#and the “contract” work from the big names to make sure their shit works during the holidays

[sunshinehaze1]

On the Right Track

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You board the train to Chicago to find your sleeper cabin has been double booked.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. No outbreak AU, meet-cute, forced proximity-ish, use of pet names (darlin’, baby), oral sex (m&f), unprotected PiV. no use of Y/N.

a/n: the idea of getting “stuck” in a sleeper cabin during a long ass train ride with Joel Miller rotted my brain. So, here I am dumping it onto you. I hope you enjoy it! big time thank you to @80ssong for the beta 😘

word count: 5,442

ao3 | ml

The wheels of your suitcase emit a low, steady rumble as you drag it behind you, weaving through the crowd rushing past in the opposite direction. You're stopped short when one of the wheels gets caught in a crack in the concrete train platform. You breathe out a huff of frustration, "Goddammit!" and try to shimmy your suitcase loose.

You can't miss your train; you’ve been looking forward to this trip for the last year, another check on your “travel the country by train” bucket list. Mercifully, the wheel shakes loose, and you resume your quickened pace. Even with the extra time you allowed yourself to pack and get ready this morning, you didn’t account for the rush hour traffic. One of the many perks of working from home is not dealing with that nonsense. If only you had left your house 15 minutes earlier. You hate feeling rushed when you travel. A booming voice from the PA system bellows, “Final boarding call for Texas Eagle! ALL ABOARD!”

Shit! You pick up the pace; quick steps turn into a jog to make your train. You’re out of breath by the time you approach the entrance of your sleeper car. The conductor takes notice of your struggle, grabs your suitcase, and assists you up the steps. You navigate through the hallway of the sleeper car to find your cabin, your breath slowly returning to normal.

This trip from Austin to Chicago is over twenty-eight hours, so sparing the extra expense of a sleeper cabin was a no-brainer. You scan each door as you pass, looking for cabin 101. When you reach the correct door, looking forward to sitting and relaxing after your cardio session, you swing it open to find your cabin is not empty.

It has been two months since Sarah moved to Chicago for school. Joel has had a hard time adjusting to an empty nest. He's been able to occupy his time by taking on contracting jobs on the side and putting in more overtime. The extra money he's been able to bank has allowed him to take a week off work to visit Sarah.

Since childhood, he’s wanted to travel by train to see more of the country and for the experience. Due to the length of the trip and his back, he decided to spring for a sleeper cabin with some of his extra cash. Thankful he won't have to worry about engaging in awkward conversation with a chatty seatmate in one of the passenger cars.

Joel wasn't sure what to expect with train travel, so he arrived at the station an hour before departure. He was able to board and settle into the cabin without issue. He's in the middle of texting Sarah to let her know he boarded the train when the cabin door abruptly swings open. 

You're surprised to see someone in your cabin. You double-check the number on the door’s plaque, compare it to your ticket, and look suspiciously at the annoyingly handsome, broad-shouldered man sitting on the bench seat, who looks equally perplexed. You booked a solo sleeper. What is this guy doing here? 

“Um, there seems to be a mistake. I had booked this as a solo sleeper.”

“Yeah, I did too,” Joel sighs, “paid a pretty penny for it.” 

You ask to see his ticket and see that he’s been assigned the same cabin number as you. Well, isn’t this your luck? You huff in annoyance, lean past the threshold into the corridor, and spot the conductor checking passenger tickets. He approaches when you grab his attention with a friendly wave. Hopefully, this is an unfortunate mix-up and can be resolved quickly. 

“Welcome aboard the Texas Eagle. How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Hi, um," trying to shake out any annoyance in your voice, "There seems to be a mix-up. Our tickets are for cabin 101, but we booked a solo cabin separately.”

The conductor asks to see your tickets. He twitches his jaw in concentration as he looks over both tickets. He excuses himself to consult with the chief conductor. His return ends the twenty minutes of awkward silence between you and this handsome stranger, where avoiding eye contact felt like a full-time job.

“Thank you for your patience. Unfortunately, our sleepers have been overbooked for this trip. We apologize for the inconvenience." You and Joel sigh in unison, "I can move one of you to a passenger car, or you could share this cabin, and Amtrak will compensate you for the error.”

Joel looks up at you with a raised eyebrow. He studies your face to gauge which option you're leaning toward. Moving to a seat in the passenger car is not appealing to him, but if you were not keen on sharing a sleeper with a stranger, he’d concede. He wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But if he’s honest with himself, he would be disappointed. You are a beautiful woman, and he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, even if it is not under ideal circumstances.

You take a few minutes to consider your options. Shifting your eyes around the cabin, trying to avoid Joel’s gaze. A seat in the passenger car is the least desirable of the two options. Fortunately, the cabin has two beds, so it’s not a total loss. There are far worse things than being stuck in a sleeper cabin with an attractive stranger. You’re a pretty good judge of character; he has kind eyes, and he hasn’t given off any creepy vibes in the brief time you've been in his presence. Could this be one of those meet-cutes you see in your favorite rom-coms? 

Joel waits patiently for you to make the final call. You glance at him and then back at the conductor. “I’m fine with sharing the cabin.”

“Sounds good. Again, we’re so sorry for the inconvenience. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” 

When the conductor departs, you move further into the cabin and take in the cramped space. You start to lift your bag into the overhead bin, and Joel notices your struggle. He springs up from his seat to assist you. "Let me help ya there."

You feel the warmth of his body pressed against you as he lifts his arms above you. When he shoves your suitcase into the bin, you inhale his scent, a mix of fresh soap, sandalwood, and mint. You feel heat travel up your neck and hope he doesn’t notice.

Joel steps back when the bag is secured in the bin, and the vestiges of his warm body begin to cool on your back. A sense of disappointment washes over you. You liked the way his body felt against you. He felt safe.  

When you turn around, you're met with his extended hand, and he introduces himself, “I’m Joel.”

You take his hand, so large it swallows yours, and introduce yourself with a firm handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, it had to be under these circumstances.”

“You t—“ The jolt of the train cuts you off as it lurches forward and throws you off balance and into Joel’s broad chest. 

He grabs at you, careful not to place his hands anywhere inappropriately to keep you upright. You’ve now felt his sturdy form from your back and front sides, and it’s unnerving. You stare down at the dated carpet as you try to gain your composure before you look up at him shyly, “Sorry about that. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

You return a soft smile and nod as you move to sit down. The morning's events have you completely frazzled, and you hope you can finally relax. You settle into your seat and pull out your book, locating the dog-eared page where you left off. The cabin is quiet except for the rumble of the train and the occasional announcement of the next stop, followed by its arrival. Neither you nor Joel was ready to cut through the silence just yet.

The tension of being in this tight space is distracting, and you're unable to focus on your reading. You peek up from your book and observe Joel. He’s staring out the cabin window, watching the blur of the Texas landscape speed by with his chin resting on the heel of his hand. It’s been a while since Joel has been out of Austin. He wants to see as much as possible during this ride. 

You take in his profile. Admiring the strong, sharp jaw covered in a patchwork of dark scruff sprinkled with grey and a full mustache over a pair of pillowy lips. His furrowed brow sits atop a set of rich, chocolate eyes. Eyes that express a softness and warmth. You watch as the reflection of the country landscape flickers across his orbs. Shadows fall over the curve of his aquiline nose. It's as if the Romans chiseled his face out of travertine. 

“Is everythin’ alright?!” 

You shake out of your haze at Joel’s inquiry. Busted. You’ve never been good at subtlety, so you’re not surprised he’s caught you staring. 

“Yeah, yeah…everything’s fine.” You clear your throat, trying to buy yourself some time to come up with an explanation for your ogling, “I…I was trying to remember if I locked my doors before I left this morning.”

Joel grins. He doesn’t entirely believe you. He’s pretty sure he caught you staring at him. It felt nice. A sense of pride that a woman as beautiful as you would give him the time of day. “Oh, I know that feeling.”

You nod in response, and the silence returns as you resume your activities. The tension thickens as the awkwardness continues for a couple more stops. A silent internal debate over who would break the silence first wars between you. Unable to bear it any longer, you finally squeak out, “So, what’s in Chicago?”

Joel is surprised by the question, not the question itself, but that you were more confident than him to break the silence. “My daughter, Sarah, she’s at Northwestern.”

“Oh, wow, that’s impressive.” You see Joel light up with pride at your praise. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure where she gets it. Certainly not from me.” Joel scoffs.

You let out a short laugh. Not fully believing his self-deprecation. You've only known him briefly, but Joel strikes you as a smart guy.

Joel continues, “I haven’t seen her since she left for school two months ago. I can’t wait to see her.”

Joel’s excitement is palpable. His smile reaches his eyes as he talks about his daughter. My god, this man is handsome. You're not sure how you'll survive the rest of this trip, sharing a cabin with him.

“And how about you?” Joel inquires, “What’s the reason for your trip?”

“It’s kind of silly.” You flash Joel a sheepish smile. “I’ve always wanted to travel the country by train. I have taken a different route each time for the last few years. Only eight more to go to hit all states! It’s been a fun experience, and I’ve met many interesting people.” 

Joel is intrigued. "That doesn't sound silly to me."

He admires your independence and courage to travel on your own. Charming, beautiful, and a sense of adventure. There’s no way you could be single. But wouldn’t they be on this trip with you if you had a significant other? He hesitates to ask but decides to go for it. “Is there anyone who would miss you while you're on this trip?”

A warmth spreads up your neck, reaching your cheeks. You answer Joel bashfully, “If my silver pothos counts, then…yes.” 

Joel huffs a laugh. His confidence grows with the confirmation that you're single. “Darlin’, that’s a shame. You seem like a real catch.” 

Could this be happening? Is this annoyingly handsome and charming man showing an interest in you? Darlin’? You’ve been in Texas long enough to know “darlin’” is used as frequently as “ma’am.” But this sounds different. Maybe you are experiencing a real-life meet-cute. It's been a year since you and your ex broke up. You’ve had time to heal but haven’t yet dipped your toe back into dating, but you'd be willing to take the plunge with this man.

Joel hasn’t had a serious relationship in a while. He prioritized raising Sarah and growing his contracting business. Sarah has encouraged him to put himself out there and meet someone. She's worried about him alone at home now that she’s off at school. It’s been an adjustment for Joel, getting used to an empty nest. He misses the stomps of Sarah’s footsteps as she races down the stairs each morning, the sound of pop music blasting through the stereo in her room, and late nights on the couch watching Curtis and Viper—Sarah falling asleep with her head on Joel's shoulder. Finding someone warm, caring, and beautiful to spend time with would be nice—someone like you. 

As the train rolls on, you and Joel learn more about each other. Your comfort level and attraction to each other grow with each stop. You learn that he runs his own construction business with his brother. How he’s raised his daughter on his own, Sarah’s mother having left the both of them when she was still a baby. You tell him about your job and how it brought you to Austin. A place that is finally starting to feel like home.

It’s been over ten hours since you rushed to board the train. Ten hours filled with embarrassing mishaps, awkward silences, and engaging conversation. Ten hours of proximity to one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met. And ten hours later, he asks you to have dinner with him in the dining car—a date. 

You could tell that Joel was nervous when he asked. It was sweet. His eyes focused on the carpet’s intricate pattern; his hand rubbed the back of his neck before he looked over at you. “Would you...would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’d love to, Joel!” 

The food was pretty decent for being served on a train. If Joel plays his cards right, he might have a chance to take you on a proper dinner date without the rattling silverware. Joel admires you from across the table. He watches your fidgety fingers wrapped around the stem of your wine glass, rotating it in a circle on the white tablecloth.

You may still be nervous, but talking to Joel is easy. He’s warm and confident, with a great sense of humor. You feel the attraction between you continue to grow. You’ve even caught his eyes land on your lips a few times.  

Joel can’t recall the last time he was on a proper date. He didn't last long on the dating app Sarah downloaded and set up his profile. After two weeks of confusion about which direction to swipe, easily bored by the rote introductory messages, he deleted it. He resigned that he’d have to meet someone in the wild. Did that even happen anymore? But here he is, with you, never imagined he would meet someone on the train. Grateful for the inconvenient cabin mix-up that led you to him.

Joel pays the tab, and you thank him for dinner with a kiss on his cheek. It was the best date you’ve ever had. He grabs your hand and walks you back to your shared cabin. As you open the door, you feel Joel’s hand lightly pressed against the small of your back, his pinky teasing the waistband of your jeans. The warmth of his hand through your top sends a thrill up your spine. He guides you into the space and closes the door behind him. 

Once the door is locked, his palms are at your waist to spin you around to face him. "You're so beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself, handsome." Your palms pressed flat against him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the low beat of his heart pulsating through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Your breath quickens as his eyes map the delicate features of your face. He holds your gaze with his warm brown eyes, then trails down to your pillowy lips, returning to your eyes, seeking permission to kiss you. You grant it with a subtle nod, and he leans in; your heart pulsates with each inch he draws nearer. A needy moan emits from you as his lips finally press against yours. Soft, wet, warm. You invite him further with an open mouth and tease of your tongue along his lower lip. You've wanted to feel his lips against yours since he introduced himself.

His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt before he lifts it above your head and off. Discarded to the floor in one swift motion. He stares at your perfect tits caged in by black lace. He cups them gently in his palm while his index finger and thumb tweak your nipples to attention. A pleasurable hiss escapes your lips. His hands traipse down your supple skin until they reach your waist. With his fingers threaded in the belt loops of your jeans, his body looms large, and he guides you until the backs of your legs meet the bench.

He leans into you and seals your lips with his as his hands roam over the plane of your back. His fingers tease over the clasp of your bra, and he unfastens it in a swift motion releasing your tits from their lace confines. His other hand trails downward and slips into the back of your jeans, and squeezes your ass. Your body shudders at his grip.

He squats down to place his mouth over your tit. Kissing, licking, and sucking out sweet moans from you. His hands move to the front of your pants to unfasten them as he continues to distract you with his ministrations across your chest. In one pull, your bottom half is bare to him.

He nudges you gently to sit as he lowers to his knees; a creak of his joints echoes in the small room. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He wraps his forearms around your thighs and pulls you in closer to his face. His sharp nose trails over your mound, and he inhales, moaning at your scent. He drapes your legs over his broad shoulders and lathes a slow swipe of his tongue through your folds, the tip brushing against your clit. "Fuck!" You manage to blurt out.

With a firm grip on your thighs, he continues to eat at you. He latches onto your clit and sucks, causing you to buck your hips into his face. Unphased, Joel continues his relentless pursuit of your pussy. He wants to lap up every drop of arousal that is leaking out of you. A strong desire to bring you over the edge with just his lips and tongue. He can feel you're close when your walls tighten around his tongue. Your breathy moans increase and become louder as he inches you toward your release.

Joel rises from the floor as you catch your breath. In a haze of euphoric bliss, you paw at his jeans, pleading for him to get undressed and switch places with you on the bench. "Joel," you whimper, "I need you inside me. Now."

