#block b blurbs

[rebelfell]

for your viewing pleasure┃vol. 1

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

all my pornstar!eddie blurbs together at last b/c I hated how I published them originally. the og posts are still here, but they have been edited/expanded somewhat, and I’ve included a “finale” of sorts that is new! index for this story is here.

cw: pornstar!au, so…porn. but it’s also a kind of fantasy porn company/industry, so not really at all based in reality or fact. sex work, oral sex (f & m rec), public-ish sex, piv sex.

18+, MDNI┃8.7k

special thanks to @urhoneycombwitch for helping come up with like 90% of this via mutual flailing in my inbox 🥰 ilyaaf

After dark thoughts about pornstar!eddie…who gets fired from his first job.

Because he’s great at sex, but bad at porn.

So, so, so bad. Like, he’s incredible at eating pussy, but incredible because he does it with his whole face completely buried in his co-star. We’re talking fully and wholly submerged in her folds, as though she’s his breathing apparatus.

And that’s great for her, but terrible for camera.

They keep stopping him, telling him he has to pull it back, that they have to see her pussy and they can’t with his big head and bigger hair blocking their view. But much like a dog that’s been told to leave a treat where it is, he keeps edging closer and moving back in little by little until he’s right back where he wants to be—and they’re yelling “CUT” and scolding him all over again.

And the girl is getting frustrated because, like, she’s about to actually come and she looks at the director with this look of pure desperation and ‘just do me this solid—please?’ in her eyes.

So he finally lets Eddie get her off and just films super tight on her face and her trembling legs so it’s really obvious how real it really is.

And so they can move the fuck on already.

Then they’re filming the fucking, and once again Eddie is fucking like he would fuck in real life and the way he fucks in real life is Not. Good. Porn.

He’s not just slamming into her without any care; he’s not using her to get off; he’s trying to make it good for her. And it is very, very good for her.

Like so good, she’s this close to giving him her number once they wrap for the day.

Her boyfriend of six years be damned.

And once they wrap, Eddie’s not exactly “fired” but he’s pretty sure he’s not getting called back.

Except then the movie comes out and BLOWS UP. People are obsessed. Women are buying it in droves (who knew women even watched porn??) and the VHS is back-ordered to shit.

So the production company is like, “We gotta lock this kid into a contract. Now.”

And just so we’re clear, he gets that contract. 

But he (rightfully) feels like he has a bit of juice behind him and refuses to work with that director ever again. And they agree to his terms, but that first guy is hardly an anomaly and Eddie is still butting heads with these other ass hats who keep trying to force him to do it their way.

“My buddy, my guy, my man, you’re fucking her like she’s a person and that’s not gonna sell. It may have worked for you before, but no way does lightning strike the same dick twice.”

So Eddie walks. And he’s ready to call it quits entirely…until you approach him.

Because you are former talent, trying to branch out and direct, but no one will take you seriously. So you went to the heads of production and told them even if all they gave you was a shoestring budget and one Eddie Munson, you can spin some gold. Spoiler alert—you do.

You come to Eddie with your vision of porn for women: story-based, more realistic dialogue, and real orgasms. Some of the same tropes, but done in a way that doesn’t feel so tired and gross and vapid and soulless. Something new.

Something different. Something special.

And, oh. He is so on board with that.

Meanwhile, back in Hawkins, the rumor mill is milling. Because how in the hell did Eddie “The Freak” Munson become a sex symbol overnight? It has to be a deal with the devil—that’s the only possible explanation, right? He clearly sold his soul for a magic cock and a porn career.

And Steve Harrington is LIVID.

He would have bet his entire college tuition Eddie was a virgin, but now every babe who comes into Family Video is renting that damn tape.

They’re literally pouring in looking for it, marching straight to the back, going behind that red curtain where normally only the creepers go. And they don’t so much as blush when Steve scans it.

Robin teases him about it mercilessly. Tells him maybe if he watches it, he’ll pick up some new moves. And, like, Steve has watched plenty of porn. He can’t imagine Eddie is doing anything that earth-shattering. There’s only so much to it, you know? People must just be caught up in the novelty of it being someone that they kind-of sort-of know. It will wear off, it has to.

Then he watches it.

And, oh…Steve has been doing sex all wrong.

For one, he wasn’t going down on girls. He just wasn’t. He’s not like…against it, or anything. But he sort of didn’t realize that was a thing? He lost his virginity in high-school for fuck’s sake—what did he know besides porn and magazines? And that was all the same, so wasn’t that what girls wanted? (Oh, you sweet summer dingus, Robin would shake her head and lament later.)

Secondly…the girls he was with never sounded like that. And he never realized just how fake all those other “orgasms” in porn sounded until he heard the real deal. Now he can’t un-hear it.

From that day forward, for almost two months, they are short one copy of Eddie’s tape because Steve snuck it home in his bag one night after closing. For research purposes only.

No, seriously.

Eddie is a fucking star. Literally.

The second you and he get together, (in a, ahem, professional sense) something shifts. It feels like a long-laid plan plotted from a distant corner of the vast universe has finally come to fruition.

Your first tape is a smash. The camera you get is barely a step up from a hand-held camcorder, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Even with a bare bones crew (you wind up doing a lot of the sound, the lighting, the editing yourself) and everyone doubting you from the jump, it’s a hit.

The concept isn’t anything crazy—Eddie shows up to deliver a pizza, and instead the girl accepts his delivery. But you add a twist: the pizza is for a poker game her boyfriend is hosting. He canceled date night for it and she’s been sitting out here all alone while they play in the other room.

Not on Eddie’s watch.

He goes to town on her, bringing her to the brink three or four times while her boyfriend’s pizzas go cold on the countertop. You push the camera in close on both of them, really trying to give the sense of Eddie as a person. So he’s not just another disembodied guy with a nice dick.

Although his is very, very nice.

His personality shines through when he does things like hike her leg up to fuck into her pussy deeper, chasing her pleasure like her high is his own; and when he grins down at her all devilishly as she tries to stifle her sounds so her “boyfriend” won’t hear; or when Eddie mocks her, making her own little whines and huffs and squeals right back at her in a way that is so infuriatingly hot.

He talks her through it, locking those big brown eyes of his on her, clutching the back of her neck while she tries to block her moans, until at last she can’t hold it back any longer and explodes.

And you have the sound guy stand off to the side and call out, “Everything okay in there, babe?” after she’s done. Nothing but a shuddering, trembling mess on a black leather sofa.

Cut. Print. That’s a wrap, folks.

Eddie is a dream to work with. He’s collaborative and creative; he communicates effectively and often. You guys are like two halves of the same brain, often anticipating what the other wants before they even know it themselves.

It’s alarming, almost. To be seen so clearly.

Even short on crew, equipment, time, money—you can’t seem to fail when you’re together.

The one thing you’re never short on is actresses. Ever since Eddie’s first tape came out, word of mouth (pun intended) has spread. Rapidly. And since you know most of them, you know who to hire. You know which ones are the flakes, which ones are divas, which ones will vibe best with the kind of set experience you’re trying to create. So Eddie trusts your judgment, completely.

He just waits for you to tell him who he’s fucking and then he does it. And he does it so well.

The fucker has chemistry with everyone—down to the guy who brings the sandwiches when you break for lunch. He’s so charming and funny and considerate practically to a fault. He’s fully dialed in from the moment he steps on set to when you wrap for the day. And afterwards, he’s checking in with you, making sure you got exactly what you wanted, asking if you want anything else, if you need him to stay because he’ll be happy to.

It’s…completely and utterly disarming.

He has every right to be a full blown asshole. This entire venture hinges on him and his magic dick, so his head should be as big as a hot air balloon. But he doesn’t ever stray from that unflagging decency that’s so rare in this industry. 

And you pray he never will.

It’s Eddie who pitches your next film.

He’s got this notion of a good girl—a cheerleader—who’s having a hard time and goes looking for weed from the mean and scary tattooed dealer.

(One guess who’s playing him.)

Except he’s not so mean and scary. He’s actually kind of a goof, mock-stabbing himself in the heart and flailing around like a clown, throwing himself off the picnic bench you and he dragged out to this clearing at the ass crack of dawn.

All part of the vision, he assured you.

They look great on camera. His dark, wild hair and clothes and everything in direct contrast to her sweet, round face and bright pastel hues and soft waves. Chemistry’s off the charts, as usual. She starts out really nervous and fidgety, but he makes her comfortable and flirts, offers the bud at a discount. And then her brow cocks daringly and she asks if he has anything…stronger.

Cut to her being eaten out like a banquet spread out on this table in the middle of the forest.

It’s oddly lush and romantic with the rich color of the leaves and the dappled sunlight that filters in through the branches—a foil to the lewdness of their acts and their wanton sounds. 

