watching you get all flustered and squirmy. she knew you liked her back. you weren't the most subtle about your desire.

melissa would never act on her feelings, though. you were a doe-eyed twenty-something with big dreams, and she was your much older boss. getting involved with you would be too messy. but she always held out hope, even after you left abbott, that one day you'd meet again.

you studied melissa's sly smirk for a moment, in disbelief at your luck. it had been two years since you left abbott. you had your own big girl job now, and you were a bit more mature. there was nothing stopping you from acting on your desires.

"oh my god, ms. schemmenti! please, have a drink with me. it's been a while." you hoped you didn't sound too desperate, although you definitely looked desperate once you got a good glance at her.

her look was striking. your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned her form, dressed in red leather pants and a button-down shirt. her arms were visibly muscled, even through the jacket. the black button-down shirt she wore was unbuttoned just enough to tease her cleavage. around her waist was a thick black belt that you wanted to pull on. her fiery hair was tied back haphazardly in a high ponytail, just messy enough to be sexy. and her hands—god, her fingers were long and ringed and—

"whatever you say, kid," she shrugged and sat down next to you, giving you a playful smile. "and you can call me melissa now."

she had a mischievous glint in her eye, probably knowing how you felt just by the wanton way you stared at her. when she sat down beside you, you felt your whole body heat up. your thighs were almost touching from the proximity, and you could smell her intoxicating perfume with each inhale. feeling her body so close to yours had you more drunk than the alcohol. it didn't help that her eyes now roamed over your body shamelessly, taking in your glistening lips and lingering on your soft cleavage. you tried your best to play it cool.

you talked for a while, catching up on everything. you told her about your new job at a suburban elementary school, your volunteer tutoring on the weekends, your summers in the mountains. she beamed with pride hearing of your accomplishments.

"that's great, y/n! sounds like you're goin' places."

"thank you! i think i owe a lot of my success to my student teaching experience—everyone at abbott was great, including you. especially you," you looked at her with an intense gaze, feeling your desire catch up with you.

"you were such a passionate mentor. you just had this way of getting me excited..." you trailed off as you fixated on the stirrings of a smirk on her face.

"...excited about learning," you finished shakily.

"mm-hmm," she chuckled.

maybe it was the alcohol, or the simple fact that she was right next to you and seemingly devouring you with her eyes, but you became bolder then. you only had one shot at this.

"i mean, you really touched me in a way that nobody else could," you leaned in, dragging out your syllables for emphasis. "i worked so hard because i just needed to be good for you."

now she was the one shuddering. you had the upper hand, if only for a moment. but she quickly got her boldness back.

"i noticed that. always so bright and attentive. i bragged to all the other teachers about what a good girl you were." to top it all off, she punctuated her sentence by placing her hand firmly on your knee.

you thought you were going to explode right then and there. your skin erupted in goosebumps at her touch, and you spread your legs ever so slightly to indicate your consent. her face split into a smug grin and she began to crawl her fingers up your thigh, agonizingly slowly.

your response came as a shaky whisper. you were sure you must have soaked through your panties just from her teasing touches.

"it's good to know that you thought so highly of me. i looked up to you a lot," you said sheepishly. "um, i'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but i did have a bit of a crush on you..."

"oh, yeah. that doesn't surprise me. don't be embarrassed, hon. you can't help what you feel," her hand had stalled at the midpoint of your thigh, and she looked at you with sincerity.

"it doesn't surprise you?" you asked, struggling to get the words out once she resumed stroking your thigh.

"i had my suspicions," she said with a knowing smirk. "i'm sharper than i look, ya know."

her darkened eyes sent shivers down your spine. you felt your core heat up at the humiliation of knowing she knew exactly what you thought about her.

"am i that obvious?" you asked, somewhat breathily.

"oh, sweetheart," she laughed. she leaned in close and you could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her breath on your skin. her fingers pinched the skin of your thigh as she whispered to you. "you sat five feet away from me for months, always wearin' those little black skirts. you think i didn't see you rub your thighs together every time i gave you praise?"

her hand now caressed your inner thigh softly, teasingly. you failed to respond, trying to process her words but finding yourself unable to do anything but whimper almost silently.