With that, Joel hurriedly pulls off his shirt and strips his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. He offers his hand to assist you up from the bench, legs still wobbly from your first orgasm. He sits down and pats one palm on his meaty thigh while the other lazily strokes his cock. "C'mere baby."

Eagerly, you situate yourself to straddle Joel’s lap, knees pressed against the back cushion. You tease kisses over his face and trail down to where his neck meets his shoulder. He moans when you leave a soft bite and then soothe the area with your tongue. You rub the wet folds of your pussy up and down his length, whimpering when the tip of his cock brushes against your clit.

A gasp escapes you when the head teases at your entrance, seeking further access. You slowly sink onto his cock until he’s fully sheathed inside your warm pussy. “Fuck,” Joel exhales, “this pussy is so fucking wet, just swallowing my cock.”

The vibration of the train as it moves over the tracks heightens the sensation as you bounce on his cock and he mouths at your tits. His thumb teases your bottom lip, and you suck the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the salty tip. Desperate to make you come again, he removes his thumb and lowers his hand between your bodies. The pressure, as he circles your clit, ignites a fire in your core, bringing you closer to the edge. He can feel your pussy clench around his cock; he knows you’re close, “I need you to come, darlin’.” 

With his permission, you explode around his length. Your head is thrown back in ecstasy, feeling confident you can be as loud as you want with the roaring drone of the train; you wail out his name. With your neck bare to Joel, he leans forward to lick a trail upwards to leave light nips along your jaw before his mouth overtakes yours in an all-consuming kiss. 

You squeal when Joel stands up from the bench in one fluid motion, still inside you. His palms squeeze your ass, and your arms are tight around his thick neck, keeping you secure as he shuffles over to the fold-down table. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your back and gently lays you on the cold surface, leaning forward to place kisses across the valley between your tits. As he straightens, his hands tighten around your hips, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts, which begin at a steady pace. 

Your desire for him is overwhelming. The need for him has you in a daze as your body shifts back and forth against the tabletop. “Fuck me harder, Joel.” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice—his speed quickens. The sound of his pelvis slapping into your ass reverberates around the small space. Your body is slick with sweat, and your mind is buzzing as your walls clamp around his length. The intense pleasure coils in your core, ready to snap. He watches your tits bounce in tandem with his thrusts, mesmerized by the heavy weight of them jostling back and forth. 

“Joel…ah…” you spit out, “fuck!”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He gazes down in between your bodies, focused on where his cock meets your wet folds. Entranced by your pussy, lips stretched around his shaft coated in your arousal. “She’s choking me, baby.” He breathes out,  “She’s so fucking tight. Perfect pussy taking me like a good girl.”

A cacophony of moans and grunts swirls around the two of you. He’s on the precipice of his orgasm, but he needs you to come again for him. He needs to feel your walls spasm around him a second time. He leans forward to kiss you, whispers into your lips how beautiful you are wrapped around his cock, how gorgeous you look when you come. “Give me one more. Be a good girl for me, and give me one more.”

On his command, your walls flutter around him as your release takes over. Thighs shake as their grip tightens around his hips, and you cry out his name. “That’s it…that’s it.” 

He pulls out of you, hand wrapped around his base, and he strokes his cock, slick with your arousal. Grunting as he covers your mound and lower belly with his come. He collapses over you, kissing your cheeks and lips. “You’re incredible. That was incredible.”

You can only respond with a nod and pull his face to yours for another blistering kiss. 

While you clean up in the bathroom, Joel turns down one of the beds. No longer a need for two separate beds. You crawl under the covers to join him, back pressed against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in tight. His hot breath wafts against your neck before he peppers kisses along the column of your neck and down your shoulder. You relax into him with a low hum. You’re quickly lulled to sleep by the beat of his heart and the drone of the train's movement along the tracks.

You wake up in Joel’s warm embrace, the sun’s rays leaking through the curtains. His fingers traverse your bare arm, easing you awake. "How'd you sleep, darlin'?" his gruff morning voice breaking into the space.

"Perfect. I had a furnace behind me that kept me nice and warm." You feel Joel smile against your hair.

You expected it would be awkward this morning, but everything felt right. Comfortable. Safe. Perfect. Like this was meant to be. You can't recall ever feeling this way about someone, especially not someone you've only known for little more than a day. Your mind wanders to the "what ifs," starting to get into your head about whether Joel feels the same. What if he doesn't? What then?

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Joel interrupts your spiral.

"About how good this feels. How right…how…and how fucking terrifying that is."

Your hair rustles when Joel huffs a chuckle. "It does, and it is. But we can be terrified together. If you want?"

You turn in his arms to face him with a wide, beautiful smile. It squeezes at Joel's heart; his affection for you is overpowering. He's never felt this way with anyone. He'll be devastated if you say "no." Thankfully, you don't make him wait too long for your response. The seconds that have passed tormented him enough. He sweeps a loose tendril behind your ear and softly trails his palm down your cheek, fingertips teasing your jawline while he waits for your reply.

"I would love nothing more than to be terrified with you." you tease.

Joel smirks and tilts your face toward him with a finger under your chin. He presses his plush lips over yours. Teasing your seam with his tongue, pleading for entry. Your lips slot open, welcoming him into your mouth. Tangled tongues, heated breath, an all-consuming passionate kiss.

When he pulls away, the both of you desperately try to catch your breath. You feel his hardness against your thigh. Your soft hand wraps around his thickness, offering slow strokes and teases over the slit swirling the precum around the head with your thumb. Joel lets out a breathy moan and thrusts into your palm. You don't want to leave him without getting a taste of his cock, so you begin your descent down his firm chest leaving kisses in your wake. "Baby, you don't have to…"

Your eyes meet his as your lips approach his cock. "I know. But I want to."

You wink as you take him in your mouth. His fingers weave through the hair at the back of your skull. Gently moving you further down his shaft, your nose brushing against the tuft of hair above his base. With the tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat, you delicately caress his balls in your palm.

"Fuck, baby," Joel grunts. "Yes, take it all. Your perfect lips wrapped around my cock. A goddamn dream."

At his praise and encouragement, you bob up and down his length. Swirling your tongue around the tip when you release him with a pop to catch your breath, only to return to a steady pace. His hands grip the root of your hair, and you feel his balls tighten in your hands. He's close. "Just like that…that's it. hnnnghhh, I'm going to come."

He tries to pull you off of him, but you take him even deeper with a strong grip on the back of his thighs. You want him to come in your mouth. Feel his warm seed spurt across your tongue. Lap up every drop, savor his taste, and swallow it down. You moan along his length, which reverberates up Joel's spine. His orgasm takes hold, and with a deep, guttural groan, his arousal pours into your mouth.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." You smile up at him, satisfied. He watches you as you wipe the corners of your mouth and suck the cum off the tip of your thumb with a moan. "You're amazing at that."

"Yeah?"

He pulls you up by your forearms until your face is level with his. His lips brush along the tip of your nose, to your cheeks, and then to your lips. Hovering over them with hot breath, "Yeah," he nods and seals your lips with his, tasting himself on your tongue.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk, "So…how about a second date?"

You laugh into his shoulder. Still unbelieving that all of this happened. "Absolutely. Just don't expect me to put out."

He responds with a booming laugh. You could get used to this sound. "I would never," as he squeezes you into him and kisses your forehead.

After you both are dressed, you settle in together on the bench to spend the last hours of the trip as close to each other as possible. Your back against the wall and legs strewn over his thighs. His thumbs circle your calves in a soothing motion as you read your book in contented silence. You didn't get to read as much as you wanted, but you're not complaining.

The train’s PA system crackles, “Last stop, Chicago.” 

You look at Joel apprehensively, the realization that this time is quickly coming to an end. He squeezes your hand reassuringly as you both move to stand. Joel pulls your bag out of the bin and insists on carrying it off the train for you. You both walk through the narrow hall, you in front, because “ladies first.” When you glance over your shoulder, you catch Joel staring at your ass. You tease with a coy smile and a wink, “Eyes up here, Joel.” 

You watch as a smirk grows into a sly grin across his face, the dimple on his right cheek making an appearance along with a glint in his eyes. Fuck, you’re in trouble.

As you exit the train, the conductor gives you both a knowing look with the tip of his hat. Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. Joel wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, and plants a kiss on your temple.

Joel freely gives this PDA while completely unaware that his daughter is watching it all transpire from afar. She arrived at the station early because she was so excited to see her dad, not expecting that she'd witness his uninhibited affection so publicly.

“Thanks for the ride, Joel.” He erupts in laughter.

“Anytime, darlin’. Any time.” He embraces you in his strong arms and leaves you with a chaste, parting kiss. “I'll see you soon.”

“You better!” You turn and walk away, Joel watching intently at the sway of your hips, once again admiring the curve of your ass. 

Joel runs his hand over his face in disbelief. The last twenty-eight hours were something. He shakes it off to look for Sarah in the crowd. When he finds her, she's barreling toward him to meet him halfway and wraps him in a huge hug. The impact almost knocks him off balance. With a chortle, "Hey, baby girl! I missed you!"

“I missed you, too!" With one eyebrow quirked, "So, dad…how was the trip?” Joel watches as Sarah's eyes shift across the platform in your direction. Your back towards them.

Joel smiles sheepishly, “It was good,” suddenly interested in watching a small bug crawl across the station platform to avoid Sarah's interrogating gaze. " It was really good."

Not one to let him off easy, she senses something different about her father. He has a glow in his eyes; he looks happy. Sarah knows it’s more than just seeing her. “Aw, come on, dad. Who was that woman I saw you with?”

Busted. “Oh,” he feels the flush creeping up his neck. “Funny story…” He drapes his arm over Sarah's shoulder, "I'll tell you in the car."

Joel pulls his phone from his pocket and climbs into Sarah’s car. 

[Joel] I can’t wait to see you again

[you] Same. I hope you have a great trip 😘

[Joel] You too, darlin'

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

npt for folks who engaged in my WIP fic covers post (let me know if you’d like to be removed): @ak-vintage @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @nerdieforpedro @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent

[hikarisouai-blog]

The perks of salary - during the off seasons, you get paid to do nothing at work except scroll social media looking for time to kill or something to do. You have weekly meetings detailing office shenanigans and how Sales is about to start a robot battle using modified Roombahs to showcase how good our firm is at the "techy nerd stuff". People want in and don't know the first thing about modifying, much less programming, Roombahs. But your team does - and your phone is blowing up from Slack messages. Teams from other offices you ain't ever heard from dub it the RoboDome. You and your coworkers at the same position/dept. across all branches are banned due to accusations of bribery, theft, and schematic alterations ripped from the iRobot website within the first few hours of the announcement. You become "consultants" for the participating teams, by accepting dog/cat pics, donuts, and covered shifts on holidays. You go back to scial media scrolling the rest of the week, before you remember that you don't need to even be at the office anymore (a habit of yours from the insane crunch period from last month) and file with HR for "work from home". You dread the upcoming crunch time in a few months so you pretend this is how work is done the entire year. You go to tumblr to view your favorite fandom trending and see Neil Gaiman' blog. You remember the dread of work in the last few 'crunches'. You doomscroll more. Still get paid to reblog.

The downsides to having a salary - you work overtime almost every day/week during crunch times with no OT pay or bonuses. You reenact a breakup scene everytime you leave your bed, it hasn't had the bedding washed in over a month, and your coworkers are all zombies begging for someone with brains (to come relieve them from the slog of chugging out code in PHP because one of our clients demanded it in that language). One of the clients called about a syntax typo that crashed everything on the user end and made their systems look "like the Matrix if it was a Scy-Fy knockoff". There's a programmer who has quit at the lunch table at least three times this week but can't officially send off his resignation because his wife is pregnant and needs his insurance benefits (she's doing her residency and can't afford shit). The coffee you reheated in your mug is from last week, and your breakfast of one wrinkly apple and half a bag of Veggie Straws was the only fresh thing you've seen in days. No one knows who is in charge of what, and you keep getting texts asking where you are hiding because all of you engineers owe the dept lead a program from last week that was due a month ago. You get the first email from the owner/CEO of the year, thanking you all from his office that he has been sleeping in for a few days now. There's 4 shareholders that you've never seen or met and they all want monthly updates from each dept. Someone's calling out because their kid is sick and you can taste the salt in the air. You are hiding with the other engineers in one of the 'executive' workstations, feeling like you are putting your forehead against a cheesegrater when you see the jumbled mess of PHP and what you think is PowerShell. You quietly type away and remind your coworkers and yourself, "I need this job".

Between all of this you have periods of normal, healthy, and productive periods of work. You stay at home, get up and shower and get to work, and you do all of your tasks from your living room. You come in for meetings once a month, excited to see people. On special projects you come in everyday. You see code and you see hardware and you see all kinds of cool things that made you fall in love with your career. You hate the "Big 4" in IT for corrupting and warping your industry. You hate what greed has done to necessary industries like IT, education, medical and public services.

You hate how everything that is a commodity eventually seems to turn into a necessity and in turn gets warped for profit and gains. Need a degree? Go get a pricey degree! Need medical attention? You need pricey insurance! You want to use public services? Sorry, we have underfunded those in the last decade or more. They aren't gonna be as helpful - or you can spend more money on this other useless service that kinda sorta works better and is more than the other one! (I'm looking right at you Amazon, and your stupid book subscription thing.)

You are sick of it, but because you make more money than should be possible at your workplace you try to suck it up and tell yourself that it's what you signed up for, like how retail workers know about Black Friday. So you suck it up. And go back to mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds while getting paid.

The benefits of salary: paid to browse.

The downside? Your career's enshittification has you regretting your life choices.

[chuluoyi]

MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Contract (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Once again playing with something new. Not gonna lie, hated this because this was more work than I had expected. Next one will be more narrative for my sake Warnings: MDNI, Angst (ALSO PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO CAUSE I DO BLOCK)

Contract of Employment - Intelligence Operative Name: [Retracted] Address: [Retracted] The basic terms and conditions of your employment are outlined in this Contract of Employment and the Employee's policies. Duration of Contract: Your employment with the Employer under this Contract started on [Retracted] and will end after 12 months after the initial date. Contract can be renewed after the Employee ends in good standing with the Employer after the 12 months and the Employee deems it a good fit.

Job Title and Hours 3.1: You are employed as INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE for [Retracted] reporting to "the Captain." 3.2: You are expected to perform all duties outlined below starting at 0800 (8:00am) to 1700 (5pm) Monday through Friday. 3.3: You must be available for any extenuating circumstances past these hours. All emergencies will be informed by "the Captain" and "the Captain" only.

Price: Need you to review the plan for the next mission before the meeting tomorrow.

Ghost groans after reading the message. Price just had to ruin his Sunday night. Realizing that his plan to sleep in was just ruined, he decides to text you. Seeing that you normally got in around that hour, maybe you could join him?

Did he deserve that? God no. But, he missed you. So he sends the text and waits... and waits... and waits...

Next thing he knew, his alarm was ringing, signaling the new day. He checks his phone and sees there are no new messages. It didn't matter. He'll see you around soon enough.