And when they’re dressed down to nothing, bare skin on bare skin on gray weathered wood, they look almost like forest nymphs or elves caught up in the throes of passion, secluded in the trees.

Especially with the leaves still clinging to Eddie’s hair from when he fell off the table.

Not for the first time, you feel a certain twinge of something that squirms low in the pit of your stomach while you watch them.

Except you’re not watching them…because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

After you wrap, he hangs back. Asks what you thought of the shoot while he helps break down the equipment. Blushes when you tell him you loved it and how good he looked. Explains how it was inspired by these daydreams he used to have about this one girl he knew in high-school.

And you almost, almost, ask him about her—but you’re cut off by a PA who runs up in a panic.

The studio is calling, and they’re pissed.

They’ve just gotten a look at the contract you had drawn up. Rights to a boutique company under their banner, unlimited use of their distribution channels. Full creative control and intellectual property rights to anything and everything.

Plus exclusive use of Eddie.

(Effectively nullifying that horseshit deal they originally gave him for a much, much better one.)

You know they’re gonna fight you on a lot of it—you swung big so you’d have plenty of room to negotiate—but it will all be worth it when they fold. Because you and Eddie have big plans.

You both know you’re onto something special and you’re in it together, to the end of the line.

Apparently, Eddie is also interested in editing.

He shows up to the production offices on a day he’s supposed to be off, but knows you have the editing bay reserved. Brings you coffee and an egg sandwich like a literal angel on earth.

An angel dressed like the devil, maybe. Because he’s got on this tank top with arm holes that’ve been stretched way, way beyond their natural elasticity, drooping down around his ribs and flashing glimpses of his tattoos and the tops of his obliques. And you aren’t entirely sure why you’re getting all hot and bothered over a tank top when there’s not a single intimate inch of his        body you haven’t already seen up close and personal through your viewfinder.

In fact, it’s the same body you’re watching fuck the shit out of that girl on the picnic table from a few days ago. And he’s wearing a whole lot less than a tank top.

You share a brief chuckle over it—the fact that his bare ass is flickering on three screens while you scroll through footage. And it’s not so much that it’s awkward, more like you’re mutually tickled by the fact that it’s not? There’s not an ounce of self-consciousness left between you two.

In a way, it’s like there never was.

He asks if you want any help, or if you mind him sitting in. He’s interested in the process, thinks it might help him on set too. There’s such a rich vein of enthusiasm and curiosity in him, a real thirst to be better and to learn. It’s ridiculous it took him three tries to graduate.

You think it’s a great idea…at first.

But then you’re watching him on the screen with him sitting right next to you. His earthy, woodsy scent layered with the smell of his soap in your nose; his recorded grunts and groans of pleasure in your ears coming through your headphones that are starting to slicken with the sweat.

It’s all wildly distracting. And you must be some kind of masochist, because (not for the first time) you can’t help but wonder how he makes all these women come the way they do.

“So, uh, what…what exactly are you doing here?”

You clear your throat, trying to cover the tremor in your voice as you ask. Eddie scoots in closer, his eyes darting between yours and the screen as he describes the way he’s using his tongue, swirling it around the edges of her entrance, plunging it deep inside her while his nose pushes firmly on her clit. Pretending not to notice your chest heaving with his every word.

“How do you even breathe?” you chuckle.

“I find my moments,” he says.

Smirks back. Winks.

And uh-oh. When did his hand touch your knee? When did he start to rub his thumb over your bare skin through the hole in your jeans? When did his long, ringed fingers start to curl under your thigh to squeeze it? When did he start to lean further into your space? When did you get so wet?

He’s close now. It wouldn’t take anything for you to bridge the gap and let your lips meet his. You can’t, though. You don’t. Because it would be so…stupid. It would be wrong and bad, and it could jeopardize both of your careers. Everything you’re working towards, totally gone.

You’re starting the porn for women movement, here. You can’t fuck your first star!

And you don’t. You keep it professional. You tell him you’re going to call it a day and head home so he’ll do the same. But later that night, when he calls with some new ideas for a script, asking if he can run a few lines by you (just to know how it sounds out loud, you know?), and you wind up having the most insane, mind-blowing phone sex of your entire life…Well, that’s different.

That’s totally and completely different.

The next time you see him, it’s business as usual.

You knew it would be. You two are nothing if not consummate professionals, fully committed to this endeavor. Neither of you would dare let your goals be derailed by a silly little crush.

And it is just a crush. It has to be.

Just the natural result of working so closely with him; of seeing him so completely in his element; appreciating his work ethic and his creativity.

Not to mention the fact that you are consistently watching him have the hottest sex you’ve ever seen in your life. But that’s unrelated.

The next shoot is your biggest yet. It’s at this massive mansion that you’re dressing to look like a spa with two massage tables set up by the pool that looks like something straight out of a resort.  Eddie is playing a masseur who offers a lonely, neglected housewife consolation in the form of his cock after her husband chooses work over their couples massage.

After the success of the pizza delivery tape, you think it’s best you lean hard into the “Eddie fucks it better” sort of storylines.

Because why not play to your strengths?

Except that the call time of your female lead has come and gone and she’s nowhere to be found. You know Trina, this isn’t like her, she’s never late. But you called and got no answer. Twice.

The light is perfect, everyone’s in place…but there’s no one for Eddie to fuck.

Even if you could get a replacement, it would take at least an hour for anyone to get out here and that was being generous. By then, the shoot would be way behind and you’ve literally only got today in this stupid model home before some fucking billionaire moves in tomorrow.

It’s gonna be a massive loss of time and money if you don’t think of something. Like, right now.

Eddie can see you’re stressed. He comes over and you huddle by your storyboards. And neither of you has to say it, but you both are thinking the exact same thing. As per usual.

You could do it.

You’re here, for one. And you’ve done this plenty of times. It just makes good business sense.

It’s been a while, and you’re not quite “camera-ready” after not having to be for the past couple of months, but you and Eddie have been talking about using more normal-looking bodies; bodies that jiggled and had hair where it grew naturally and are authentically real, regular bodies.

The camera guys know what sort of shots you want and you’ve got a bigger crew now—people who know your vision and can help bring it forth.

Plus, you’ll be with Eddie. You know he’ll take care of you. He’ll be sure that you get exactly what you need, no matter what. You’d bet your life on it.And, well…you and he did just rehearse your lines the other night.

The shoot is…interesting.

From the outside, it goes great. Perfect, even. Eddie looks all kinds of cute in his white polo and white pants. He’s got his long hair twisted up off his neck, a few loose tendrils framing his face. 

And you somehow forgot until he puts his hands on you the first time that the whole concept for this shoot was born out of the fact that he actually went to massage school for real.

Before you even get to the sex stuff, you’re putty in his hands. He moves them up and down your calves, slides his thumbs over your muscles in a dizzying pattern en route to your thighs. 

You’re not even faking the deep moans of relief you let out as he moves up higher and higher… arousal promptly pooling between your legs.

He starts going through his lines, striking that perfect balance between his casual, trying-to-be professional voice, while slowly getting more and more desperate and possessive. 

As if he’s constantly fighting the urge to take you right then. Right now.

Telling you how awful it is your husband chose work over you like this; how you should always be his number one priority; how Eddie would never let you out of his sight if you were his…

His hands reach your ass and he grips one round globe in each, spreading you apart so he (and the camera) can see how you glisten, the sunlight reflecting like it does off the water in the pool.

You wait for his next line—when he offers you a very ‘special’ massage with a ‘special’ technique he ‘doesn’t use on just anyone.’ 

But Eddie goes off script.

He licks a fat, wide stripe directly through your folds and your head pops out of the little headrest at the end of the table, the pure shock and delight on your face captured instantly by the camera.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, his tongue still swirling in between the words muffled by your ass cheeks, like he can’t stand to take it away, even to speak. “I had to taste you…”

“It’s okay,” you moan, voice nearly cracking in a dry sob, “It’s okay, just please don’t stop—”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going until you come, until you’re reaching back behind you to grip his hair as you push your hips back to meet every thrust of his perfect tongue. From there, it’s back to regularly scheduled fucking. He stays on script, peppering in the sort of ad-libs he knows from experience get a good reaction every time—

That’s it sweetheart, you’re doing so well for me.

Your husband doesn’t know what he’s missing.

This pussy is all mine now, you understand?

And, yeah, that stuff gets you off, no problem. But it’s the other stuff he does—the quieter, subtle things you aren’t expecting—that really push you over the edge again and again. And again.

It’s the things he whispers (actually whispers, not stage whispers) low in your ear so you’re the only one who can hear. You feel way too good/I gotta slow down or I’m gonna come/I know you faked that last one, gimme a real one now—

It’s…it’s almost too much. You knew he’d be good, you just didn’t expect how good. 