"so soft here. mhmm," she husked into your ear. there was a hint of giddiness in her voice, as if she was pleased with herself for taking you apart so easily. "does that feel good, princess? do you like it when i touch you?"

"yes!" you said, almost too loudly for the public setting. "yes, i like it very much."

"good," she whispered as her fingers found the edge of your panties. your thighs spread even wider, and you let out a small gasp.

"we've got lots more to catch up on, don't we?" she continued, her fingers drawing feather-light circles over your clit through the fabric. you wondered if she could feel you throbbing for her. your hips bucked up to meet her hand, and she slapped your thigh in warning. "if you wanna keep talkin', we can head back to mine..."

you turned to her with big, glazed-over eyes. still whimpering, you nodded rapidly, earning a laugh from the older woman. she grabbed your hand and guided you out of the packed bar.

"i'm gonna wreck you, hon," she mumbled without looking back at you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for entertaining a friendship with a child?

okay so this might be a weird one or even a controversial one i honestly have zero clue how other people will receive this, apologies in advance if i ramble!

to begin, i (23ftm) and this kid (15f) first met about a year ago. one of my best friends (23m) is a pretty big model and tiktoker and she was a fan of his, and she was pretty recognized online for making cool edits and stuff of him and coming to meetups etcetera, so he knew of her from there, and over time with always seeing each other at meet ups and her being in his discord server (where i mod) she kind of became pretty well known to us.

an important thing to note is that she's SUPER neurodivergent and she's had a really tough life. she lost her older brother a few years back and she's (i'm not sure of the correct way to put it, her family is originally from the netherlands and their english is kind of in the works so this is how they put it) developmentally behind a few years - her parents describe this as her being "mentally more 13 than 15" but her behaviour to me is even younger than that. she's very very innocent and trusting, very overemotional and sensitive to criticism etc, loves stuffed animals and pink and cartoons and all of that. she's told me she feels like a little kid sometimes and will talk/act like one so maybe there's an element of trauma-rooted age regression there, i'm not super sure - i'm not gonna get into detail but she's talked to me about her life a lot and she's had some pretty fucked up shit happen to her.

from the beginning she pretty much imprinted on me - she's told me before i remind her of the big brother she lost, and ever since then she's called me her "big brother" and "family" etc. at first i was more just playing along with it to make her happy but over time she really has become something like a little sister to me, i feel super protective of her. i want to become a teacher after college (not to mention eventually a parent with my fiancee) so i think at least part of it is that taking a kid 'under my wing' so to speak is giving me experience with it all. i've always been kinda paternal/protective over kids in general but i was the youngest sibling in my family so i never really had anyone to utilise that on before

she does rely super heavily on me emotionally, especially because after i found out she was being bullied pretty badly at school i started dropping by to keep her company during breaks/lunch and making sure shit was okay (which her still-living brother used to do, but he's a famous?? - unsure How famous, i don't know sports at all - footballer/soccer player who's often in another country and can't see her often anymore), and i've been working with her to curb that. i'm actually currently working with her parents to find her a good therapist and support system. she's no longer in the tiktok friend's discord just because it was getting a little all-consuming for her and we encouraged her to take a break, but she's done a TON of work on herself and maturing since then and she does plan to rejoin at some point soon.

however, i find it really really hard to gauge whether being so close with a child is... like normal? or not. i honestly can't tell if it's kind of the internet caution about adults talking to minors kind of warping my brain and making me overly wary of what people will think or if i'm doing something wrong or if it's genuinely like a weird situation, so i guess i'm looking for outside perspectives.

the things that make me question it is that like i said she's very 'mentally young', she's very sheltered, and there definitely seems to be an element of her kind of replacing the older brother figure she lost with me. on top of that, we met through her being a fan of my friend, and though she's now separate from that i worry there could still be an element of power there because i'm close with the guy she calls her idol. her family knows me and seem totally chill with everything, but they've told me she tells people at her school that i'm literally her brother and basically 100% talks about me as if i'm her biological family, which i find super sweet but at the same time wonder if it's healthy.

she obviously needs therapy and hopefully soon we can get her it, but: AITA for entertaining a sort of found family dynamic / friendship at all with someone very vulnerable and young or is this genuinely helpful for her?

What are these acronyms?