But soon enough comes around and you're nowhere to be seen. Were you running late? Shit, your car. Maybe you were walking again? He sends you a text, but again, no response. He's so worried that he can't even focus when looking over the plans. It's not until he sees you walk in for the meeting exactly at 0800 that his mind eases. Surprised to see you walk in late, he decided to check up on you after the meeting.

Knock, knock

You glance up from your monitor. "Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Sure, that was his title, but you always called him Ghost. Something didn't feel right.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you."

You stop typing and completely turn towards him. "Why?" Your tone is accusatory.

He stumbles a bit. You were never short with him. "C-cause you came in late toda--"

"I did not come in late. If you look over my contract, you would see that my start time is 0800, exactly the time I clocked in today." You turn back to your monitor and continue to work.

Ghost takes a big gulp. "Oh. I- uh... I sent you message last night and this morning."

You let out a heavy sigh and stop typing. "Was it an emergency?"

"No, but--"

"Good. I can't waste any time here, have to make sure I put all of my energy in my work. So if you don't have anything else of importance, you can leave." And with that you continue to type.

Ghost walks out of your office and closes the door. Why did it feel like it wasn't just your door that was closed here?

Job Responsibilities 4.1: You are responsible for all work that requires intelligence which includes analysis, gathering of intel, and presentation of said intel. 4.2: You will not participate in work that falls outside your jurisdiction.

After today's meeting, Gaz was weary of the plan. Despite being checked by Ghost, he couldn't help but feel like it needed to be discussed further. He kept in his thoughts during the meeting as he wanted to process them further.

Now after thinking about it all morning, he realizes he needs one more brain to help finalize his thoughts. Not just any brain, however, yours. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have realized that he no longer had any entitlement to your help. But alas without a second thought, he rushes to your office.

He knocks on your door and walks in before you have a chance to say anything. "Hello, hello!" he chirps. And, instead of being greeted by your warm smile, he is greeted by nothing. You don't even bother to glance at him.

Without removing your eyes on the screen, you say with no emotion, "Sergeant Garrick, what do you need?"

Sergeant Garrick? Ewe, that sounded so wrong coming out of your mouth. You always called him Kyle... Gaz if you felt cheeky. Feeling nervous now, Gaz hesitates to speak.

"Sergeant, I really don't have time for your shenanigans. Do you need something?" You quickly glance up and shoot him a sharp look.

That look brings Kyle to the present. "Sorry, yes. I was hoping you would..." You finally look at him, but instead of easing his nerves, it only exacerbated them as you looked at him with annoyance. "If you can, obviously, help me go over the plans for the next mission. Something about them just seem off and I could really--"

You interrupt him. "I have to stop you there. No." And just like that, you turn back to your monitor.

"Why?" he asks without thinking. He catches the way you took in a sharp breath.

Without looking at him, you respond, "I have never been in the field so what use do I have for you? Besides my job is in intelligence and in intelligence only."

He cringes at his own words. He tries to get another word in, but you're clearly not listening. Feeling defeated, he walks out your door.

"Sergeant?" you call after him. He quickly whips around. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Close my door."

Job Responsibilities 5.1: You have jurisdiction over all work that deals with intelligence. 5.2: You have complete authority to discipline officers of lower ranking or similar rank if their actions interfere with your responsibilities.

Soap doesn't know how it happened. He has been in his office all day, working. Sure, maybe he spent more time than he should have thinking about you, but everyone else does it. Now he was scrambling, trying to finalize the schematics for the explosives needed for the next mission.

Low on time, he rushes to your office to beg for your help. He knew he was in deep water with you, but he really had no choice. He hoped your caring heart would pity him this one last time.

He barges into your office, calling your name out. You immediately shoot up from your seat, worry apparent in your face. You hurry to the front of your desk to reach the panting Scotsman.

"Sergeant MacTavish, is everything okay?" Johnny can hear the worry in your voice. Good, you still might care.

"It's an emergency. I need to finish these blueprints by today or Price will kill me! Help your favorite Scotsman out?" he begs. Soap nearly whines when you take a step back from him.

You scoff. "Are you being serious right now?" Okay, maybe you don't care.

"I know, I know. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," he cries. His entire body shudders when you scoff at him once more. You shake your head in disbelief and return to your seat.

"Please, get out."

"Please, it's not even a lot. Just go over--"

"No, Sergeant. I have my own work to do."

"It won't take a lot of time, just--"

"NO!" you stand up again, slamming your desk. "Sergeant MacTavish, it is not in my contract to babysit fools like you." He winces. "If you cannot handle the work that comes with being in Special Forces, I recommend you to consider other careers. So leave my office before I write you up for insubordination," you hiss.

Soap quickly apologizes and leaves your office. He bumps into Price on his way back, but it doesn't phase him. Your utter disappointment in him plays back in his head over and over and over again.

Breach of Contract 8.1: If Employer deems the work of the Employee as unsatisfactory, contract will immediately be terminated. 8.2: If Employee deems the Employer is breaching any of the parts outlined above, Employee has the right to terminate the contract without any repercussions

John didn't take Soap crashing into him personal. It was clear his sergeant was lost in his thoughts. What did pique his interest was where he walked out of. It seemed like every member on his team had a chance to pop in your office today, but him. Refusing to let any of those muppets get in your good graces before he does, he decided to pop in.

Since Johnny left you door open, he just knocks on the doorway before letting himself in. "Hopefully, I'm not disturbing?" he jokes. The clacking of your keyboard stops and you slowly turn to look at him. You take in a deep breath, almost as if you're trying to contain yourself.

"Captain Price," you announce plainly, "do you need something? I'm almost done with today's report."

"No, not at all. Just wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing?" He doesn't quite catch what you mumbled under your breath. "Sorry?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing," you pause. "I'm fine. Just trying to get my work done before 5pm."

"5pm? Have an appointment or something?"

You stare at him for a bit and remind him of your contracted hours.

Assuming that you were worried about not finishing on time, John assures you that you can always stay in late or pick up again tomorrow. "It happens to the best of us."

Your eyes go cold. "It wouldn't have happened to me if your men and yourself weren't adamant in harassing me with matters that frankly do not pertain to me." You readjust yourself in your seat. "I advise all of you to go over my contract to avoid further misunderstandings. I would hate to leave mid-mission."

John goes cold. You... leaving. He looks in your eyes to see if there was any hesitation. There’s none.

Employer Signature: [Retracted] Employee Signature: [Retracted] Date: [Retracted]

After that day, the 141 realized what they had done. They had completely crushed your spirit and pushed you to be the epitome of professionalism. You were still a phenomenal Intelligence Officer, but you were just that. You were no longer their team mate... their friend.

But you're still here so that's fine... right?

Word Count: 1732

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[canirove]

Friends, lovers… and an orange | Chapter 13

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“They have a sex tape.”

“They have what?”

“A sex tape” Mason repeated.

“Yours?”

“Obviously” he laughed.

“I’m sorry, I… I… How? When?” Adele asked.

“Why don’t we sit down and I explain everything?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Ok” Mason said, taking a deep breath. “Where should I begin?”

“From the beginning?” she chuckled.

“Yes, of course. It was… it happened during my 21st birthday. I don’t know if you remember, but I was working in the US. I had spent some time in New York, and for my birthday I was in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, I do. I remember seeing all the photos on Instagram while laying on my couch feeling like shit because of a cold. You sent me chocolate macaroons to make me feel better.”

“I wish I had been taking care of you and eating them instead of… Anyway” he sighed. “My friends threw a big party to celebrate because 21 is a big number in the US since you are finally allowed to legally drink and all that, and they invited many people, most of them girls. By the end of the night I was very drunk, and I’m pretty sure I had hooked up with a few girls already. But then, I saw her. She was stunning, and when she came to talk to me, I just couldn’t say no. She was… hypnotizing. Hypnotizing and a bitch” Mason chuckled. “Instead of going to one of the rooms of the house where we were throwing the party, she took me to her hotel room. I think she said she was visiting from Florida, I can’t remember. And then… well, you can imagine what we did. When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. She had only left a note behind saying that I should pay for her room before leaving if I didn't want to get in trouble.”

“Oh, how nice.”

“Yeah… A couple of weeks later, my agency called me. Someone was trying to sell some compromising photos from my birthday. They were just me being very drunk, nothing that you hadn’t seen before, but I had just gotten my first big contract, was starting to make a name for myself and being recognized because of me and not because I was Toni Mount’s son, and they didn’t want them to jeopardize everything we had been working so hard for.”

“Look at them being nice for once…” Adele said. “How did they get the video?”

“Whoever was trying to sell the photos wasn’t happy that we had managed to stop them, so they tried with something more juicy. My agency had to ask for many favours and pay a good amount of money to stop the press from publishing it.”

“That juicy is it? Wait, sorry, I…” Adele said, feeling her cheeks burning.

“You can see me completely naked while she gives me… and then she…”

“I can imagine, there is no need to get into details” she interrupted him, her face about to burst into flames. “So your agency paid for the video?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know who was trying to sell it? Was it her?”

“It was her, that bitch had planned it all. Somehow she had found out that there would be famous people at the party and went looking for a victim who would allow her to earn some easy money and maybe become famous. When she took me to the hotel, the camera was already there, ready to film everything we were about to do. I was so stupid…”

“Mason, it wasn’t your fault. How could you have known it was all a trap? Besides, you were drunk. You are lucky you remember all the details you do.”

“I know but… Anyway. That’s what my agency has against me. They say I owe them. Big time. And if I don’t do as they ask, they will release that video and the photos and end my career.”

“That’s blackmail, Mason. You could report that to the police.”

“And the moment they find out, they will release the video and everything will be over” he sighed, letting himself fall on the bed. 

“You don’t know that, Mase. People these days are very aware of what a video like that means. It is a violation of your intimacy. I’m sure your fans would do everything in their power so it doesn’t get shared everywhere, it has happened before. You are so lucky you are a man…”

“But what about the brands I work with? About the designers? What will they think?”

“If a sex tape makes them stop working with you when they keep doing it with people who have done worse, it probably is for the best” Adele shrugged.

“And you? What about you?” Mason asked, sitting up again. 

“What about me?”

“What do you think about me?”

“Can I be completely honest?”

“Please” he said.

“I think you are an idiot.”

“What?”

“Not because of the video. Again, that isn’t your fault, you are the victim here. Double victim if we add what your agency is doing. You are an idiot because you thought I would look at you differently or stop caring about you because of it.”

“But Addie… It’s a sex tape.”

“And?” she laughed. 

“Aren't you like… shocked? Scandalized? Outraged?"

"The only thing I am is angry at that bitch and at your agency. She used you and filmed you without your consent, and they are blackmailing you."

"So if I had known she was filming and had agreed to it… you would not mind?"

“Can I confess something?” Adele said, biting her lower lip.

“It can’t be worse than what I just confessed” he chuckled.

“Remember Ben, my last ex?”

“I do. Why?”

“Well… We liked to take photos or film ourselves from time to time to spice things up.”

“Adele Antonia Turlington!” Mason laughed. 

“You can’t tell anyone. Anyone, you hear me?”

“I won’t, I won’t. But wow. I didn’t expect that from you” he chuckled.

“I’m full of surprises“ she smiled, still not believing she had confessed something like that to Mason. “And here is another one… I will walk that red carpet with you.”

“Wait, what? Are you sure?”

“No, not really. But until we find a way to get rid of your agency, I’m gonna do everything in my power to help you and protect you. And if that means posing in front of a bunch of photographers, then so be it.”

“Addie, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“A thank you will be enough for now.”

“Ok, thank you” he smiled. And this time, it was one of his smiles, one of those that was all dimples. “I love you, Addie.”

“I love you too, Mase” she said as she hugged him, trying not to think too much about the three words they had just said to each other.

[bookishtheaterlover7]

Random anon here, we’ll to those who are mad at Chris, let me ask you all, what should he have done?

It’s easy to say not gotten into This mess, duh, but he’s in it and deep in it.

It’s easy on the outside looking in to say just leave but umm like the marketing anon stated….it’s a business and one thing you don’t fuck with is people’s money especially those with more power and influence than you.

See I’m not making any excuses for Chris but I see people ragging on him but never stopping to realize we don’t have the full scope of this, huge missing pieces are left out and many are inserting their opinions and speculation as facts.

Be mad sure, but had Chris said no who’s to say this man wouldn’t have ended up blacklisted, lost everything he’s worked for etc. also he’s human and the pandemic scared at lot of people, even Scott stated Chris was worried about money during a podcast in 2020, Scott laughed but I never forgot that. Pr is easy money I’m sure. Things start out looking simple and then go left, again it’s easy to say well he would have said no, at least he’d had his integrity and morals, okay…..but if he ends up on a where are they now and homeless, severe drug addiction or mental issues due to losing everything then what.

My point is we don’t know shit and it’s easy to act like we do. Chris isn’t an idiot so I assume there’s more to this and he’s stuck because no way in hell things would be playing out the way they have nor would he be looking like a shell of his former self if he had power to end this or if this were real.

He’s human, be mad but don’t act like you haven’t ever fucked up in life either. I hate the high and mighty bullshit posts from people over shit you have no knowledge of.

Hollywood is a fucked up place and let me drop a bomb on you all, majority of the shit people sit online discussing is purposely created to keep people engaged from random headlines to bs from tv shows, news stories, movies, celeb drama, we’re all entangled in the web.

Example: Marketing is creating a story about two celebs fighting or dating and in reality the celebs never met but the rumor is now out there and they test to see the reactions.

Many feel Chris image is fake due to this mess but was it? I’m sure he would have revealed himself years before this mess if this was who he truly is.

Use your brains people, don’t fall for bullshit and don’t waste time fussing and cursing Chris everyday because you think this is some simple PR stunt he chose to do or that he’s actually with her.

Truth always come to light so don’t take anything personal and sit back and just watch until it all explodes. Lies can only last so long. 💅

An🫶n, you make an excellent point. And I wholeheartedly agree with you.

Chris may be a celebrity, but he's also a guy who needs to keep money flowing in order to live.

A big possibility, purely speculation, but the PR contract must have been tied to a lot of money. Money that post pandemic, he definitely needs. So, he's selling this, failing, but selling to get the check. And as shallow as that is, he definitely needs the money like any other grown up with bills.

So, let's cut Chris a little slack. And let's not wish him harm, because I heard from the grapevine that someone in the Fandom has wished him harm.

Not naming names. But that's fucked up, and you're no better than the people on the other side, whoever you are.

As for the fans that only want the best for Chris, let's ride the waves, hang in there, and continue to call 'em out! Or ignore certain tantrum-like antics. Whatever the occasion calls for 😌

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Chapter 10

Cw: mentions of sex (duh) period typical misogyny, some racism and technically a curse

Tag list: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @call-sign-shark

Easter 1923

Ever since he was a kid, Jack’s dreamed of owning the world.

His apartment had been good, modern and spacious and perfect for a bachelor. When his ambition decided he needed a wife to complete his success, he looked for a perfect starter house.

One that would be seen as the beginning of his rise, one that would become the steppingstone for his future.