And you definitely didn’t expect to feel the way you do when he checks in between takes: asking if you want more or less of anything, making sure he’s not being too rough, telling you how great you’re doing, apologizing again for that initial snafu. It makes you all…fluttery.

But it’s not until after you wrap for the day, after you’ve gotten in the shower at home and start to wash off the massage oil spread all over your skin, that you realize Eddie never kissed you.

Not once.

When Eddie calls later that week, it’s to ask you out. Not on a date, though. 

Which is good. Really, it is. A relief, even. Because contrary to the way your heart leapt into your throat when he asked if you were busy this weekend, you absolutely cannot date him.

It doesn’t matter that you’re attracted to him. Or that you came out of your eyeballs multiple times with him the other day. Or that you haven’t been able to think about anything besides him since.

You. Can’t. Date.

You’re pretty much his boss, don’t forget. Maybe not technically, maybe not on paper—but if you start something up with him, it will be messy and complicated and it could put everything you and he have worked for in jeopardy. More than that, you don’t want anyone thinking he got where he is by any other means besides his hard work (pun intended). He’s earned everything he’s gotten.

And now that includes an award.

That’s what he’s calling about. He’s been nominated for what is essentially the porn equivalent of an Oscar for that first tape he made. And now he has to go to this ceremony, except he’s sort of freaking out because he’s never done anything like this before and he’s really nervous and he kind of needs you there because ‘you’re the only one I’m always comfortable with.’

So he asks if you’ll go with him. As friends.

And you say you will. And it’s fine. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this—FUCK. 

Why does he have to be so hot? Showing up in a black Prada suit with a sheer shirt underneath? Almost as bad as wearing nothing under it at all. Worse, maybe.

It’s unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his torso, layered chains dangling low, hanging around that tree trunk of a neck you can’t stop wishing you could sink your teeth into, wrap a hand around—

Nope. Nope. You’re not going there. The only place you’re going tonight is these awards.

Except when you get there, the organizers don’t want you photographed with Eddie. At least not arriving together. People still aren’t familiar with you as a director, and you haven’t starred in a project in months. That’s practically a century in porn time.

Plus, the tape Eddie is nominated for you didn’t even work on. It wouldn’t make any sense.

Eddie is immediately poised to protest, but neither of you is given much of an opportunity. While you’re shuffled into the long line of people already being photographed in front of the venue, he’s being whisked away so he can walk with the girl he starred in that very first film with.

You know her, sort of. You did a group scene once upon a time. She’s a biter.

They even sneak him into her limo so it looks like they came together. He gets out first and then holds out a hand to help her, a storm of flash bulbs going off, making her jumpsuit sparkle.

And you tell yourself not to watch. You try to smile pretty for your own pictures and look like you are having a good time. Or at least not look like you’re chewing on glass. But it’s…difficult.

Especially when you look up at the worst possible time—the exact moment she places a dainty hand on his chest and he turns his face toward hers, their lips meeting for a long kiss. 

Long enough for every camera there to capture it.And the very last shot they get of you that night is one of your back as you head inside to get a drink. Or ten. Trying not to think about this sour, putrid, inconvenient feeling in your chest.

Eddie should have walked with you. 

He should have done a lot of things, actually.

He should have told those uppity event coordinators to fuck off. He should have ignored that girl from his first film when she whispered under her breath for him to look at her. He should have dodged that sticky, tacky kiss she planted on his lips without any kind of warning.

He should have asked you out for real instead of hiding behind this ‘as friends’ bullshit.

Maybe if he had, he’d be tasting your lipgloss instead of the glittery mess he was wiping off his chin. Maybe it would be your hand in his as you walked the carpet. And maybe it would be him getting you a drink and clinking his glass with yours instead of the guy you’re with right now.

Eddie knows him. Well, he doesn’t know him, he recognizes him from a tape with some absurd name like Sex Kittens 4 that featured a surprising amount of doggy style, considering the title.

Plus you in a never-ending stream of animal-print bikinis.

(He definitely did NOT go looking for every movie you’d ever made. No, that would be ridiculous. He just sort of…happened across one. Or five.)

And it’s not that he’s jealous—because there’s nothing to be jealous of. You met him doing a job. A job very much like the one you did with Eddie. You’re just catching up with an old coworker.

It’s fine. Totally fine. Did he mention it’s fine?

But then Tom Wanks put his hand on your hip, and before Eddie can take even a second to think, or to rationalize his actions, he’s striding up to you and taking your hand to drag you away.

The beaded fringe on your dress swishes noisily as he brings you with him behind a curtain that was set up as a backdrop for more photos. In the shadows behind it, your eyes glint a little meanly and your voice is barbed when you ask what the hell is the matter with him.

And he’s really not sure.

Because much like you, he’s not used to this; he’s not used to not saying exactly what is on his mind at any given time; he’s not used to holding anything back—not when it comes to you.

“I should have stayed with you,” he blurted out at last. “That was messed up, I—”

Your face falls and you dodge his gaze. “It’s fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it,” he shot back. “I could have said something, I could have told them—”

“What for?” you mutter, arms crossing in front of your chest. You look at the floor, hurt. Not just hurt, disappointed. “I mean, what…what would be the point? It’s not like we’re…or that you’re…”

He watches the words stall behind your lips, all of them trying to fight their way out like people on a crowded bus. But in their efforts, they only wind up clogging the exit so nothing gets through.

“God, listen to me!” you laugh bitterly. “I sound like some crazy, jealous…something, and I don’t know why I’m getting this upset when you don’t even like me—”

“Wait, what? Who the fuck said that?”

He can tell you’re shocked by the panic that rises in his voice, staring back at him wide-eyed.

“Wh-when we were filming, you never kissed me. So I thought…”

You fell silent as Eddie’s hands covered the sides of your face. Softly cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, he stares straight into your eyes and determinedly holds your gaze. 

Your breath stuttered, so lost in those deep brown pools you could hardly recall your own name. And even if you could speak, you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to say.

Luckily, Eddie gave you something better to do with your mouth.

His lips meet yours in a gentle brush. His hold on your face never tightens, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to grip you harder. There’s a tenacity in his kiss, as if he’s trying to savor the taste of you, but struggling not to devour you whole.

You break apart too soon for his liking. He easily would have stayed there forever. And he braces himself for whatever might be coming—a slap across his face, a knee straight to his balls.

He might deserve both, but receives neither.

You don’t pull back so much as an inch, happy to let him keep your face close to his. He inhales shakily, still breathing you in, “I didn’t want the first time I did that to be on camera.”

You chuckle at him, dazed and grinning, trying to decide if this is a dream or not. If it is, you don’t ever want to wake up. You want to live in it. Your own hands creep up his stomach, tugging on his silky shirt, feeling the way he shivers in it when he feels the caress of your fingertips.

“What about the second?” you whisper.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Deeper. Hungrier. Messier.

He’s not kissing you like it’s his job; like he’s just doing what was written for him in a script—he’s doing it like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted, desired, chosen to do. Like it’s all he needs.

Your bare back meets the cool wall as he pushes you up against it, sliding his hand inside the slit of your dress, hooking it under your knee to hitch your leg over his hip. He presses every single inch of himself against your seam, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life.

The closest second being when you and he filmed just a few days ago.

You claw at him, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders, pulling open more buttons on his shirt until the gossamer fabric tears and unravels.

“More,” he begs, kisses trailing down your neck. “Fucking please, sweetheart, I need more—”

Your hand takes on a life of its own, sliding down to cup his length through the luxurious suiting. It causes him to release a deep, desperate moan you can feel his lips spreading apart to let out. The sound of it ripples through your body like an electric shock in every extremity.

The dull roar of the crowd right on the other side of that curtain is only barely enough to cover the sound of you and Eddie’s passions. His touch is so enthralling, so engrossing, you are this close to letting him fuck you right there.

Room full of people be damned.

Eddie seems to have the same idea, his mouth blazing a trail down the middle of your chest and stomach as he drops to one knee, his other foot planted to support himself as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. A rush of excitement floods your body as you realize his intentions, fingers sliding into his unruly curls to grip them at the crown of his head.

But the very second his fingers pull your panties to the side and his tongue finds its home in your folds, a commotion breaks through your bliss.

There’s a loud crash as a cater waiter stumbles into the curtain obscuring your entangled bodies and drags it down with them as they fall.

Light floods the darkened space and a sound of collective amusement ripples through the crowd. No one is exactly surprised to see people hooking up—but it’s usually not until the afterparty.

Cocktail hour isn’t even over, for crying out loud.

Then they realize who it is.

The shutters of opportunistic photographers snap as you give Eddie’s hair a sharp tug. But he just moans loudly—too absorbed in what he’s doing to even realize what’s happened.