He’d carried Eva over the threshold just as he’d done when he took her to the townhouse he shared with Carrie for Gina’s sake. He had fucked her in every surface of the house, built a marriage that would have everyone doubt this had been an arrangement made in the span of a week.

Their current home was great, perfect for a growing family with a long veranda for the children, a garage that was every middle-class car aficionado’s dream and yet it won’t be long before they leave it too.

Jack never dreams small; he hadn’t known exactly what this dream home would be until he saw Rockwood Hall.

J.D. Rockefeller had made the second largest mansion in all of America, so grand that his own descendants had to sell it after his death. So grand only the Rileys could afford it now that they gained government contracts through his connections.

“We should get one of these.” He says as he takes Rosie in his arms and the boys run off to play with the other children.

Little Jack turns back long enough to hug his mother goodbye and Little Joey is already yelling at the boys he met at the last family gathering. They gather with her family for the big holidays after that fiasco during the first thanksgiving when the twins were born.

They’d spend Easter here, the 4th of July at home, come here for September 16th before the boys start their first day of school –of which he’s taking the day off work because Eva said so--- and miss Florida because Eva was due in November.

Katherine Drusilla Nelson, Duchess of Devonshire and conceived in the most coveted bed in the world on Valentine’s Day. Named for his late elder sister who died of consumption along with Gina and their mother, and for Eva’s aunt, the formidable Olivia Drusilla Riley de Souza.

Livia doesn’t like him, told him to his face and repeated it that first Thanksgiving they hosted in 1919. Thought he was beneath them and unworthy of her favorite niece. But she practically raised Eva because her mother got the baby blues and so he put up with her…enough to have her share his daughter’s name.

“I like the one we rented in Hyannis Port for July 4th last year, Malcom Cottage, was it? Although I am partial to the villa in Florida.” Eva mentions acting as if they had to choose between one. She grew up in several houses, always moving about with the parents or relatives caring for her when she wasn’t in school.

“Why settle for one, when we can have it all?” It’s like when she asked if they could keep the tradition of middle names for their children because the two of them also had middle names, she didn’t even need to ask to know the answer is always yes.

Besides his witch of a wife has never been wrong before, never will be if you ask him.

“About fucking time, I hate telling people you live in the suburbs, that’s so middle class.” Gina said making her dear uncle reprimand her for swearing in front of the children.

“Language, Gina.”

While Rosie struggled with talking, she’d picked up swearing with ease. She learned to say shit from hearing Jack hurt himself in the garage one fucking time.

Their sweet little angel smiled impishly and muttered the word ‘fuck’ as she bit the gold crucifix they got her for Easter.

Well, they were never gonna make angels anyways.

Family gatherings were fine, for the most part. Sure, her aunt would make backhanded remarks towards Jack in her face, while also outright insulting him outright the moment her back was turned, it went well mostly.

It wasn’t because he was American, new money nor a gangster. It was simply because he wasn’t Cornelius Vanderbilt IV, the man Livia had picked out for her like he was a new dress she’d gifted her.

Vanderbilt seemed nice, but he was rather boring. Well, boring in comparison to Jack who then had desecrated a confessional with her and boldly taken her to his place where they planned their future after he made her scream herself hoarse in pleasure.

Had Jack not been so good in bed ---and out of it--- maybe Eva would have been Mrs. Vanderbilt and kept the rebellious Vanderbilt heir from being bankrupt and disinherited from his family.

“I just don’t see what you see in him.” Livia looked at the man as if he were something the cat dragged in as he roughhoused with the boys in the garden. “He’s too full of himself, he has no class, he’s too hairy, his features all look like his face is too big to hold them, what did he have that Cornelius didn’t besides a business degree and a gang?”

Eva always gets this question and she’d just shrug and answer with something equal parts vulgar and the usual ‘I don’t really know’, this time she says the one thing that matters to someone who married for money and influence. “Because he will take us places we never even reached in Mexico, and that sweet little boy named after his father, will be the youngest president this country will have.”

Her aunt is impressed, she had been disappointed thinking Eva was like her mother who married because she saw true love with her father even if he had nothing but a stolen watch to his name.

Eva was not like her mother, she could never be happy with a man who didn’t want more, Jack had ambition and lucky for her, would only ever be hers.

“I suppose I can see something about him now. If he is taking us further than we ever could’ve done at home, I could even call him my nephew. After all people marry into our family, they never marry out of here.” Her red-haired aunt changed her tune exactly like the witch had known it would happen.

Jack is wary of Livia’s sudden acceptance for the rest of the day, utterly stumped at why she’d stop being such a bitch to him. But he enjoys it, loves pushing her buttons to see how long this kindness lasts.

“What did you tell her when you were out on the balcony with her?” he asks when they are finally alone in their luxurious suite complete with a nursery. The boys were having a sleepover with her cousin Francisco’s son across the wing and Rosie had claimed the princess bed in her own room.

Last time they were here, the Nelsons hadn’t been able to enjoy the bed as they had hoped and now wanted to make up for it. And they had since they put the children to bed.

“She asked why I chose you that day and I answered honestly for once.” Eva answered teasing him, toying with the curly hairs on his chest knowing he would guess wrong.

“You told your aunt we defiled a church for our first date?” he asks, taken aback by it. Everyone knew they had obviously fucked while on the maybe ten dates they had. Once they’d been so insatiable for each other they’d snuck off at dinner to fuck in a broom closet.

“God, no, she would’ve killed the two of us.” Eva shook her head. “I told her little Jack Nelson Junior’s going to be president of the united fucking states of America. If she still doesn’t like you after that, Junior might remember it when he’s living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Threatening your auntie for me, Evie. How sweet of you. You deserve a reward.” He is so proud of her and touched by what she did that he adds a spontaneous, “I love you.”

He is not fond of saying it in public, but oh he is as sweet as honey the moment the doors close. Usually, it is her who says it first these days.

“I love you too.” Eva kissed him hoping to show her love in a much more passionate way, but the second Jack gently moved her underneath him they hear Gina’s girlish scream followed by crying and slurs from the blonde girl’s own mouth.

“I told you we shouldn’t have brought her.” Jack groaned and both rushed to find their clothes. “I’m putting her on the next train to Manhattan, let her mother deal with her for the rest of Easter.”

It is uncharitable to say, but if one of the girls hit nineteen-year-old Gina, she likely deserved it. Her time at university had actually made her worse, the only people to blame are the sorority she joined and herself. Unfortunately, she was expelled for her shitty behavior and won’t be going back next week.

They are in New York when they see Shelby again.

He is here to ensure the custody of his son whom the world will believe was Clive’s because Grace wanted to keep her dignity. Jack was here for business matters relating to the will since little Charlie would inherit a portion of Jack’s companies.

“She is cursed, you know.” Eva speaks quietly in rromani so Grace nor Jack know what is being said as she tries to argue for her son’s inheritance. “Even my husband can smell the death on her skin like perfume.”

“If I don’t marry her my son will not be mine.” He admits. There was regret in his voice, a look that said that the Grace he loved was not the woman he is getting to know.

The real Grace wants to be accepted by the class that hates people like Eva, Tommy and even Jack. The real Grace feels no guilt because her happiness is what comes first always. The real Grace is not the persona she crafted in 1919 to get his attention.

But it was too late now.

“She won’t live to see his third birthday, if you marry her, you will go mad with her death knowing Polly Gray’s curse came true because of you.” The witch warns him, as much as she hates Grace for breathing she doesn’t want the blonde dead.

“Your husband wants her gone from America even if it kills her.” he points out.

Jack wants her dead for what she did to Clive, for what she did to their IRA contacts and because she is just as phony as the rest of her ilk.

“If a woman drove your friend to suicide for a man in love with a mirage of her, you would hate her too.” Eva replied honestly making Shelby wince.

“You witches think you know everything, don’t you?” he deflects thinking he can fool her like he fools Grace.

“That’s because we do. Come February of next year and you will be burying her as Mrs. Shelby and yourself as the fool who killed her. If you let her and the boy go, she will hate you but live to raise her son and see her grandchildren. Do you love her enough to let her go once and for all?”

Grace leaves the lawyer’s offices with the threat of having Charlie MacMillan’s true paternity exposed on every tabloid here and across the pond if she marries Tommy Shelby because even Jack doesn’t want her blood on his hands. She can have respectability and life, or death and infamy attached to the Caron and Burgess names the second she becomes Mrs. Shelby.

And yet that same summer they receive an invitation from Grace for their wedding in January of 1924 at Arrow House, the estate she doesn’t know he bought with May in mind. Her family will not even stick around for the funeral out of the shame she brought them.

In the end, Grace dies because she refused to move on from Thomas Shelby no matter how hard he tried to drive her away.

[bejoomi]

dead calm

–––– LATE MAY, 2023

after next gen, returning to band practice feels odd.

here he is, fresh off a survival show, lasting until the finale but ultimately avoiding one of those sought after contracts. most of the competition, he couldn’t wait to get back to his band and performing rock music on the stages he was used to. no more dancing. more time to write music. back on his keyboard every weekend. the dream.

actually returning is sort of a reality check, because he is reminded that the lead singer of eat schmidt is a piece of shit and it’s not really his band at all. he’s just a guest here. replaceable. the guy that writes the music and stands in the back on the instrument that the band doesn’t really even need. 

he is, ultimately, nothing to eat schmidt. that used to come as a relief. somehow, it doesn’t anymore. somehow, he doesn’t have the patience to grin and bear it in the name of writing and playing music in peace.

the first thing jaebeom, the lead singer, says to him during his first practice back is “have any new tunes for us, jung? or have you been too busy with pretty princess dance class?”

joomi clenches his jaw. “yeah, the latter,” he replies flatly.  he wants to ask them what they’ve been doing without him, but he doesn’t want to be rude, or to make it sound like he thinks too highly of himself. he doesn’t think he’s that important to the band...does he?

they play through a few songs, and when joomi focuses on the music itself, it comes as a comfort. his fingers skirt over familiar keys, into familiar patterns, and it’s like nothing has changed.

except a lot has. 

“oh yeah, joomi, we have a new song since you left,” jaebeom informs him after they play through a few of the usual.

that’s interesting. joomi wonders where that came from, but chooses not to ask that. he really doesn’t want any trouble. he just wants to play music, so he says, “yeah? do you have sheet music? i can probably learn it pretty fast.”

“no,” jaebeom answers. “it doesn’t have a keyboard part. we’ve been playing it without you, but we figured if we played it for you you could probably figure one out.”

joomi pauses for a moment. he isn’t sure how he feels about that. actually, no, it’s fine. of course they needed songs to play without him. the others are probably smart and musically inclined enough to work around joomi’s absence with their older songs, but if they want to play new stuff, of course they wouldn’t write anything with joomi in mind. that makes sense.

the more he thinks about it, though, the less it makes sense. he wrote all of eat schmidt’s songs, and he is now the most famous member of the band, objectively, thanks to next gen. they didn’t even really leave a space open for him on their new songs when he returned. sure, he could write that off as all of them being stupid, but if they could put a new song together without him...they could surely put together a piano part.

he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, though. he just wants to play music. “sure. let’s hear the new song, then,” he says with a nod instead of voicing any of his thoughts.

they do play the song, and joomi doesn’t know why he had any hope whatsoever of it being a decent song. it’s a hot mess. well, maybe it’s not that much of a mess, he’s just pretty sure a middle schooler with any experience with music theory could write it. the lyrics are stupid, so joomi automatically knows they’re jaebeom’s.

everyone looks to him expectantly, and joomi bites the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what approach to take. he knows they don’t actually want his opinion. they just want him to shut up and write a piano part, and churn out some more songs for them while maybe, begrudgingly, actually giving him credit for them since anyone that watched next gen knows he writes songs now.

“it sucks,” joomi says at last.

“what?” jaebeom replies with narrowed eyes.

“the song sucks. there’s no musical complexity whatsoever. it’s the blandest shit i’ve heard in my entire time in seoul. you use the same three notes the entire song, and the lyrics–– pretty sure my neighbor’s ten year old could write something better.” he says it all straight-faced, emotionlessly. 

“what?” jaebeom says once again, expression now twisting with rage, and he stalks over to joomi, who for once, doesn’t budge, even as the lead singer glowers over him.

“you heard me.”

“i know you aren’t talking to me like that.”

“and what gives you the right to talk to me like you have for the past fucking–– two years?” he can’t believe he put up with this for two years.

“that kpop show got to your head,” jaebeom spits.

“maybe it did. i think it woke me up, actually. did you know a bunch of people messaged me and told me i’m a better singer than you after they heard me on next gen?”

“you––” jaebeom lunges toward him, but their guitarist grabs him and holds him back before he actually lays a hand on joomi.

“get out!” jaebeom yells at the top of his lungs.

“jaebeom––” their bassist says, like he’s about to try to talk sense into him.

“nice. i was just about to quit, actually,” joomi replies calmly, and starts packing up his stuff.

“what are you going to do without us?” their guitarist asks, and joomi pauses, looking at the rest of the band. that’s a good question, actually, but there’s something he’s been wanting to try for a while, and if he’s out of a band...now’s as good a time as any, right?

“i’m going to start my own band.”

“you have gotta be fucking kidding me,” jaebeom half laughs, half scoffs.

“what are you guys going to do without me?” joomi returns with a raised eyebrow.

the room is silent for a few moments, before their drummer speaks up, a rarity: “i’m not gonna do anything without you, man. i quit too. i hate it here.” 

joomi almost laughs, especially when he sees the look of absolute shock on jaebeom’s face.

“you can’t––” he sputters.

“yeah, we can, actually. best wishes, guys,” joomi says, sarcasm thick in his voice as he finishes packing up. he mouths “call me,” to their drummer, and starts seeing himself out.

“don’t think you’ll get to perform any of our songs in that new band,” jaebeom calls.

“they’re my songs, actually, but you can keep them. they’re gonna sound like shit now anyway.” 

“fuck you!” jaebeom practically screams as joomi leaves and closes the door behind him.

he pauses outside and takes a deep breath, then can’t help but smile to himself. that felt good. hopefully he doesn’t regret it.

–– JUNE, 2023

eat schmidt’s drummer does end up calling him, and they strategize on the phone for a while, mostly boiling down to joomi talking and the drummer saying yeah man, that sounds good, i’m not really good at planning or anything so i’ll leave it to you. he does suggest some musicians he knows that might be worth asking to join the band, though, and joomi figures it’s as good a place to start as any.

he has a few people in mind too.

he already knows most of the people he asks can play well, so they don’t hold any formal auditions. anyone he hasn’t heard play himself, he does casually ask if he can hear them play. joomi isn’t really here to turn anyone down, though. he doesn’t care about having the best band ever. he just wants to play music and have fun with people that don’t suck. that’s the main goal. he thinks if he fosters that kind of environment, it’ll be a good place for people to grow and improve, too. 

when he actually has a whole band together for their first rehearsal, it’s surreal. he, of course, already has some new songs written up, but he’s sure to let the others know their opinions and creativity are important–– that they’re welcome to write their own music and let him know, too, and that they can always work on stuff together. 

he also pitches the name he’s been thinking up all this time, with some reservations: dead calm. he wanted a name suitable of the edgy rock music he intended to play, with a personal touch. joomi has always been fascinated by the ocean, a big fan of the beach when he was back in busan; it’s about the only thing he misses there. he started thinking of ocean terminology, and looked some up, jotted down some ideas, and dead calm ended up being his favorite. dead calm: no waves, no wind. water that is completely still. both peaceful and eerie. peaceful and eerie is kind of joomi’s ideal image.

the rest of the new band seems to like it, too. they all agree. dead calm it is.