Finally, you pull him off your clit and he looks over his shoulder at the rest of the room.

Another round of snaps and flashes go off and his eyes return to yours, brightening when he sees the way you’re covering your mouth, fighting back laughter. His own lips, still shiny with your arousal, spread into a wide grin. His gaze lands on an emergency exit and he jumps to his feet, taking your hand in his and pulling you towards it tucked securely under his arm.

Flipping off the room behind him as you leave.

Together.

The trip back to your apartment is the longest cab ride of your life.

Whereas on the way to the convention center, you’d ridden mashed against your door trying to leave a respectable distance across the middle seat, Eddie practically has you in his lap on the way back. It’s like he thinks he’ll die if he stops touching you for even a second—lips on your neck, his hands roaming hungrily, whispering filth in your ear under the cover of the radio.

You do your best to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview, trying to shoot him an apologetic look or at least mouth a wholly insincere ‘sorry’ for the display. But he seems unphased.

Still, you stuff a wad of extra bills in his hand as you scramble out of his car. Unceremoniously crashing through the front door, you’re lucky not to break it down in your haste to get Eddie inside.

Of your apartment, that is.

Lips locked for every step across your cramped studio, you tumble to the bed and let out a soft grunt when a plastic hanger digs into your back. Hearing you yelp, Eddie pulls back and can see you’re lying on top of the ten or so discarded outfits you went through trying to decide on what to wear tonight. Sequins rustle under your bodies as the bed shakes with your gentle laughter, and Eddie drops a kiss to the tip of your nose before he climbs off you. Reluctantly.

He watches while you gather the dresses strewn across the bed, smiling when you try and stuff them back in your closet, fumbling with only the amber street light filtering through your blinds to see by. When you finally turn back to face him, he’s still smiling. Head tilted at you, eyes slowly raking over your form, heart rate picking up in his chest when yours do the same to him.

The pause is nice. It gives you both a minute to catch your breaths, for your brains to catch up with your bodies. Your steps turn careful and slow as you move towards him. With trembling fingers, he pulls open the last remaining buttons of his sheer shirt and lets it fall to his feet.

Remembering only just now that his jacket is still on the floor of that hotel ballroom.

You come to a stop in front of him and he closes the distance left. He reaches around you and pulls down the zipper of your dress, fingertips dragging lightly along your spine as he reveals it.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come to feeling like a gift someone is unwrapping.

With your dress pooled around your ankles, Eddie’s hands are free to wander. He runs them up and down your arms, sweeping them along the inside of your wrists to twine your fingers with his. He brings them to his lips to kiss and the sight of plush pink brushing your knuckles is bordering on being too much to handle—more erotic than anything you’ve ever filmed.

He’s going slow because it’s slowly dawning on him what you’re about to do. 

And how this time it’s not going to be for work or for a camera. It’s going to be real. 

Except…is it going to be real?

Should he do something different than what he did when you filmed? How can he, when he used all his best moves during the shoot? Shit…

He doesn’t want you thinking he’s just doing with you the same thing he does with everyone else; that this—that you—aren’t special to him.

Then suddenly, he’s not going slow anymore.

He’s stopped completely.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Y-yeah,” he chokes out, like the word is made of sawdust. “I just, ahhh…I don’t know, I think I’m psyching myself out? Thinking too hard.”

“Thinking about what?” you whisper, your teeth tugging back your bottom lip.

His head just shakes, eyes still scanning your face while his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, until he lets out a sigh that’s heavy with fondness and whispers, “How I don’t want to mess this up.”

He takes another deep breath, letting his forehead rest against your own as his chest shudders. Confounded as to how something he’s done in front of a whole-ass camera crew could make him feel so self-conscious when it’s just you here with him. A few seconds of silence pass until his lips part in a smirk and his gaze cuts to the side, right to where a camera would be.

“Is it just me…or does it feel like something is missing?”

It takes a few minutes of digging to find your old camcorder buried in the depths of your closet. 

Eddie chuckles when you emerge, brandishing it with a flourish and a little ta-da! before you set it on top of your dresser pointed at the bed, angling it slightly to properly frame the shot.

The red light blinks as you hit ‘record,’ barely taking a second to check if there’s a tape inside. You let it run, capturing your figures half in shadows as he sits on the bed and pulls you into his lap. He helps you settle on his thighs, runs his hands up the backs of yours, slips his long fingers under the elastic band of your panties to rest on your hip. He pulls them back and snaps them softly on your skin, earning a hum of approval from behind your pressed lips.

You wriggle on top of him and delight in how it makes his chest reverberate with a low groan.

“That better?” you whisper, the answer to your question immediately stiffening underneath you. He nods fervently, his voice tight and strained as he struggles to keep his cool.

“Wanna taste you,” he grunts out roughly.

He moves his hands to grip your waist so he can flip you underneath him, but your hands find his shoulders and stop him before he can.

Big, doleful eyes look up at yours, his face etched with concern as you shake your head. His bottom lip wobbles as he searches your face for why.

In a reassuring press, you mash your lips to his and lace your fingers behind his neck. You kiss all the air out of his lungs, until his fingertips are digging into your flesh hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. You kiss him like you’re trying to take the weight of the world off his shoulders, like you’re going to accept his every burden as your own so he doesn’t have to carry them alone.

There’s a quiet pop as your mouths separate and you press your chest flush with his, wrapping your arms around his neck so your lips find his ear as your nose nudges through his curls.

“Tell me you want me,” you whisper. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I don’t want it,” he groans back, “I need it. I’ve needed it since I fucking met you.”

The heat in his voice, the rumble of it in your ear, causes a wave of arousal to rush through your body. You unwind your arms from around his neck and slip slowly, painfully slowly, from his lap to stand between his legs. You place a finger under his chin and tip his face up for him to look at you, your thumb settling in the tiny dip at its center. Too small to see, it could only be felt.

“Everyone always uses you,” you tell him softly, almost mournfully.

His eyes stay wide and hopeful, never leaving yours as you sink down to your knees. His long, dark lashes flutter as your hands run up his muscled thighs, the edges of your thumbs grazing the outline of his cock. He hisses through his teeth and you grin devilishly at the sound.

“I want you to use me,” you instruct him. “Take whatever you need, as much as you want.”

And you can literally see how your words affect him, his eyes bugging wide as the wheels in his head are turning behind them. He reaches out to touch your face and you turn it to kiss his palm.

“Sweetheart, I—oh, fuck,” he gasps, cut off with your sudden squeeze of his clothed cock.

“I’ll stop you if I need a break,” you reply firmly.

The muscles in his neck pull taught as he nods. He leans back on one elbow, reluctant to let his other hand leave your face. You kiss his bare stomach along the top of his waistband and he curls his hand around the back of your head, gripping it tighter when you tug down his fly.

And you knew Eddie’s dick well by now. You knew it inside of you as well as out. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for the sight of it tonight. Thick, and veiny, and weeping with pre that dribbles down its sides. He’s almost ashamed of it, almost embarrassed by how hard he is for you; by how close he is to blowing his load when you’ve not even gotten started.

It was practically a miracle he didn’t soil the inside of his suit when you pulled his hair earlier.

His pupils are blown out when your eyes meet his, your lips hovering so close to his cock he can feel your breath on it. Saliva pools under your tongue so rapidly, you almost feel like you’re at risk of it spilling out of your mouth and running down your chin when you speak.

“Fuck my throat, Eddie. Please.”

And he does. He lets you set the pace at first, still holding fast on the back of your head he watches your lips surround his tip. His chest heaves with deep, gasping breaths as you take him fully into your mouth and start to bob on his perfect cock. It’s almost too much, too perfect, the feeling of your warm, wet mouth and your soft tongue and, fuck, your hand—

He pants wildly as you cradle his sack, your fingertips stroking them and spreading the spit from your mouth that’s dribbling down his shaft to his balls. They tense in your palm and his stomach tightens the faster your mouth moves, the more your throat relaxes to take him in deep.

The man who gives the best head imaginable finally having the favor returned.

“Jesus Christ…”

Eddie's words are whispered like a prayer and you look up to take in the sight of him.

Eyes pinched shut, his brows drawn like he’s in pain even though the sounds he’s releasing are nothing short of euphoric. You tease all the most sensitive nooks and crannies of his cock, all the places that make his eyes roll back and his head loll on his shoulders and his chest heave. Every ridge, every vein, every muscle that twitches under the attention of your tongue.

“Oh, pl…p-please,” he gasps, tightening his hold on your hair to still your movements as his hips start to move in an instinctive and primal thrust.

He hits the back of your throat and you swallow more of him down, taking him deeper, deeper until your nose brushes the wiry hair at his base.

You groan around his length, enthralled by the exquisite ache of him hitting your soft palate, and the sound is Eddie’s undoing. He lets out a long, low moan and spills hot and thick down your throat. His arm trembles as he fights his own iron grip on the back of your head, forbidding himself from pulling your hair. You can feel the tremors of his fingers against your scalp.

His abdomen spasms as you stroke him through the aftershocks, flirting with overstimulation. Fucked-out eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but nothing short of reverent, find yours and they’re wet—shiny, shimmering with tears that crowd their rims and threaten to spill down his cheeks.

Quick as you can, you’re on your feet cradling his jaw to ask if he’s okay. And Eddie can’t answer, can only nod as he kisses, kisses, kisses your palm, the heel of your hand, your wrist, down the inside of your arm all the way to your elbow.

He can’t kiss you enough, it seems. 

You giggle softly as you sit beside him and reach out to ruffle his bangs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear and letting your touch linger on his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you brush a tear that has leaked out of the corner of his eye. He looks back at you with a smile and swipes the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth to wipe away a drop of his spend.

And you know there’s still a lot left to figure out—damage control that will have to be done, difficult conversations that will have to be had. There will be whispers and rumors and sidelong glances.

Not to mention the firestorm those pictures of you two at the ceremony will undoubtedly stir up.

But none of that matters right now. Nothing does, beyond this bed and this night. Nothing else even exists outside the confines of this room.

All that matters is you and him.

You lay there for a while, just…being. Your fingers tracing his tattoos and the soft planes of his chest and stomach; his, the slope of your shoulders and the lines of your body he’s always wanted to know better. Quiet words pass back and forth, teasing jokes and soft confessions. Admissions of fears that held you both back and don’t seem so daunting anymore. Don’t seem so scary.

When he’s hard again, you pick up the camera and point it at him as you guide him to lay on his back. You push in close on his face when you sink down fully onto his length and start to ride him at an egregiously slow pace just so your shot holds steady. And because he looks so pretty taking it.

“Something wrong, Ed?” you goad him a smidge, toying with him in more ways than one when your pussy squeezes so tight around his cock it makes him lose his breath and pant out of control.

“F-fu…fuuuuuck meeee…” he whines and writhes, throwing his head back into the mattress.

“Oh,” you chuckle at him, speeding up just a hair, “I’m sorry, is that not what I was doing?”

His head jerks up, eyes ablaze as he stares you down through the camera lens. You peer at him over the top of the viewfinder and shiver despite the thin layer of sweat building on your skin.

Okay, yeah, that might have been a little too far. Or just far enough, you think, almost giddy.

“Nah,” he growls, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Sorry is what you’re gonna be.”

A loud squeal bursts out of you as he rolls your bodies to the side and pins you underneath him, somehow managing to keep himself seated inside you the whole time. Breathless, you watch as he takes the camera from you and practically tosses it away so he can hold your arms over your head. For a while, all it captures is a blurry close-up of your duvet cover, the frame shaking in time with every deep, solid thrust of Eddie’s hips that rattles the entire bed and you in it when he gets going.

Your moans and his grunts mix in a symphony that will surely earn you some side-eyeing from your neighbors tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to give a single ounce of a shit.

The song that you make together swells to a crescendo as you topple over the precipice you’ve been dangling off the edge of practically from the moment you met him. Eddie fumbles like mad for the camera and picks it up, recording your blissful expression before he swoops in to press his lips back to yours. Kissing you like he’s trying to eat you, like he’s trying to fuse your faces.

You’re certainly not complaining.

And now that he’s the one with the camera, he’s eager to keep going. He pans it up and down your whole body, guiding you into every filthy position he’s been imagining all those long nights alone in his bed. Through his eyes behind the lens, there’s not a single angle on you that isn’t pristine. 

He gets you up on all fours, films tight on your ass as he squeezes it and cracks his palm down on it when he lets go. The sting makes you keen, your back arching as your hips thrust back—seeking more, more. His hand then smooths over your buzzing flesh, soothes the ache he’s made.

And even as you’re making it, you can tell this is not just another sex tape.

It’s a love tape.

thank you for reading — love you, mean it! 🏝️

[covenha]

Synopsis: seonghwa harnesses the power of manifestation to get himself a girlfriend. Pairings: Simp!seonghwa x fem! reader Genre: crack, fluff, just seonghwa being a silly goofy guy Warnings: witchcraft technically? astrology is also mentioned WC: 1577 a/n: another self-indulgent fic is done! wrote this after i finished an exam so read at your own risk. i might right more bonus blurbs for this but who knows. this is a piece of fiction so it does not reflect who the characters are irl. please read the warnings carefully! and as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated 🫶

Simp!hwa had been content with silently pining over you. That is until one day he asked for a sign from the universe if he should confess. He was walking down the streets of his neighborhood while on his way to school with a little skip in his step, excited to see you. He was nearing Mrs. Nesbit’s house, an old lady with a splotchy memory but a kind heart. He stops to wave at her as she sways back and forth on the rocking chair on her porch. Then, as if she read his mind she goes, “Hurry up or you’ll miss it!”

Was this it? Was this the universe finally telling him to shoot his shot with you and confess his profound love for you? 

Well, the answer was no. Mrs. Nesbit was referring to the bus two blocks away ready to leave Seonghwa’s delusional ass behind. But it’s fine. He didn’t really care. All he really cared about was figuring out how to get you to fall in love with him so that you guys grow old together and live out your best lives with your two cats and moss ball babies. 

Now, Seonghwa knew that he had to approach this from a proactive standpoint. Sure, you and him have been friends since both of your awkward emo teen phases but he really wanted to cement in his chances with you. So he turned to the one place he knew he could get somewhat decent love advice from; Reddit. And with the wise words of Wefishyfishy98 he knew what he had to do. If he really wanted this he needed to use the power of manifestation. 

Simp!hwa wore your hair tie on his hand with pride. He read somewhere on twitter that girls liked to “mark their territory” with things like this and he grew weak at the knees thinking about you staking your claim on him. (Of course, in a completely normal and non-a/b/o kind of way.) I mean isn’t this such a boyfriend thing to do? He was clearly using the power of manifestation or whatever that fish guy said on Reddit. 

And this is why, when summer grew closer and the weather grew warmer, Seonghwa absolutely did not want to return it to you. 

“Hwa, C’mon it’s hot and I don’t want my hair sticking to my neck.” 

“Look, I can get you a new set of hair ties! Here, look at these cute ones I found on Etsy.” He tried to distract you with some cute kuromi hair ties he just found. Jongho is just silently observing the interaction between the both of you. 

You found it weird that he refused to give it to you even after you pestered him to but you decided to just give up and tough it out. And those ties on Etsy were kinda cute. 

“Fine. I guess the weather isn’t so bad today. What are you even doing on Etsy anyway?” you try to take a peak at whatever Seonghwa is looking up on his phone to which he quickly turns it off and puts it screen down on the table. 

“Nothing!” You seem a little taken aback by this. “Just… looking for plants for my… aquarium.”

“You mean your aquarium filled with moss balls… a plant. You want to get plants for your plants?” you blink at him. 

“Technically they’re algae.” Jongho butts in. 

“Right…. Well, at least you’re passionate about your moss balls?” you trail off. 

Seonghwa breathes a sigh of relief as Jongho nods on to you changing the topic to something about your mother’s extensive cacti collection. He opens up his phone again and clicks the order on his Etsy cart. 

“I hope this works.” He thinks to himself. 

That same night, Seonghwa started wracking his brain trying to think of something else that he could do that was “boyfriend coded”. And after much deliberation while staring at the ceiling, it finally hits him. She should be my lock screen! I mean nothing screams boyfriend like a cute candid picture as my lock screen. 

So, with this in mind, he scrounges through his gallery looking for a good photo of you to put as his lock screen. Then he spots the perfect candid of you in his living room sitting on the floor with lego pieces scattered all around the floor trying to assemble his lego death star with him. You aren’t looking at the camera, instead you look completely locked in on building the superweapon of the Empire with him. He stares at the image with a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Without even realizing it he’s smiling like an idiot at his screen and he buries his head on his pillow and screams into it while kicking his feet on his mattress. 

That night he dreams of a distant future with you. One where he can call you his. Oh, and of course you can’t forget your two cats Lily and Bongo, and his ever growing collection of marimo balls.  

A week and a half later, he’s checking his phone every few minutes and then looking at the front door waiting to see if the delivery truck has arrived. Today was your birthday and the gift that he had bought you was running dangerously late. Which is why when he hears a truck nearing the property he all but zooms off the living room couch and to the front door. He accepts the package from the delivery man and quickly unboxes it. 

“It’s perfect.” he thought, smiling to himself as he delicately put it in a bag.