[fauslayer]

Stinky and pizzano headcanons go crazy

OH BOY! im about to post images so uh rest under the cut

(x) (x)

the dev art of/about these two is really fucking good i must say.

i have a strange web of headcanons about their meeting and how they interact and about 80% of the gist is that stinky was doomed the second that they said "yeah hes the noisette function" and through a series of interconnected "wouldnt it be funny"s i see them as a kind of quirky mostly-noncommital(*) relationship with an incredibly rocky start. (*youll see)

stinky, Or Phil, since this was the before times, was originally hired for short term contract work on occasional odd jobs for PTV; he wasnt that aware or particularly fond of the network so he became a sort of Pizzano Favourite on virture of talking to him like a normal fucking person. the stuff pizzano asks for is weird and usually incredibly dangerous, but its a chance for him to actually strut his engineering legs and not just fix broken down cars all day. it was during this era that the nickname landed because im 100% convinced that pizzano fucked up his last name day one and called him stinky and never stopped. he hates it.

as jobs turn more frequent, he starts making visits to the studio itself, to do handyman work and maintenance on his pre-existing creations and some other gaggles of props and vehicles (and lots and lots of firearms??) lying around PTV. they strike up a familiar enough racket that pizzano suddenly invites him to join his actual staff, huge benefits and huge salary on top of still getting commission pay (the legality of his pay arrangement is dubious but literally nobody higher-up says no to the pizzano because hes an entertainment juggernaut, and also A Big Man With A Gun). he probably should have said no to this job, but the zeroes beckon him.

new position places him a lot closer to pizzano on the daily, which definitely starts to grate on him. hes loud, obnoxious, changes on a dime, gets stuck in moods from mere minutes to whole weeks, seems allergic to actually getting any proper work done, and is generally kind of a nuisance. the pay is nice, but he cannot deny some days he wants to like. grab that blue motherfucker and chunk him across a room until he stops bouncing. he didnt sign up to be a glorified secretary for some pastry baron lunatic.

the problem is because hes around pizzano a lot more than other workers, and pizzano has more inherent trust in him, stinky gets to see. some weird shit? some concerning shit. like nobody else is freaked out by how often this guy throws up? he just smashes himself into walls for fun? he doesnt even have windows in his room, for gods sake, is nobody else worried about this? but its also none of his business to tell, so he doesnt. the pizzano drags him to restaurants and moving showings and private parties and occasionally, embarrassingly onto the dance floor at a wrap party while intoxicated (lets hope i ever finish that wip). maybe pizzano just isnt great at having friends, stinky wonders, maybe he just exclusively has frenemies or something.

on pizzanos end, this is where the * and the noisette bit kick in a little harder. my biggest "wouldnt it be funny" was just like. what if instead of having the noisette proxy swooning over a relatively unaffected but still loving noise proxy just like a carbon copy of pizza tower it was. The Other Way Around. pizzanos really fucking bad at flirting; he just sorta treats stinky ""the same as he would anyone else"" (hes definitely treating him a little better but he has that irritating pizzano charm) and expects him to pick up on it. hes not mad if stinky DOESNT pick up on it, but pizzano is sure he will eventually! stinky does something nice for him after a bad day and he has to go back to his room and bury his head in his pillow and kick his legs behind him like a schoolgirl.

if anything happens to actually kick off a relationship between the two its probably happening while theyre both drunk at a party or something and pizzano is babbling about how much he enjoys stinkys company and stinky is like .oO{ a bear is fine } and they make some mutual bad decisions that they have to wake up and reflect on but both of them are honestly pretty okay with it. pizzano definitely loves stinky more than stinky loves him At First, but they steadily keep growing into something more comfortable as time goes on. i think sugary spire probably happens a bit before this event, rationally.

thanks for reading my manifesto

[lionessshychai]

Chapter 1: Fly to My Room

In the heart of Seoul, I booked a beautiful Air B&B house which seems like it once was a traditional Korean family home, apart from the extensive collection of ceramics and paintings that make it feel more like a boutique gallery. To me, it feels like a warm hug. The bustling Meyongdong neighborhood boasts a spectacular view of the famous Namsan Tower and is walkable to a random hole-in-the-wall café I ate at last time with "world-famous Jajangmyeon."  I'm always sure to book my lodging near the local best in food wherever I stay because I'm a self-proclaimed foodie and there's nothing like a good bowl of Bibimbap on a rainy afternoon to give you the feels for this city. Seoul is the type of place that sings you a pretty song and then in the same breath, blows cigarette smoke in your face. You can't blame her, she's been through some shit.

I slept like a baby fawn in a field of dew. The bed feels like a nest for little me, with buttery-soft cotton sheets that smell faintly of tea tree. Heavenly. There's a big, walnut-colored rattan light fixture above the bed that emits beautiful little amber twinkles of light all over the room. It's probably from Ikea, or it's hand-woven. It wouldn't surprise me, based on the gallery theme going on here, but it's mesmerizing and I stared at it till I passed out.

 I feel good here. Seoul does have something about it.  A soul of its own and being here for the second time already feels better than the last, but I tend to over-glorify shiny new things. I'm easily impressed with the aesthetic. Maybe I'm just a sucker for romanticism and still look for art in everything despite my work ethic and the forced realism I pour into everything in my life.. 

First things first, this rainy Tuesday morning-introductions and the first team meeting with the CEO of BigHit Music Productions, Mr. Bang Si-hyuk, and his entourage.  I'm excited this new contract has provided a living translator this time. Something that, for some reason, wasn't overseen by the good people at Hyundai, whom I worked with during my last trip.  They must have put too much faith in my skills. Needless to say, we spent most of our time using Google translate.  It was a mental drain, but they provided plenty of Soju and we all laughed our asses off waiting for that robotic voice to try to convey everything from emissions to emotions.  (It isn't good at either.)

  I haven't had a chance to stock the fridge at the rental house with anything yet, and I've only had a bag of "Nongshim Banana Kick '' crackers since the flight. I decided to get a bite somewhere on the way to the train. I pulled on my black Burberry trench coat and pop open my umbrella.  It's a slick-back ponytail kind of day in this humidity. There isn't enough Moroccan oil in the world for Springtime weather in South Korea. 

Pulling the door closed behind me, the security lock beeps and the hustle and bustle of the city is much apparent.  

A friendly face greets me on the sidewalk, an elderly man in a green bucket hat and rain slicker, whom I assume is the property manager here, fixing something on the front gate.

 I timidly blurt out my first Korean words of the day.

 "joh-eun achim-ieyo", "good morning".  It sounded like I spoke through a mouthful of oatmeal.  Jesus, I'm off to a great start already. 

The man looked over at me with a slight hesitation on his face, but politely greeted me in return, introducing himself.

 "I'm Park Min-Jun, owner." and it also sounds like he asks me if I'm the guest for the next two weeks.

 I bring out my translator app just in case, and prepare my response. 

 "eung, nae ileum-eun Maggie"- Yes my name is Maggie, and I bow. "naega geu jalileul jal dolbolge."- I'll take good care of the place.  

He bows in return and hands me the mail key from his pocket. In his best English, he explains that I may receive packages here if I wish and to use box 433 at the end of the path. I thank him, bow, and continue down Myeongdong Street, a little sheepishly.

You think your accent sounds so good when you practice on Duo Lingo but that little shithead owl won't critique you on the important stuff like how natural or awful your accent is. He will, however, jump up your ass you if you haven't opened the app for more than a day.

 “Lazy morning mouth," I say to myself, with a sigh.  “Caffeine.”

as I search Google for the nearest pit stop on my walking route to the train, my phone dings with an incoming text message.  It's Amy Sanchez, my manager.

Hey in Seoul! Rob wants you to make sure that you read through your contract thoroughly and make sure it’s translated well enough for you not to get thrown under the bus on any time constraints. Chloe Venza just came back from Hong Kong and the deal with Panasonic was terminated prematurely. They claimed breach of contract on her.  Something about a deadline which she knew nothing of.

Be careful. -Amy

Oof.  Sorry to hear that. I have my own translator this time, right? I think I’ll be good. I’m careful. Chloe didn’t even want that deal to begin with. Go figure.

I had a feeling. Just mind your manners.  You’ve been to Seoul before. You know it’s easy to get yourself dirty looks just for breathing wrong. 

It’s not as bad as you think, but yeah, I get what you mean. All good!

Good luck. -Amy

Amy gets nervous whenever Rob is pissed about something.  The trickle-down effect is real. I can’t blame her, but she does blow shit out of proportion all the time. 

I dropped by the first café I passed, a cute walk-up window beside a nail salon, and ordered a latte called an “Einspänner”, oddly enough. I had to Google that too. A German latte?  In Seoul? Apparently, it was hugely popular at this place, as suggested by the barista.

"It's the favorite," she told me. 

Who's favorite, I wonder. It’s actually damn delicious with vanilla cream foam on top that could have almost passed for ice cream.

After a few sips to energize me, I set out for the train stop to Yongsan with an earbud in one ear with some random podcast on social economics, and in the other ear, the busy town cacophony with a bouncing K-Pop song being pumped out of a very pink boutique. Pictures of various idols in all their glory beaming out from the racks outside, a girl dressed in a bandeau top, choker, and shorts with a glittery purple fringe skirt handing out flyers for what looks like a big spring sale. 

"hana gajyeoga chingu!"  Take one, friend! "It's a big sale today." 

 As she reaches out to hand me a flier and I nod to her, trying to grab the flier with both hands (in Korean culture, it's polite to receive anything anyone gives you with both hands.) I struggle, holding my latte and reach awkwardly toward the flier, giggling nervously and almost losing the damn latte in the process.  The shop girl holds both of her hands out in an attempt to stabilize anything I might drop and we both laugh hesitantly. 

"Gamsahabnida," thank you, I say.

We both bow and I glance past her at the rack of sparkling idol posters and photo cards.

  God, is everyone flawless in the world of K-Pop?, I thought to myself. Immaculate complexions, impeccable style. If they aren't 100% Photoshopped,  this makes me think about seriously upping my skincare routine. Now, I know a handful of K-pop songs just because Hana usually has them playing in the background at her place most of the time, but I couldn't name any of these beautiful faces staring back at me right now.

There’s one in particular who has purple hair.  He’s dressed in a white blazer, wearing small silver hoop earrings and a captivatingly gorgeous smile through full, glossy lips.  Oh, is he wearing contacts too? Blue or...purple? Wow. The dude legit seemed to be staring into very my fiber of being. Those eyes are absolutely killer. He's stunning.

 "Damn," I mutter under my breath. The skin on my arms prickled.  

My new shop bestie turned around to see what the hell I was ogling at and she went to pick up a few of the photocards for me to look at.  I laugh at myself, snapping out of my daze and it takes everything I have not to reach with both hands again. Instead, I clasp them together in a prayer-like plea around my coffee cup and take a few steps away.

"No, thank you. I...I appreciate it, though ''aniyo gwaenchanhseubnida..." She bows, and I bow.

  Flustered and per-usual clumsy, I lose my footing a little, but glance around and straighten up to find my bearings again, taking off for the train stop about 100 yards away. I felt the shop girl watching me for a few dozen yards. She's probably thinking I must have spiked my morning coffee.

As I find my seat on the train, my phone rings.  It's my translator, Ming-Hee. 

 "joh-eun achim-ieyo, Good morning, and welcome to Seoul, Maggie!  We look forward to your arrival.  The door code is 15338.  The East entrance with the big gold 'B' on the door. Check in with reception and I'll meet you on the 17th floor." 

 I quickly punch the code into my phone's keypad and return the greeting in first Korean, then English.

  "I'm on the train and will see you in about 20 minutes, Ming.  Thank you for the code!"  I politely replied.

"Yes, looking forward to your arrival," Ming replies flatly.  

 Settling in for the short ride, I thought of the K-Pop shop and something  Hana once said to me: "You gotta go find your 'bias' eventually." Apparently, 'Bias' is K-pop speak for your ultimate crush.  Girl’s crazy.  She always lectures me about how I put my work before everything else, even love... especially love. I've worked too hard for what's going on in my career to have some hype boy screw it up now.  I always tell Hana to lay off the K-Dramas. That stuff will give you high expectations, Delulu, and deep disappointment.

Hana will be pleased to know that on my first day back in Seoul, I coincidentally picked my first K-pop "bias", at least.   I have no idea what his name is or what group he's in, but he's got lilac purple hair and almost made me lose my Einspänner all over Meyongdong Street.

There are a few things that impress me about cityscapes, being how cold and lifeless they can seem to be, but there's an interesting non-linear quality to the skyline of Seoul. It's not uniform by any means.  Seoul appears mountainous from a distance. Most of the city is tucked and hugged by hills.  As the morning sun illuminates the landscape, a layer of fog envelopes a bridge stretching across the Han River, and flocks of white birds float and dive through the vapor. 

I reach my destination and it's a classic glass-paned cubed skyscraper with "BigHit" in big steel letters across the face of it. I make my way to the entrance with a gold 'B' as Ming-Hee instructed me and pull out my phone to punch in the door code. Success.

The foyer is wide open and sleek, well-lit, and modernly beautiful with lots of metal and wood accents, glass bubble chandeliers, and polished black marble floors. Walking toward the receiving desk, I spot two smartly dressed women chatting with coffee mugs in neatly manicured hands and the latest copy of Soompi magazine open to a page of a glossy spread of celebrity paparazzi photos. It looked to me as if they were fully engrossed in tea-spillage as they both looked up from the page to notice me, looking a bit annoyed. 

I greeted them both in Korean, bowed, and proceeded in English to explain who I was and that I had an appointment with their marketing team. I placed my Focus company badge on the marble surface of the countertop and smiled, hoping everything I said got across clearly. One woman in an indigo suit with long, sleek hair and sparkling blue crystal dangle earrings stepped in with confidence and appeared to understand what I was requesting. She smiled politely with a bow and took my I.D. to make a copy.

"Good morning, Miss Marsden, you're expected by Mr. Bang and his team on the 19th floor. Allow me to escort you. My name is Mina."  

 I bow again and reply gratefully, following her graceful heel clack to the elevators.  

Inside the elevator, there's some lofi jazz music playing softly and it feels like it's probably a chill rendition of a pop song.  It's like those ambient YouTube videos with the cute racoon in an orange hoodie and headphones that I usually put on in the background while I'm reading or studying.  

Mina turns to me and gives my outfit a lookover. Today, I put on a sleek, but not tight black pencil skirt, a soft cream Brochu cashmere sweater, and Versace slingback pumps complete with my favorite black Burberry trench, pearl and gold Elsa Peretti dangle earrings, and a slicked-back ponytail. Not bad, if I say so. If a Korean woman approves, I win today.  They don't fuck around with fashion in Seoul.

"Have you been having a good experience in Korea so far?" she asks.

  "It's been nice, so far. I just arrived last night and I'm excited to get to work on this project." I reply, somewhat formally.  Mina looks down at her feet, seemingly unenthused by my answer, and nods, turning a gold bracelet on her wrist that has a few charms dangling from it.

 "Your first time in Seoul?" She looks at me with a smile again and shifts her weight to the opposite foot.

 "No, it's my second time here, but it's good to be back again.  Seoul is a fascinating city." Mina nods again with arched eyebrows and a small laugh. 

"It is! I hope you enjoy your time here." As the elevator dings and opens to the 19th floor, Mina gestures for the opening and I step out. I catch her giving me a lookover as I exit and I smile politely as the doors of the elevator close behind me. 

I look left and right and see a woman standing near a water feature. She has short hair and gold-framed glasses dressed in a neat, black pantsuit holding a tablet in one hand and has a furrow in her brow.

 "Miss Marsden, I presume? I'm Ming-Hee and I'll be your assistant translator, also helping you with etiquette and such things while you're with us. I hope I can be helpful, and if you have any questions, please ask."  

Oh, my handler, I think to myself jokingly.  She seems tense and ready to get the show on the road. Ming-Hee gives the air of no-bullshit and all business sprinkled with some courtesy.

 I bow back and reply, "Thanks very much, may I call you Ming for short? 

"You may call me Ming or May, my Christian name.  Both are fine."  She replies shortly.

I nod to confirm.

Ming-hee smiles slightly and glances at the clock face over the elevator door.

 I didn't think I was running late. I wasn't supposed to be there for another ten minutes.

 Ming started down the hallway with a gesture to follow and picked up the pace as soon as I took a step.  Trailing Ming hurriedly, I notice my phone is vibrating inside my shoulder bag and take it out to see who's calling.  It's Hana.

Oh, shit, I think to myself.  I forgot she wanted me to call once I landed in Seoul, just to check in to hear that I landed safely, but I was so exhausted from the flight last night that I spaced out calling altogether.

Ming gives me a sideways glance, almost a warning that now isn't the best time to answer the call, so I quickly hit the ignore button and text a quick "I'm good, call you in about an hour... maybe." Send.

I think I must be vibing off of Ming's nervous energy and start to feel a little self-conscious, doubting myself.  A barrage of thoughts wash in like am I bringing to the table if not my charms and brainpower? I don't speak Korean, I'm still fairly fresh out of college and I just woke up in Seoul this morning, jet lag still hanging on tight. I suddenly think this may not be as chill as my last trip here dealing with the good people of Hyundai. I'm really letting this woman wreck my ego right now and I feel my heart pounding and breaths becoming quick.  Since middle school, I've had panic attacks and recently became friends with Zanny.  It's just been months since my last encounter with the anxiety demon. Why now?? 

Ming turns a corner and we're now standing in front of a couple of large double doors with burnished gold handles. I stop and think about the grounding exercises that my therapist taught me.  

Find five things around you to focus on. One thing you can see, something you can smell, one blue thing, one red thing, and something you can touch with your fingertips.

I look around quickly. I see various plants in gold urns, I can smell freshly brewed coffee, there's a long-tailed bluebird in an oil painting, and Ming's patent leather Dior bag is red. Finally, I touch the cashmere fringe on my sweater and roll it between my fingers. I take a deep breath and start to feel a little calmer. Breathe.

[wild-wombytch]

Events organized by workplaces for press and such are employees abuse. Literally zookeepers asking the monkeys to put a finger in their ass for tourists.

My mom was coerced in one and heavens that's so many layers of fucked up and pathetic from her workplace (she's cashier in a supermarket).

She initially didn't want to come there but was convinced to go because a female colleague is retiring and she thought it'd be something chill to wish her well. But nope.

The employers set a date for her first day off. ...ok, she thought she'd go for 30min to say her goodbye to her colleague.

But no. The boss then decided they'd have "atypical games" (an ableist "joke" about paralympic athletes being "r*tards". No reason other than the bosses are disturbingly comfortable being stupid and "lol we silly here". Reminder this is a big chain of supermarkets and work colleagues.). They decided to randomly make teams they had to name and make a "war cry" for.

...so that's already a lot to take in. Ok. So my mother was informed only the day before about it because she thought she had been blessed to avoid this bullshit but nope. Nobody told her and her "team" leader is some random dude she doesn't know (they have employees). According to their data online they had between 50 and 99 employees last time it was updated. She doesn't even know.

Now here come the fun part. They will do a "haka" (meaning some white people embarrassing themselves shitting on a tradition. A fine example of cultural appropriation where the use of the term isn't abusive). They are *summoned* at 9am (on the first day of holiday of my mother, let me remind you) to do this and be immortalised as racist morons with photographs. My mother also explicitly didn't consent to being photographed on her work contract, but who cares, right?

Then they are *summoned* again for a ~vErY iMpOrTaNt~ press interview at 7pm. And then they go for ~a wAlK~ (sure women going with strange men during nighttime. Best stressless activity) to see the marsh with protected biodiversity they destroyed to make an even bigger supermarket. Which my mother was opposed to but she has to say it's lovely all the time if she wants to keep her job. The work supervisor commented on the work app that he treats like Facebook, posting shitty and unfunny boomer memes at 3am qbout the walk : "don't abuse high heels ladies" lol misogyny funny.

Ah, and did I mention they talk about "girls" locker rooms and not women?

For the love of all that is holy, I want them to be sued to death and for all these men to have their computers checked. They're creeps and bullies harassing workers and especially women. And don't tell me about unions, they're fucking jokes here. The same people would be part of a union they make you pay for while shitting on your rights.

Anyway, I hate this, my mother is too kind. I used it work at this place and if it was still the case, I would have gone just to sabotage it and make the event as uncomfortable and embarrassing as it should be for anyone with a brain.

Legit I'm closer everyday of just shoving down my throat all of my drugs just to go bavk to work asap so she doesn't have to humiliate herself like that. This is degrading, intrusive and violating all boundaries. They act like BFF while treating employees like subhuman numbers. I don't know where I was going with that but just, I hate capitalism and corporations and also please, be kind to cashiers. They have a shitty job. That's also a great sneak peek at what it's like being a rich person having rich person dumbass hobbies. These men need to be shot.

[simplystevies]

contract

pairings || actor!bucky barnes x actress!f!reader

summary || trying to grow your career wasnt hard, but it wasn’t easy either, you took almost every chance you got.. almost every chance.

warnings || pov of both bucky & reader, not that much going on, just introductions.

word count || 2.1k

note || FIRST PART WOOO i’m excited to get into this series!! i hope you guys enjoy <3

series masterlist

you hated to think about it, but maybe if you didn’t sign the stupid papers, you wouldn’t be standing right here, waving at the hundreds of cameras, surrounded by some of your best friends. you owed everything to bucky and those stupid papers.

bucky’s first movie was an instant hit, his good looks and even better acting talent helped him quickly make a good name for himself in the horrifying world of hollywood. as he grew, he came to realise he would do anything to get out of the community, but almost everything about the world pulled him back in.

the attention he would get for merely leaving his house to buy a bottle of milk, or going out for some snacks filled up a certain void that he felt he needed for a long while. taking girls on dates was even better, usually he would take different girls out to get even more attention from paparazzi.

the more girls he brought out each week, the more attention he got, and he ate that shit up. bucky hated to admit it, but he was a massive attention whore and would do anything for people’s eyes to fall on him.

during interviews he liked to eye up the interviewer to stir a bit of controversy, especially if he was seen with the same girl a few times. he didn’t think women were just objects, but he would do anything to boost his name.

you were just starting out in the acting industry, you had done a few small parts in movies and had just landed your first side character role in a small movie. you took any job you could get. your agent was slightly pressuring, but only because he knew you had what it took.

your first big movie was a basic rom-com movie, but you were working relatively close to steve rogers, a massive name in the acting community. he was playing the love interest of the main character.

you met him once, when you got the role. he gave you a smile with a nod, you were sure he could tell you were scared so it was for reassurance. from what you could gather, in interviews, he seemed like a seriously sweet guy and you couldn’t wait to work closely with him.

after reading the script you had a few scenes with him, you hated to admit that you had a tiny little fangirl crush on him.. i mean who wouldn’t?

you were reading over the script.. again, for your next movie. even though you knew all the words by heart (having practised them millions of times with your agent, dave), you wanted to be sure you didn’t mess up on your first big job.

“y/n!” dave dragged out in a sing-song voice. you sighed, knowing already that when dave sang your name he either found a new place to eat, or had a risky proposition that could boost your job, or ruin it completely.

you closed the script and gave him a small smile. “yes, dave?” you asked, placing the script on the table. “i have a proposition.” he gave you a wide smile, showing all his teeth, even the gold one that usually hid behind his upper lip.

“again? what will i be risking this time?” you teased, walking towards him. dave shook his head and placed a large stack of papers in front of you. “a contract with one of the biggest actors in hollywood.” he brought his hands up in a squeal and started jumping around the office.

you failed to see his excitement, your mouth hung open. “did you already sign it?!” you almost yelled. dave stopped jumping around and straightened out his suit, which you told him to stop wearing multiple times.

“no, no i did not, the contract is there, and please please look over it asap.” dave nodded, leaving your room. you sighed and grabbed the oddly large book. ��NOT TO BE REVEALED TO THE PUBLIC’ was written in red across the first page.

“oh god.” you said to yourself as you flipped over the page. this was clearly going to be more serious than you thought it would be, you thought it was just going to be some big movie.

‘i, ____________, agree to publicly release a false relationship with james buchanan barnes.’ that sentence popped out to you almost immediately. it felt like you were in a dream, pinching your arm every few seconds because there was no way this was real.

you had to sign a contract to date bucky barnes? yesterday, you thought he didn’t know who you were, and now you find out that he’s been keeping tabs on you to see if you were a ‘good fit’ for his girlfriend.

your head was about to explode as you flipped over a few more pages. ‘public display of affection will be necessary, e.g. kissing, hugging and holding hands.’ you groaned loudly, you didn’t really want to sign away a few months of your life to one guy that would probably forget you after the contract was done.

after reading the entire contract, you chewed on your lip, a bad habit you picked up at an early age, and thought about it for a while. you contemplated the amount of business opportunities you’d get from just being seen with bucky.

you’ve seen countless previously unnamed women seen with bucky, with massive acting or modelling careers after they were pictured with him. bucky was the top person to go to if you want a good jumpstart to a career.

on the other hand, after reading too many books and watching too many shows you knew how this was going to end, with you catching feelings and being left crying to romance movies and throwing chocolates at the screen like elle woods in legally blonde.

this might’ve been what you needed to get a real career boost, but was the heartbreak really worth it all? what if you didn’t even fall for bucky and dated someone else in secret? bucky was definitely going to do the same thing.. right?

you placed the contract down and decided to sleep on it, maybe your dreams would tell you what to do.. well you hoped they would. it was surprising to you, because if someone told you this as a hypothetical, you would’ve said that you’d jump at the chance instantly but now that it's happening you want nothing to do with it.

it’s weird to think about, anyone would say that they’d jump at a chance to do anything, but when they’re facing the issue they’d back away. it was just like your situation right now. you knew that if you weren’t given this contract you’d tell anyone who asked that you’d take any chance to sleep with bucky.

as you brushed your teeth, you thought to yourself, were you really the type of girl that would be seen with bucky? you weren’t a model or anything, so why did he want you?

“there’s still no reply from y/n, we’re expecting a meeting the day after tomorrow, how’s that sound?” anya, bucky’s manager asked. bucky nodded, too busy scrolling through his instagram feed full of hot models. “bucky!” anya clapped her hands near his face. he jumped slightly and looked up at her.

even though he didn’t hear her, just from the look on her face, bucky could tell it was serious. “you never listen to anyone and you wonder why no one wants to work with you anymore james!” anya yelled, shaking her head. “i’m sorry, i’ll change, i swear.” bucky smirked.

“you’ve said that about sixty times in the past hour.” anya sighed, clearly fed up with bucky. bucky smiled and stood up. “oh but you love me.” he winked, sitting on the table in front of her. “meeting, two days, at ten a.m., you don’t show up and i’m dropping you.” anya threw the papers on the table before leaving.

bucky cleared his throat, sticking his tongue out at anya’s back. he picked up the pages and flicked through them. bucky had been stalking you on fake accounts he made on various different social medias.

he didn’t want to raise suspicion by following you on instagram and some of his fans finding out. he decided to take a chance with you and pulled out his phone again, searching your name up on instagram.

you popped up almost immediately. your account was full of pictures of you on set, one of you with tony stark, the owner of ‘the avengers agency’. it seemed like it was just a one time meeting, because of the way tony had his arm around your waist.

his finger hovered over the follow button but then he noticed that you posted on your story. he pressed on the icon, smiling slightly when he saw a picture of your cat in front of your tv screen.

you were watching the office, that seemed like a show you’d seriously be into. the cat was fluffy and white, with a purple collar around its neck. the cat was sleeping. the entire atmosphere of just the picture felt so warm and welcoming.

he cleared his throat and shut his phone, getting up and taking the papers with him, throwing them on anya’s desk. “see you in two days.” he mumbled, walking out of the door.

if bucky had to be honest, he hated the office and he hated anya. the threat of anya leaving him wasn’t a threat anymore, it was almost like a relief that she shared the same ideas as him.

he was approached by tony stark, he asked bucky if he wanted to join the avengers agency. bucky declined because he wanted to give anya a chance, she was the second best agent in the country.

bucky grew to realise why she was second and tony was first. anya was a total bitch and didn’t care about anything but numbers.

as you laid in bed, scrolling through bucky’s many pictures, you decided that if you didn’t take this risk, you’d regret it for the rest of your life and that would be a way bigger feeling than the possibility of heartbreak.

you don’t know until you try.. right? ‘hey dave! gonna sign that contract when do i need it for?’ you texted your agent. the bubble with three dots popped up almost immediately. ‘you have a meeting with bucky in two days.’ he replied.

the two days passed by really quick. but of course, you woke up late so you were rushing. rushing your hair, rushing your slight makeup so you didn’t look as tired as you actually were and rushing your outfit.

you made your way to the office, trying to be as quickly as you could be, not forgetting to stop for coffee on the way. you walked into the conference room, smiling at everyone and sitting down.