Later that day, as he walks you home just in time for you to have dinner with your family he surprises you with the gift. 

“Wha- Hwa? I thought we weren’t doing gifts this year?” you say as you accept the small paper bag from him. 

“Well, I saw this and I just couldn’t not get it for you.” he just smiles at you shyly as you look at him, surprised at the gesture. 

“Now, I have to get you a gift worth two birthdays next year.” you joke. 

“You’re the best gift life has to offer.” he thinks. But he shakes his head, a dumb smile on his face. “Open it.” he motions to the gift. 

You open and find a couple kuromi hair ties, just as promised. But also, a jewelry box with a bracelet inside. It had a dainty gold chain and a baby pink stone in the middle. 

“Hwa, I love it.” you smile at him. “It’s so pretty.” you inspect the bracelet. 

“Here, let me put it on you.” he gets the bracelet from the box and clamps it around your wrist. He smiles at the sight of you wearing the bracelet. 

He unfortunately had to leave because it was getting dark and he had to feed his cat at home. But, he swears he feels something in the air that night. 

“Please work.” He mumbles to himself. 

In hindsight, what Seonghwa felt that fateful night was probably just pollen, because the very next day Seonghwa finds Jongho coming down with a bad case of allergy sniffles. The cafeteria is filled with the sounds of chattering from hungry sleep-deprived college students and Jongho’s sneezes. 

“So, did you finally give her that rose quartz bracelet you bought from that Etsy witch?” Seonghwa’s cheeks burn at his words. 

“Yea. It was a good time too. Venus was in mercury gatorade or something.” he mumbles while picking at the skin on his thumb. 

“Ahem.” You startle both boys with your presence. You raise your eyebrows at both of them and decide to end their misery of staring at you with their mouths open in shock. “What’s this about an Etsy witch?” 

“I do not recall saying Etsy witch.” Jongho mumbles quickly then packs up his things, muttering some excuse about buying a gatorade from the vending machine. Seonghwa just sits there, mouth agape, trying to stutter out some excuse but nothing coherent falls from his mouth. 

“Hwa, you know you didn’t have to summon the forces of magic and astrology to make me fall in love with you right? I kinda already am.” You blush as you admit your feelings for your best friend. 

Simp!hwa’s brain malfunctions hearing this. Heart pounding, mind racing. Did she just... Did she just say that? She likes me? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. What now?! I didn’t actually think I would get this far. Shit what happens next. Do I shake her hand? No, that would be weird. Just say something, Seonghwa! Say something!

“Will you be my manifested girlfriend?” he asks in a dazed voice. This makes you giggle before you shake your head then decide to kiss him on the nose. “It’s about time.” 

Seonghwa wastes no time in going in for a kiss. It felt like fireworks were going off in the background (it was just Jongho having a massive sneezing fit). The moment was perfect. It was magical. You guys stare into each other’s eyes and it felt like all was right with the world. As the both of you pull away from the kiss, Jongho sits down at the table with a purple gatorade. 

“You know it's actually mercury retrograde, right?” 

[writersblockiskillingme]

Jabberjays | Johanna Mason

Pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader (District4!Finnick's sister!reader)

Summary: During the attack of the Jabberjays Katniss is introduced to a whole different Johanna.

Warning/s: a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, the quarter quell, jabberjays, panic, screaming, weapons, you know typical hunger games stuff, also this is more like a short blurb but yeah, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I always wanted to write something about the Jabberjay attack so I absolutely loved the request! Also I made the reader Finnick's sister, I hope that's okay. Hope you enjoy!!

Request -> hi! i have a request for johanna!! could u do one where fem!reader and her are in a relationship that’s not secret just private (like only finnick knows) but something happens in the arena where johanna gets worried about r & finnick and katniss have a talk like johanna and katniss did in the movie abt annie? sry if that was too long or didn’t make sense! ty <33

Johanna just went into the thick forest to get some water with the spile that Haymitch send them so that they don't die of dehydration. She was regretting it now.

Katniss, Peeta, Beetee, your brother Finnick and you were on the beach. You were sitting with Katniss on the dry sand as you anxiously waited for Johanna to return from the forest as you stated at the hole in the sand that Johanna's ax made.

Thankfully, you thought to yourself, she took it with her.

Everything was relatively peaceful, too peaceful even. You didn't like it one bit. Something was coming. The game makers wouldn't allow the things to be so peaceful for so long. You were soon proven right as you heard the ear piercing scream that only seemed to shake through you.

"Johanna!" Your voice screamed back, every bit of common sense leaving you as you bolted towards the sound of Johanna's bloody-like screams.

You left your knives on the beach, along with the rest of your team that were screaming your name, confused from your actions as they tried to keep up with you. You were in a vulnerable place as you waved your hands around, trying to keep the thick leaves, that were swang down blocking your vision, away from your face as you ran still screaming Johanna's name as much as she screamed yours.

"Johanna!" You shouted as you reached the center of the forest where Johanna's screams were.

You were moving around in the circle, trying to determine where exactly her voice was coming from. After a while it hit you as you realized that her screams were coming from above. High in the trees. Then you saw the jabberjays flopping their little wings in the air, swaying the leaves of the trees and you knew that you fell right in the Capitol's trap.

"Y/N!" Finnick's muffled voice came towards you and you quickly turned towards him. Katniss, Beetee and Peeta were there with him, looking extremely concerned.

But why were they not coming closer?

The painful sounds of Johanna's screaming was messing with your head, panick gripping onto each and every fragment of your mind and body.

Why were they not coming over? Why aren't they helping? Why are they just standing there?!

Your felt your arms moving up, your hands gripping your head to try and kill the ever racing thoughts and the continuous mocking of the jabberjays. Then, as your eyes frantically searched the area, you spotted Johanna. Her eyes full of concern only reserved for her close friends and her love.

Then, the next thing that happened just confused you even more. Finnick grabbed her arm quickly, stopping her as she moved forward towards you, ax in her hand. She twisted her arm, releasing her arm from Finnick's grip as she yelled at him while he talked to her about something that you didn't hear. Her expression changed from concerned to utterly horrified.

"Y/N!" You heard Johanna's muffled, concerned voice mixing with the imitation of the screaming that the jabberjays provided.

You didn't think, the constant screaming was too much. You ran towards her, but came to a stop when your body hit something invisible. The force field. You started banging your hands against the force field trying to ignore the looks of pity and concern from your lover, brother and allies. You didn't want to except this.

The screaming intensified as the birds got closer to you, and you found yourself sliding onto the ground, screaming bloody murder just so you could tone down the sound of Johanna's and Finnick's torturous screams. Johanna was taping on the force field shouting at you something that you didn't understand.

That's how Johanna found herself banging her ax forcefully against the force field, trying to break it. Finnick next to her, hitting the force field with his trident, his eyes full of concern as he watched his baby sister's torture.

The new hour began and Katniss watched the scene in front of her not believing the state that Johanna was in. The hurried movements with her ax, the horrified expression on her face, her eyes full of concern. She cared about someone here. She actually, genuinely, cared about someone here.

°

"Y/N!" Johanna's voice reached your ears, tearing through the ringing in them as you swayed back and forth on the ground. "The hour is up! You okay! It's over! I'm here!"

After you finally came to your senses enough to look at her, you immediately wrapped your arms around her as tightly as you possibly could, not letting go.

"Johanna," You gasped through neverending sobs as your body shook against hers. "You're all right."

"We're both alright." She answered you with the softest voice Katniss ever heard.

Later on you all gathered at the beach once again. Peeta and Beetee went of a bit further away on the beach, looking for some food. Johanna and you settled down on the edge of the beach away from the rest of the team, but still in their eyesight, and finally Katniss and Finnick sat down, learning against the trees.

"Are they together?" Katniss asked Finnick, breaking the silence. "Johanna and Y/N?"

"Yes." Finnick answered immediately, his sea-green eyes snapped to look at her gray ones. "They didn't really keep it a secret, it was private. Only Mags, Annie, Haymitch and I knew really. They wanted to keep it in the close circle of friends."

"I've never seen Johanna act like that before," Katniss quietly murmured as she processed this new information that Finnick told her. "It was quite terrifying."

"Yeah, well," Finnick couldn't help himself as he chuckled playfully at her confession. "Johanna loves her so much. It is terrifying, honestly." He, however, continued on a more serious note. "Y/N won her games a year before Johanna. She helped her when she was going through tough times after she went out of the arena. Johanna lost her family. Y/N is the only thing that she lives for, now. She said it herself when I gave her, correction," Finnick held his finger up in the air, noting that he expressed himself wrongly. "Tried, key word tried, to give her I'm-her-older-protective-brother-so-you-better-not-hurt-her speach."

"And how did that turn out?" Katniss couldn't help but to ask, given how Johanna was she knew that his answer was going to be good.

"Oh, she smacked me across the head." Finnick smiled and Katniss found herself laughing at his answer just like she expected to.

Finnick and Katniss gazed to the couple that was still knee deep in the water, arms wrapped around each other as you sat in between Johanna's legs, your back leaning against her front.

"I'm glad that they have each other," Katniss spoke her thoughts out loud. "Even though they are so different they just seem to fit so well with one another."

"Definitely."

"What the hell are you two gossiping about?" Johanna called out causing you to giggle softly as you spoke.

"Yeah! And why the hell didn't you invite us?!"

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[thebarneschronicles]

Navigating the Ordinary

(A Closer To Home Blurb)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: What starts as a lunch invitation quickly spirals into an unexpected errand to the local CVS, where playful banter about modern absurdities and a deep dive into his dating history lead to unexpected revelations. Between teasing smiles, lingering touches, and an embarrassing encounter in the Family Planning aisle, you realize that the quiet intimacy you share with him runs deeper than either of you might admit.

Trigger Warnings: Talks about contraception! Wrap it before you tap it, kids.

Author’s Note: Surprise surpriseeee... These two keep branching out like multiverse timelines in my head—every time I finish one story, another pops up, ready to be written. I’d love to hear your thoughts! Love, B xx

--

“What are the chances you’ll ditch your research for lunch with me?”

His voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, making your head snap up from the monitor you had been glaring at for the past ten minutes. You had been reading the same line over and over again until the words had lost all meaning, blending together in an incoherent mess.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t breathe.

Because every waking moment was consumed by the man currently standing in your doorway, looking like stormy weather personified, all brooding intensity with a permanent frown carved between his brows. Though, if you were being honest, that frown hadn’t been quite so permanent lately. It was all anyone could talk about in the office—Bucky Barnes had been downright chatty, even (gasp) smiley at times. And all signs pointed to you.

Your relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but lately, it had become impossible to ignore. Especially after he had shown up with flowers on the exact day of your big meeting—just because.

Ah, the joys of romance with a 1940s man. He put any modern millennial to shame.

“Are you buying?” you asked, grinning as you pushed back from your desk, giddy excitement bubbling up despite your best efforts to suppress it.

“As long as I get to pick the place,” he shot back, smirking as you stood up and stepped closer. He didn’t resist when you stretched onto your toes to kiss him, his hand automatically settling at your waist.

“Just don’t take me to that Asian place and you’re golden,” you murmured, scratching lightly against the stubble on his jaw.

Bucky frowned. “What’s wrong with the Asian place?”

You arched a brow, deadpan. “The fact that you dated their waitress.”

He pulled back slightly, scoffing. “It was one date!”

“One date too many.” You grabbed your coat and purse before brushing past him with a smug grin. “Let’s go, Sergeant.”

Your acceptance of his invitation hadn’t been entirely selfless. After a satisfying meal, you had successfully maneuvered Bucky into a CVS down the block, iced coffee in hand (he was still horrified by the sheer concept of cold brew) and a mental checklist of essentials to grab.

He trailed behind you with the wary expression of a man trained to recognize enemy ambushes, his sharp eyes darting around as though danger lurked behind the towering shelves of discount shampoo. You led him with purpose, your destination clear: the Family Planning aisle.

Rows upon rows of colorful boxes greeted you, a dazzling spectrum of choices labeled with enticing phrases: glow-in-the-dark, flavored, ribbed for her pleasure, lubricated, thin, ultra-thin, XXL—

Bucky, standing beside you with his arms crossed over his chest, let out a quiet, suffering sigh. “You’re overthinking this.” His voice was low and rough, but there was unmistakable amusement there.

“I’m not overthinking,” you argued, reaching for one box, then hesitating and grabbing another. “I just want to make sure we get the right ones.”

“They’re condoms, not a major life decision.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Well, considering they’re for your life decisions, I’d say it’s pretty important. And excuse me for wanting to make informed choices about our health.”

Bucky blinked, then huffed a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Our health, huh? Pretty sure you just like torturing me.”

You grinned. “What do you think?” You held up a neon green box. “Want a glow stick in your pants?”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before snatching the nearest box—ultra-thin, large—and tossing it into the basket he was dutifully carrying.

You peered inside, nodding approvingly. “Satisfied?”

“Never,” he quipped, the grin still firmly in place.

Shaking your head, you stepped closer, curiosity getting the better of you. “So, while we’re on the topic of your charming personality… I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Uh-oh,” Bucky said immediately, the grin faltering just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You couldn’t hold the smile, eyes scanning his front in a cursory look. “What is it?” He pressed, hesitant.

“Nothing, just—"

“God, I can see the wheels turning in your head.” He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling as if it, somehow, would hold the secrets of the universe.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you started again. “What was dating like for you back in the ’40s? You know, before all the… world-saving and cryo-freezing?”

Bucky tilted his head, clearly amused by the question. “Is that it?”

“Just answer the question, Bucky.”

He frowned, but it wasn’t the haunted expression he used to wear when his past was brought up. It was softer now, more contemplative. His gaze flickered downward to his vibranium hand, where his fingers absently traced the ridges in the metal resting on the basket handle. The harsh grocery store lighting made it gleam, but he barely seemed to notice.

“I mean,” you pressed, trying to keep the mood light, “You had to have been a heartbreaker back then. Tall, handsome, that Brooklyn charm—you’re telling me girls weren’t falling all over themselves for you?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, leaning closer with a teasing grin. “You’re telling me you didn’t leave a trail of broken hearts across Brooklyn? I mean, don’t tell me there isn’t a little love child of yours lost somewhere around Europe, a little souvenir from your Howling Commandos days.”

Bucky stopped for half a second, then gave you a deadpan look. “Nope. Pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re telling me a guy who looked like you, traveling across Europe while fighting Nazis, didn’t get some? Not even once?”

He shrugged, entirely too casual. “Ever heard of abstinence?”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“How?”

He turned to you then, giving you a pointed look that was somehow both amused and mildly annoyed, like he was waiting for you to connect the dots.

“Oh,” you said after a moment, realization dawning. “Wait. Really?”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not like I didn’t have opportunities…” He glanced at you, expression somewhere between sheepish and apologetic, as if he expected you to be upset about women he never actually slept with seventy years ago. What he didn’t know was that, despite the utter irrationality of it, there was a tiny, annoying tug of jealousy.

“But… things were complicated. Steve and I had our priorities. Girls weren’t exactly top of the list.”

You snorted. “Listen, Steve, I get. Big ol’ virgin. But you?”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Bucky said dryly.

“What?” you said with an innocent shrug. “I’m just saying, it’s hard to believe. I mean, sure, Steve had the whole ‘Captain America’ schtick, but you had the looks, the charm, the whole mysterious bad boy thing going on. You’re telling me girls weren’t lining up for a chance with Sergeant Barnes?”

“Guess they were more into stars and stripes than his Brooklyn buddy,” Bucky said, his tone light, but there was something underneath it you couldn’t quite place.

“They just didn’t know better,” you offered, leaning closer and bumping your shoulder against his.

He gave you a sidelong glance, lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, well. Their loss.”

The moment stretched between you, warm and lingering. His fingers tapped absently against the basket handle, and you could see the way he was studying you out of the corner of his eye—like he was still getting used to the way you looked at him, the way you were here, teasing him about something as simple as old dating habits instead of pushing him to talk about war and loss.

Before you could respond, an elderly woman shuffled past with her cart, her gaze flicking pointedly to the box of condoms in your basket before giving you both a knowing look.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh as Bucky immediately turned away, clearing his throat and pretending to examine a display of toothpaste with sudden, intense focus.

“You okay there, Sergeant?” you teased, sidling up to his side and resting your chin on his arm.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his ears turning faintly pink.

“You sure? You’re looking a little flustered.”

He turned back to you then, slipping an arm over your shoulders and narrowing his eyes, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet, here you are,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his lips.

His grip tightened around you, hand curling over the back of your neck as he pulled you in closer. He kissed your temple, lips lingering there as he exhaled slowly, like he was breathing you in, like he was grounding himself in the feeling of you.

“Yeah,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Here I am.”

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: Dinosaur

————————————————————————-

Summary: You make the mistake of helping Joe make a TikTok account.

Warnings: None, pure silliness

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Into The Mystic

————————————————————————-

February 15, 2024

Out of nowhere, Joe plopped down next to me on the couch and put his phone on my lap.

“Can I help you?” - you

“Yes, actually!” - Joe pointed to his phone

I looked down at his phone to see that it was the TikTok log-in or sign-up page that pops up when you first download the app.