“thanks for showing up.” dave whispered through his smile. you rolled your eyes and looked at bucky, who was staring you down. for whatever reason you felt like you wanted to shrink and run away.

anya glared at you slightly before flipping the page of the contract. “okay, let’s get started, first of all, if you sign this contract, you’re signing six months to james barnes and your false relationship.” anya explained, going through the pages.

you gulped, looking between her and bucky, who wouldn’t take his eyes off you. “you will post james as often as possible on your social media account, and will show countless amounts of public affection.” anya continued.

everything felt a bit overwhelming as you came to realise that you would technically be signing yourself over to bucky completely. “you and bucky will be going to the same premiers, will hang out as often as possible etcetera etcetera.”

you nodded, biting your lip. your eyes caught bucky’s again, but this time it was different. he wasn’t staring at your body, he was staring at your eyes. anya’s voice eventually drowned out as everything slowed down.

bucky’s hand was holding his chin, covering his mouth slightly. he was watching you like you were stealing every expensive item in his house. “alright, that’s all settled, just sign there.” anya slid the page over to you.

you nodded and took a pen from dave, signing your name on the empty lines. you stood up to leave, smiling at bucky slightly. “see you later, darling.” bucky smirked, standing up. only now you realised how broad bucky was, how he could crush you in a millisecond.

bucky pulled you in a kissed your cheek before walking out of the conference room. “jesus.” dave shook his head, dragging you out of the conference room.

[babbimetal]

recent developments in the babymetalverse if you haven't been on twitter or if you're just on tumblr plus big rant towards the end

k**a did an interview with pmc recently about babymetal and the metalverse and what direction they would be going in(i'll talk more about it later on)

it was announced that k**ametal(NOT Key Kobayashi a.k.a his real name) would be appointed as director of kulture co., ltd, and a part of the statement said that babymetal would be the forefront of that by using nft blockchains in regards to the metalverse

a shareholders meeting was held at amuse and the bm fans who were there straight up said that they didn't want the metalverse thing and wanted live shows for babymetal, and were concerned that other amuse groups are planning live shows while babymetal had none; it seems that amuse or bm's management(p.s i'm assuming koba was not there) are aware that on social media people are asking for live shows, and that they would have plans for it. (a fan that attended also said that they got a glimpse of a new music video as well, but of course we don't know anything as of now.)

k**a's pmc interview was finally translated, and there was a specific part of that interview that pissed a lot of people(including me) off. if you want my opinion on it, it's on my twitter(same username as this one)

i'm just gonna add more of my thoughts. this man went from saying that live performances are essential to now doing nft crap that nobody cares about for some digitalization bullshit. this man was running the bm fandom DRY last year with the budokan shows and the fuckton of merch that dropped. now all of a sudden he acts like it never happened.

i find it very hard to believe that you can't find ANYBODY in a country of 125 MILLION people that you can re-hire for babymetal, while other amuse groups have been pushing out content or at least SOMETHING for the past two years. i have seen other groups go on tour this year and everything went okay. japan is slowly but surely opening up again for concerts and foreigners. (a group that i stan called seventeen recently had a fanmeeting in japan and it was PACKED)

you work for amuse, probably one of the biggest companies in japan!! they make a shit ton of money!! you have the resources right there??? USE THEM??

and also you just had live shows last fucking year?? do you remember the budokan shows?? with the incredible stage design, lighting and effects?? during the peak of the panfried chicken?? you had to have a team or somebody to make the black box, or other things regarding babymetal that came out literally TWO MONTHS AGO??? also no one is asking you to do an international tour?? just do something in japan??

i am so sick and tired of this man, and i have been for almost three years now. (i got back into bm in late 2019) this fandom is so sick and tired of you. you keep feeding us scraps. you keep making all of these stupid descions for no reason. we just want music! we just want su and moa!

and why are YOU the only one that is able to do out of character interviews? why are you the only one who is able to do appearances? you're so goddamn strict about your fucking lore when it comes to su and moa where they can't be seen out of character, and you and bm's managment or whoever the fuck probably dished out nda's to yui, the avengers, the chosen seven, the kami band, and every single person who has come in contact with bm so they can't mention them in the slightest, but when it comes to you it's radio silence?? aren't you also a part of lore?? how does that work?

yeah, you can make the arguement that su and moa don't want to do interviews or that it's in their contracts to have a social media ban but, isn't that so fucked? they can't post one tiny picture out of character because of some fuckass lore? they can't post anything in general? 'cuz i know moa probably doesn't want her face to be censored every time her friends hang out with her on social media. it's so stupid.

in conclusion, pls stop driving babymetal into the ground. if you can't manage babymetal anymore then just quit. it's so sad seeing babymetal reduced to just buisness and nfts instead of a functioning band that can interact with their fandom, because your an old dude who wants to do crypto or whatever.

and if any old dudes in this fandom want to make an argument about lore, lore and more lore, or "doing this and that messes up the lore," stop. i think this fandom is pass that by now. it's over. we just want babymetal to be a band. that's it.

[timextoxhajima]

hi dana.. if it’s possible can i request some angsty wangsty based on niki la la lost you with eric🥺 and ughh i really love your writing like crazyyyyy

♥ title: la la lost you in april [also part of @sunlightwoo ‘s 12 Months I Loved You collaboration project]

♥ member: tbz eric

♥ genre: f2l, ex! eric x fem! reader, model! eric [SFW!]

♥ warnings: swearing, some mentions of sex [like, once i think]

♥ wc: 3.4k

♥ a/n: sis when i first heard the song I absolutely loved how you used 'angsty wangsty' so I hope this one does it for you the way you imagined it <3 [fyi i wrote it in like, a camcorder recording audio format which is something i’m trying out so please hmu on whether it’s difficult to read/understand!]

[REC: APRIL 2, 2019 - 6:39PM] SOLO LOG #1

Are you seeing this? This is the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen. I gotta get a shot of this-

Hey! Hey! I could help you take a picture with the sunset if you want to!

Oh! Would- Would you? That’d be great!

Of course! 

...

Here. Is it alright?

Yeah, yeah, it’s cool! Thank you so much!

Are you recording something? Is it a- Are you vlogging? Are you a vlogger?

Yeah, no... I’m actually on a solo trip for a bit.

Oh, where are you from?

Just the next state. 

Ah! You’re taking a break off... life then? I assume? Sorry if that came out weird.

No! No no! It’s alright! Yeah, I just needed a short break from... y’know, school and everything. My semester ended pretty early on so I took the chance to come out here and... see some new sights, meet some new people.

I get that. Well, for a start, what’s your name?

Oh, I’m y/n. Nice to meet you! And you?

I’m Eric. 

[REC: APRIL 4, 2019 - 10:34PM] SOLO LOG #2

It is the 4th of April, 2019. I know, I know, I’m meant to do a daily vlog for all the 50 days I’m here but... it’s been... wow. Um... so I met Eric, the first day I touched down. The beach is just, about a 10 minute walk down and the sunsets are absolutely gorgeous. But uh... call me a fool and say that I’m living in the clouds but- what are the chances?

He’s funny, he’s such a great person to be around with y’know? Never a moment of like, awkwardness or stress and my God, look at me talking about a boy like that, though I met him 2 days ago. 

...

Um, he’s a freelance model. For those freelance shoots by UNIQLO or Target or something and he complains about the pay sometimes, but he looks good infront of a camera, so he’s... actually the one who won at life, really.

I’m not seeing him soon because he’s got a shoot out of town and he’ll be back next week. But I did get his number and he’s been texting me since. 

...

Wouldn’t it be funny if we end up together and then I have this whackass of a reel to show him? Jesus... I need to stop getting ahead of myself here. Freakin’ living in the clouds, aren’t I?

...

Anyway, I’m gonna go and see if I can get my weird projector shit up and working. See you.

[REC: APRIL 7, 2019 - 5:14AM] SOLO LOG #3

It is... 5am... uh, April 7th- and I was just binging FRIENDS through the night, waiting for the sunrise before I get some shut eye and then... Eric just asked me out. Oh my God! Um, he’s coming back this Thursday and I’ll go see him at the airport before we go get dinner.

It was really funny ‘cause he had to wake up early for a shoot today and so his day has just begun but mine’s coming to an end and I just- I’m rambling so much, it’s kinda- it’s kinda sad, isn’t it?

I think I’m too happy to sleep right now so I’m just gonna text him some more before the sun rises- oh! He replied!

...

Anyway, I’m gonna go and finish up this last episode before sleeping. Hopeful I can sleep. Bye!

[REC: APRIL 11, 2019 - 4:28PM] SOLO LOG #4

I am on my way out right now to go meet Eric at the airport, and I’m... it’d be an understatement to say that I’m excited. I know I’ve only known him for like, 2 days before he left but... I miss him. Is that possible? Missing someone despite knowing them for 2 days?

Anyway, I gotta go. Don’t wanna be late to see him.

[REC: APRIL 13, 2019 - 10:23AM] SOLO LOG #5

Oh! Is that what you had-

Yeah! It’s the same camera!

What are you vlogging for, actually? Like-

Nothing, really. It’s just for my own usage-

Wait, you didn’t like set that up last night while we-

Oh, God, no! Who do you think I am?

I don’t know, I mean, we’ve known each other for... is it two weeks-

Just under two weeks-

Jeez-

I know, I know, oh my God.

...

I don’t regret it though. Yeah, like- I don’t really go down to the beach that often in the first place and it just- it just so happened that you were there that day and I saw you struggling with this old thing-

I was not struggling!

Yeah you were!

I wasn’t-

I’m kidding! Gosh, you’re so cute.

...

Are you gonna have the camera recording while this carries on?

I forgot it was on-

One day we’re gonna accidentally make a sex tape-

Eric!

[REC: APRIL 17, 2019 - 1:15AM] SOLO LOG #6

-ould you pass me the hot water?

Mm? What?

The kettle over on the counter. Careful, it’s hot. Yeah, thanks.

Do you need help with-

It’s just instant noodles, sweet. Doubt I need a diploma for this. You’re recording again?

Yeah, does it bother you?

No, no, ‘course not. Though that means I can’t really do whatever I want to now.

What does that mea-

...

I can... still taste that bit of milk tea you had just now-

Could you tell it’s zero sugar?

I don’t think that matters, it’s still sweet and not great for your health to have that so much.

Aw, and yet you’re the one who suggested noodles at this timing, yeah?

You were hungry too!

...

Here, it’s done. Help me get the bowls? 

Did you even wash these?

Yeah, I did. If you don’t trust me, you can run them under the water for a bit.

Mhm. Here.

If it’s not enough, we can call for Macs.

Y’know, I’ve never had Macs past midnight back at home.

What? Really? Well, when you get back in May, would you try?

Yeah, why not? Maybe I’ll do that when I’m back in school. 

...

What date is it today?

April... hold on, um, 17. Careful, that’s hot.

...

When are you leaving again?

May 22. 

Are you planning on coming back anytime soon after?

I don’t know. I have school to worry about and the only other time I can come back’s probably during winter break in November.

...

I won’t be around in November.

Mm? Why not?

I’m moving.

To where?

I’m not sure yet, but I need to move depending on whether I get it and where the shoot’s at.

Shoot? It’s a big project, huh?

Yeah, it’s- it’s a pretty big deal.

...

I’ll- Let me just go and...

[REC: APRIL 20, 2019 - 7:49PM] SOLO LOG #7

-idn’t have to!

No, c’mon! It’s such a great time to get this on camera! Come on, tell us what just happened!

Well, I just scored a huge model contract with Calvin Klein - in Manhattan.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I’m so fucking proud of you, oh my God! Can you believe it-

No, fuck off, I can’t either! 

Oh! Calvin Klein!

...

I swear, you’re an angel sent to me-

Fuck off!

I’m serious! it’s so timely- I just can’t- I’m just so happy to have met you.

...

Well, you heard it first here, ladies and gentlemen. Eric Sohn is a new model for Calvin Klein - Manhattan.

[REC: APRIL 21, 2019 - 12:40PM] SOLO LOG #8

It is 12.40pm... April 21st, 2019. I’m finally back in my apartment after crashing at Eric’s for the last... 10 days? I think it was 10 days. My clothes were running out and I didn’t want to hike up his water bills so I just came back and- y’know did my own laundry.

...

Well, it’s- it’s been an absolute dream. The last thing I expected to... have, or meet? Here, is Eric. Um, but I know I’m probably going to regret this. Especially when May 22 comes. Uh... this is... it’s real bad. I mean, we’re great, y’know? But... it’s bad, because I know it’ll hurt. Like a bitch. When my time here is up, and I gotta go back to my reality, and Eric’s gotta stick to his. 

We haven’t really talked about it. May. I don’t think he wants to, and I don’t think I want to either. 50 days is too short. Either that, or I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. I shouldn’t have gone to the beach that day, in that hour. 

...

I just wish we had more time. I wish 24 hours were... maybe about 100 seconds more per minute. Does that make sense? 160 seconds per minute. Then again, I don’t think that’d solve my problem. I’ll still be on a ticking... time bomb. 

...

I know I shouldn’t say this. I know I can’t. I know I can’t afford to. But... I... I love him. I love Eric. With every... bit of me. It’s so... disgustingly cliché, but I feel so... comfortable with him. There’s really nothing we’d fight about, and even if we disagreed on something, we’d play it off like a debate, then forget about it the next day.

...

I love him. I do. And I’m going to regret this later. Without a doubt.

...

[REC: APRIL 27, 2019 - 2:02AM] SOLO LOG #9

-ou can see the stars?

I don’t know, that’s why I’m trying, sweet.

...

Can you see them?

Yeah, maybe if I just turn this ISO- Oh! I can kinda see the North Star-

Oh! Yeah, you can! It’s really feint though.

Right.

It’s okay, we can just lay it down here-

On the grass? Will your camera be fine?

Yeah, yeah, or else you can just put in on top of my bag- here.

...

Here, can you see me? Am I in frame?

Yeah, you’re in frame.

Okay, great. Now get over here!

...

I can taste the smoothie you had just now.

Too sweet?

A little.

...

Oh my God! Put me down! Oh- not there! It’s ticklish- AHHHHH!

...

y/n, I have something to tell you.

Mm? What is it?

...

Hello? Earth to Eric?

I... I love you. So much... and I can’t bear to see you go in May. 

Oh, Eric...

No, I- I don’t want you to stay- or even think about it, ‘cause, you have your priorities and I have mine y’know...

Mhm.

I just... I just wished we had more time. 

I do too. I really do.

...

Eric?

Hm?

I love you too.

...

...

...

[REC: MAY 1, 2019 - 4:23AM] SOLO LOG #10

1st May. 4...30? Am? I believe. Um, Eric’s sound asleep in his bed and I couldn’t sleep so I decided to do a log. 

...

I have... 3 weeks left. 4 weeks have gone past just like that, and I don’t know what to think about it. I came for a 50-day retreat. No stress, just myself and peace and quiet and tranquility and yet-

...

I- I don’t know if I can do this.

...

[REC: MAY 7, 2019 - 3:58PM] SOLO LOG #11

So, Eric’s in shoot right now and I’m on the way into the studio with some donuts and coffee to surprise him. I called his manager and asked if it was okay so- I’m pretty psyched to see his workspace. 

...

Hi, I’m y/n, I’m here to visit Eric?

Ah, okay! Hold on, let me just get you signed in with the pass-

Count me in!

You sure? This Saturday at the prep-party?

Yeah- Oh! 

Eric!

y/n! What are you doing here?

I wanted to surprise you. Am I... interrupting anything?

Oh, not at all!

You must be y/n! Eric’s told me so much about you!

Did he? And you are...?

I’m Chelsea! I’ve been attached to the same Calvin Klein contract he recently got, so you could say we’re colleagues!

Well, nice to meet you! Oh, right, these donuts and coffee are meant for you guys actually!

Oh! You’re too kind! Eric, you’re such a lucky man.

I know, she’s just... everything.

Anyway, thank you so much for these. I’ll bring them back down to the studio for the crew to share. But Eric’s pretty much done for the day actually, so you guys can leave if you want to!

Are you sure? Don’t you need help downstairs with the equipment?

No, no! It’s fine, there’re more than enough people downstairs. Go have your date, and maybe you can bring her along with you for the prep-party this weekend!

What’s the prep-party... preparing for?

Oh, you’re so adorable! It’s a prep-party for the end-of-May shoot we’re gonna have. it’s a collab with DAZED so it’s a pretty big project.

You never told me you were involved in a collab with DAZED.

I was gonna tell you today.

He has been pretty busy recently, maybe slipped his mind. Anyway, thank you so much for the donuts and I’ll hope to see you at the pier this Saturday, mm?

Yeah, sure. Thanks Chels.

No problem! It was so nice to meet you, y/n, I’ll see you Saturday!

Okay, bye!

Bye, Chelsea! It was nice to meet you!

Bye!

...

Sweet, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?

I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you said you’d end pretty late?

The filming was cut short because the shots were better than expected so we ended early.

Oh, I wanted to film you while you were at work.

You have that on?

Yeah- why?

No, just wondering. 

Are you uncomfortable?

No, no, it’s just... I really didn’t expect you to come to the studio. 

...

[REC: MAY 11, 2019 - 11:12PM] SOLO LOG #12

It’s 11:12pm, 11th May, 2019. 11 days to departure.

...

I... saw... Chelsea and Eric... um, out by the garage- 

...

Well, I guess... it looked like they were just... having a really good talk. Or something. 

...

I left. I couldn’t watch it. So, I left without telling Eric. I did tell his boss that I wasn’t feeling well and I had to leave first. 

...

I guess this is the part where I regret it, isn’t it? Um... I don’t know... how... I’m gonna explain this to him when I see him again. Which is supposed to be- um- the rest of the night. I was supposed to go back to his place with him and I’ll stay for the weekend before I come back to pack my things, so-

...

y/n, are you home?

...

shit.

y/n, I know you’re home. I heard you talking. Open the door, I need to talk to you.

...

[REC: MAY 12, 2019 - 2:00AM] SOLO LOG #13

...

I look like shit, don’t I? God, my eyes hurt like a bitch. 

...

I don’t think I need to say what just happened for you to guess what just happened, right? This... says it all. 

...

Fuck. 

...

I shouldn’t have come here. How did- How did my retreat turn out- turn out like this? 

...

This is- This is too much. Too much in too short... of a time. 

...

I don’t think... I don’t think I can do it. Not anymore. 

...

[REC: MAY 19, 2019 - 9:59AM] SOLO LOG #14

It’s May 19th, 2019, almost 10am. I just came back from a morning walk by the beach just to... reminisce a little before I leave on Wednesday. 

...

I... haven’t seen Eric since the prep-party. I blocked him and I told him not to come over, though I think he has, like, a few times. I thought I heard someone come up to my door, but he never knocked. 

...

So, this is how it ends, huh? A 50-day romance cut short like that. Into about, 40? 

...

It’s crazy to think that I had... the experience of a whole relationship in 40 days. I definitely did not sign up for that when I booked this 50-day retreat. 

...

It was fun while it lasted, though. It was. I don’t think I’d find anybody else like Eric, and I guess it just sucks that it had to end like that. Things happen, right? That aren’t... in our control. 

...

...

...

[REC: MAY 21, 2019 - 8:07PM] SOLO LOG #15

May 21st. About 8pm. I leave in about 15 hours. 

...

All my stuff’s packed. Definitely more things to bring home than I brought here. Half of these things were bought by Eric and given to me. I’m... actually not sure if I should bring them back. 

...

I don’t- I just don’t think I’d have the heart to throw them away.

...

Nor look at them when I’m home. 

...

Should I even bring this camera home? Maybe I should wipe your memory before I bring you home, hmm?

...

It feels like a dream, doesn’t it? Everything that’s happened. It feels like a fever dream. Maybe when I’m finally home, I’d wake up and it’d be the day I come here.

...

Maybe.

...

[REC: MAY 22, 2019 - 10:03AM] SOLO LOG #16

-ny more luggage?

Nope.

Alright then, I think you’re all set. You still have about an hour’s time before the gates are open so you can get a cup of coffee or something, yeah?

Okay, thank you!

Have a nice flight ma’am.

Thanks.

...

Good evening ma’am, can I check your boarding pass?

Yeah, sure.

...

Okay, you’re good to go. Have a safe flight.

Thank you!

...

[REC: MAY 22, 2019 - 11:34AM] SOLO LOG #17

It is about 11.30am and I’m on the flight, and here’s the view outside. Sky’s pretty clear and this thing says that the weather’s great so, it should be a smooth flight without turbulence.

...

This is it. This is really it. 

...

...

...

Um-

Hi, ma’am, I’m gonna need you to keep your camcorder.

Oh! Yeah, sure, sure, sorry!

[REC: APRIL 2, 2020 - 12:48AM] ERIC LOG #1

Wow, this is... weird. How did you do this last year?

...

Um, hi. y/n. If you’re watching this then I’ve somehow managed to get this synced into your camera by some weird... bluetooth, iCloud shit that Felix helped me figure out. 

...

It’s been a year. And... I just thought you should... see this, or hear me out, at least. I know we didn’t end on the best terms... and I’m sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you for being unreasonable for something that was... suspicious. I should’ve understood. 

...

I should’ve been there. To see you off. And I’m sorry I didn’t. I... was scared, that I wouldn’t be able to let you go if I went to send you off. I was a coward. I still am. 

...

But I do want you to know that... those 50 days were the best days of my life. Albeit it ended horribly, but nothing could... nothing- nothing will ever replace what happened last April. 

...

I said I love you and... I still do. Every day I think about you and your smile and your voice and- and I cry to sleep... worrying that I’d forget how you sound like, or how you laugh and how... how you smell like. My bed smelt like you even after you left. 

...

I just- I love you. And I miss you. And I’d do anything to go back to what we had. I’d do anything to get- to get you back. 

...

I’m sorry.

...

the clip comes to an automatic stop. the white triangle slapped onto the screen, begging you to play it again. you look up from the screen, watching the famous calvin klein ad that hasn’t stopped playing in the last month. 

he hasn’t changed one bit. not his hair, not his smile, not his voice. 

it’s a bittersweet pot of memory stashed in the back of your head when the memories flood back. looking back down at the camera, you count back the days - it was synced just last night. 

the pile of tissues by your thighs are carelessly huddled into the bin next to your feet, mentally berating yourself for going through the memory instead of formatting it. 

you stand, fingers shutting the screen back onto its body with a soft click. the tv blacks out when you press the red button on its remote. 

you’re halfway into your kitchen when there’s a knock at your door, and you immediately gasp, blinking rapidly.

“oh, it’s my fucking projector!”

rushing to the door, you don’t hesitate to get the door open. 

and yet, like the heavens were providing you with all the light to stop you from doubting yourself, your lungs empty themselves like vacuums. 

your heart stops.

your breathing stops.

“eric... what are you doing here?”

[babymetaldoll]

Baby Gubs (Matthew Gray Gubler / Reader)

Requested: Yes

"Matthew x reader, his wife (the reader) goes into labor, and the next story is the same thing but spencer Reid x reader."

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler is having a hard time putting his shit together when his wife goes into labor.

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler/Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: I curse. We all know it.

Word count: 1,3K

A/N: Here's the second part!! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

You can also read Baby Reid 

.

- "Ok! It's ok! Everything is ok!"- Matthew ran downstairs and left a bag next to the door. Then, he ran to the kitchen and came back, carrying a bottle of cold water.

- "What ar..."- his wife looked at him confused, sitting on a couch, trying not to laugh, as she caressed her big pregnant belly, trying to breathe each time she felt a contraction. It was time, their son was coming, and Matthew was... well, he was all over the place.

- "You might get thirsty.... oh shit! I have to stop for ice!!"- Gubler kept running all over the house, rambling, hysterical.

- "Matthew..."

- "The doctor said you might eat some ice. I don't remember why... but I have to get you ice."

- "Matthew..."

- "I don't know if I put everything in the bag...."

- "Gubs!!"- (Y/N) slowly stood up and walked to her husband, who was clearly freaking out- "The contractions started just half an hour ago. My water hasn't even..."

But the water that ran down her legs as she spoke stopped her immediately, and she just widened her eyes.

- "What the hell is that?!!"- and Matthew Gray Gubler freaked out even more- "Are you in pain??! are you ok?!"

- "I'm ok. This means my water just broke, but I'm fine. Your son will join us shortly, so I think it's the right time to go to the hospital."- (Y/N) said in the calmest and softest tone of voice she could. She could see her husband's face. He was panicking.

- "Ok, ok... let's go,"- he answered, but didn't move an inch- "I'm not feeling alright. I think I'm gonna puke."

(Y/N) smiled and offered him the bottle of water he had given her earlier.

- "Come on, Gubs, breathe, you can do this. You liked making the baby. You are gonna love this part too."

.

Matthew Gray Guber thought he was prepared for that day. He and (Y/N) got everything ready as the due date of their baby approached. They had their bags ready. They had weekly check-ups with their doctor, and the midwife (Y/N) wanted to deliver their baby.

Matthew was sure he was ready. But he wasn't. Not because he was scared to be a dad. He was born to be a father, and he couldn't wait to hold his son in his arms and play with him. Teach him how to walk, how to ride his bike, take him to Disney, and watch him grow up. He had so many plans for his family. But right that minute, all he felt was fear.

Fear of ruining everything. Fear of being the worst father. Fear of being a bad husband. Fear of letting his wife down.

Somehow, getting closer to fatherhood had also made him feel vulnerable. Aware of all of his mistakes and flaws.

.

- "Honey, are you ok?"- (Y/N) whispered and rubbed his leg sweetly as he drove to the hospital.

- "Yes, yes, I am. How are you, Bunny? how do you feel?"

- "We are ok. I'm texting your mom and my parents."

- "Great, awesome."- Matthew looked at the road and gripped the steering wheel tight. Too tight. His fingers were turning white.

- "Breath, honey."- (Y/N) smiled, thinking she never imagined her husband was going to be so nervous- "Everything will be ok."

- "I know. I know."- he didn't know. He wanted it to be ok, but he was freaking out. "What if." That was all that was in his mind.

- "But, what if I'm a bad father?- he confessed and sighed, defeated by his own fears- "I mean, you are already an amazing mom, look at you, keeping your shit together while I freak out"- his wife smiled and nodded

- "The only reason why I'm not freaking out is that you are here, and I know no matter what, you will always do your best to..."- but she couldn't continue talking. She held her breath and closed her eyes. It was getting harder.

- "Breath, Bunny. You are doing great. Just five more minutes, and we'll be there."

.

(Y/N) meant it. She was only keeping her shit together because Matthew was by her side. She was glad he was home when the contraction started, and her water broke. If he had been at work, she could have lost it. (Y/N) was scared of being alone during that whole process after her best friend had a severe complication at the delivery room and had an emergency c-section. Her baby nearly died, and (Y/N) was terrified something like it might happen to her too.

She was scared of everything that could go wrong, and the only person to make her feel safe was her husband, Matthew Gray Gubler, even when he was freaking out.

.

- "Ok, there's not much time,"- the midwife warned as soon as she checked up (Y/N)- "Honey, we are doing this right now."

- "What?!"- and (Y/N) freaked out- "I need the drugs! Please, give me the drugs! It hurts too much!"

Matthew's heart stopped. (Y/N) was crying in pain, as the midwife prepared everything as fast as she could, along with some nurses.

- "I'm sorry, Mrs. Gubler, but your son is ready to come, and we don't have any time."

- "I can keep him inside a little long, I swear, just... give me something! Please!"- (Y/N) cried in pain and fear.

- "You can do this, Bunny"- Matthew stood by her side, holding her hand and kissing it several times- "I'm here, I'm with you, ok?"

- "But, but..."

- "I know you are scared, I am scared too, but we are going through this together, ok?"

- "No human is coming out of you!!"- she cried and yelled in pain- "Shit!!"

- "Bunny, I would do this for you if I could, but I can't. So please"- Matthew leaned in and kissed her forehead- "Do you want me to call your mom?"

- "No!!"- she held onto his hand as tight as possible- "I want you! I need you!"

- "Ok, ok, then, breath, Bunny. I'm with you, always."

The adoration in Matthew's eyes was undeniable. He was staring at his wife with the deepest and purest love. He was scared, but if there was one thing he was sure about in his life, he wanted to have a family with (Y/N) and make her happy every day.

- "One more push Mrs. Gubler!"

The midwife announced, and soon, in the middle of a chaotic moment, with (Y/N) nearly yelling in pain and Matthew desperately cooing her, there was a cry. And it was a heart-stopping cry. Matthew looked at his son for the first time as the midwife carefully place him on his wife's chest. Gubler broke into tears immediately. He sobbed and laughed at the same time, kissing his wife's lips and staring at their baby in awe.

- "We made a human"- he whispered, and his wife nodded- "How are you feeling?"

- "Never been better"- she whispered and caressed carefully their baby's face- "Hello, baby Gubs."- Matthew chuckled at those words and wiped away the tears from his eyes.

- "Say hello to your daddy,"- (Y/N) muttered and handed the baby to her husband. He carried him as carefully as possible, feeling he was holding the most precious thing in the whole world.

- "Hello, Vincent, I'm your dad. I'm sorry, buddy, but you are stuck with me forever now. I'm not good at sports, but I swear I'm always going to be there to play. I can teach you magic, and we are watching all the Disney movies you want, always. And I promise I will always keep your mommy happy because she is the woman of our lives, and you are the only man on earth I could ever share her love with, ok?"

The baby was no longer crying and looked at his father with his tiny eyes for a moment before the midwife took him.

- "You are amazing,"- Matthew whispered and kissed (Y/N)'s forehead.

- "I wouldn't have done it without you"- she answered and looked at his eyes, still filled with tears.

- "I didn't do anything."

- "We are a team"- she answered and smiled- "Team Gubs."

- "Team Gubs"- he repeated and smiled- "I love how it sounds. I'm making t-shirts with our names."

- "Of course you are."

[oogaboogasphincter]

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break. 

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting​ and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic​. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian​

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?” 

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being. 

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.” 

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.” 

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies. 

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.” 

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you. 

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study. 

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced. 

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left. 

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts. 

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt. 

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out. 

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.” 

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​, @mellowswriting​