“What?” - you

“Can you help me make an account? My dinosaur ass can't figure it out, but I wanna follow you and see the videos you post. Ja’Marr was talking about the videos you posted of me and you for Valentine’s yesterday, but I had no idea what he was talking about. I wanna be able to see your posts.” - Joe

“Why? So you can approve of them?” - you

“No, nothing like that! I like watching the videos you make of us, and I think they're cute. Plus, I rarely ever get to see the finished prank videos. Please help me?” - Joe

I thought his reasoning was adorable, so I happily helped him.

“Do you want it to be an official account or incognito?” - you

“Incognito.” - Joe

Nodding, I handed him his phone so he could type a username in.

I was absentmindedly staring off when I heard Joe giggle.

“What?” - you smiled

He handed me his phone, and I playfully rolled my eyes at the username he typed out.

Simp4Y/N_B

“You're a dork.” - you laughed

“I mean, I am making the account to watch your videos, so it's kinda fitting.” - Joe grinned

After getting the rest of the account setup process completed, Joe made me type my username in the search so he could follow me.

“Wanna follow anyone else? The team you play for, maybe?” - you

“Nope. This is all I wanted.” - Joe

——

You had no idea what a mistake that would be, and you were dealing with the consequences.

It wasn't even the next day yet, and Joe had blown your phone up, mass-liking every video you've ever posted.

Then he found the AI Spongebob singing videos…

“Joseph Lee, send me one more TikTok, and I'm going to block you.” - you

“Watch the last one I sent!” - Joe

“No!” - you

“It's Patrick singing Billie Jean!” - Joe

We were lying in bed, or at least I was, but my phone continuously vibrated on the nightstand, and Joe laughing kept me from sleeping.

“Go to sleep.” - you

Joe rolled over and laid his head on my shoulder, his hand propping up his phone on my chest to show me the video.

Like he hadn't already watched it ten times, Joe couldn't stop laughing.

“I'm gonna shove you off of this bed.” - you

——

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did. They damn did.

Joe found Jett and Campbell. (IYKYK)

Now he randomly calls me Pookie as a joke, but with way too serious of an expression for my liking.

He'd gone to pick up my online pickup order from the store for me, and when Joe called me to tell me he had received my order, he greeted me in a way that made me want to hang up.

“Hey, baby.” - you

“Hey, Pookie. I got your order and am almost home.” - Joe

A few seconds of silence went by till I spoke up.

“Call me that again and I'll file for divorce.” - you

“You wouldn't do that, you love me too much... right?” - Joe

“I would never even think of it. I was just kidding, Joey.” - you

“Good because I can't live without you.” - Joe

“Can't live without you either… I love you more than anything.” - you

A few seconds of silence went by before Joe spoke up.

“Love you too… Pookie.” - Joe

“Bye.” - you hung up

——

After threatening divorce, Joe toned it down with the “Pookie” shit, but then he found trends that guys were doing on their girls.

We were in bed one night, cuddling and watching a movie, when out of nowhere, I heard an unmistakable edit audio playing. I looked over at Joe’s phone only to see my face and an annoyed expression on Joe’s.

Joe put his phone down on his chest and scooted away from me.

“Joe…” - you

“Nope, it's okay. Comforting knowing that my wife can recognize songs that are in the background of videos of other men.” - Joe

“You're being silly. I'm huge right now because I'm pregnant with your kid.” - you

“You're not huge… but that still doesn't make up for the fact that you knew that sound.” - Joe

I rolled over onto my side and curled up against Joe. He begrudgingly reached out and ran his fingertips over my bump that was pressing against his side.

“You're crazy if you think I don't have an edit of you saved with the same song in the background.” - you grinned

Joe looked away, suddenly feeling bashful as his cheeks flushed pink, and I lightly scratched his bare arm with my nails.

“You're playin’.” - Joe

“No, I'm not!” - you

I grabbed my phone out and pulled TikTok up, immediately finding my collection titled “Hubby ❤️🤭”, and scrolled till I found the video I wanted.

“Woah, you weren’t joking.” - Joe

“Don't you look hot as fuck?” - you

“I'm just drinking water on the sidelines…” - Joe

“Exactly!” - you

————————————————————————-

Authors note: idk what to say 💀

Request in this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[gublershrry]

NEEEEEDDDDDD angst rn i can just tell you write angst that’s so good 😛😛

Okay heres a lil blurb for ya

Your face went hot when you opened up your phone, seeing the 9 missed calls and 14 texts from Billie, all begging for forgiveness from you. Riddled with apologies and pleas to just call her back, you read them all before shutting your phone back off and getting up to wash your face.

After what she did to you, after the lying and the cheating and the horrible things you heard her say about you, say TO you, she didn’t deserve forgiveness.

And you deserved a lot more than an apology.

So as you washed your tear-stained face, scrubbing at your cheeks that burned from the salt and your eyes that hurt to blink, you stripped and hopped in your shower, hoping to be able to wash away the feeling of shame and embarrassment.

Embarrassment because you believed her. Shame because you fell for her lies and made yourself look stupid.

You should’ve known she wasn’t just “out for dinner with friends!” on tour, you should’ve known she wasn’t “in the studio late” every Tuesday night. You should’ve known not to trust her just because she was so sweet to you when you were with her, but so distant and unloving when she wasn’t.

So, when you heard Billie’s signature knock on the door 2 minutes after you turned the shower off, you should’ve known not to answer it.

But you did anyways.

“What are you doing here, B?” You say immediately, not even opening the door all the way. You couldn’t bear to look at her face. Not after the video of her cheating on you with her best friend circulated Twitter. Not after you ghosted her instead of confronting her. Not after blocking her on everything but iMessage, because a little part of you wanted to know she cares.

“Please, please let me in.” She slurs outside, obviously drunk, high, or both. Your heart sinks and you gulp, opening the door a little bit wider so she can squeeze in. You turn around, still unable to look her in the eyes, and walk straight to your kitchen to grab her water as she stumbles to your couch.

“I- I’m so-” she hiccups in between her words, the taste of alcohol probably bubbling in her throat, “so sorry. You h- have to beli-” another hiccup cuts her off, but you speak before she has the chance to continue.

“You hurt me, Billie.” You say sternly as you walk the water over to her, finally catching a glimpse of her in this state. Her eyes were bloodshot, with light mascara stains running down her cheeks. Her hair was tousled under her bandana, you could tell. Her bottom lip had marks from her teeth, where you assume she had been biting them out of anxiety and anger, a bad habit you tried to get her to quit.

She looked miserable. Almost as miserable as you had been for the week you had gone without speaking to her.

“I waited, Billie. I waited for you to explain to me what happened. I waited for an excuse, anything, because I wanted to hear you out. I wanted to believe you, I wanted it to be a lie. I waited and waited.”

She sips her water, her hand shaking as it brings the cup up to her lips.

“You weren’t there for me at all. For our entire relationship you saw me twice a week, you lied about where you were, who you were with, what you were doing. How am I supposed to forgive you? You broke my heart, Billie.”

You sigh, trying to speak softly but your emotions get the best of you, your voice raising in volume and pitch. You feel your eyes start to water and you swallow, trying to keep the tears from falling.

Billie examines you, her watchful eyes scanning over each feature of your face. She can tell you’ve been distraught. Your nose is red, your eyes puffy and tired, your skin pale and cold. You were a mess with her, and a mess without her.

“I’m sorry. I know, y/n, I know that I hurt you. I know that, okay? I don’t know what else to say. Please don’t leave me. I need you, I’m here because I need you.”

She begs you and goes to grab your hand, but you quickly retract it and walk around to stand in front of her now.

“You can’t even see how much you’ve hurt me, Billie. You have no idea what I’ve gone through. The DM’s, the tweets, the texts. Even your family has apologized for your actions before you did. I can’t even look at you. Not tonight, not when you’re drunk and saying shit and I’m a wreck.”

You stand your ground as you watch her face fall with defeat. You don’t know what she was thinking, coming in here apologizing like it would make you forgive her. Like you’d run into her arms and everything would be okay again. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she grabs the water, finishes the rest of the glass, and slams it down onto the table. You’re unsure if shes angry with herself, with you, or both.

She stands shakily, holding onto the arm of the couch for support. You almost reach out to help her. Almost.

“This can- this can’t be the end. I’ll come back, I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll come sober and ready to talk. I’ll make this work for you. For me. For us. I lo- I love you, okay?”

She’s cut off by a couple more hiccups before she can fully get her words out. Her eye contact with you is unwavering. You walk toward the door, leading her out.

“Please let me figure this out. I’ll fix it.” Billie promises, now standing in the hallway of your apartment.

“I don’t know how I can ever trust you again.” You say quietly, watching her head fall before shutting the door in her face, double locking it, and walking back into your room to finish getting ready for bed.

Its messy sorry but love u :p

[intrepidacious]

masterlist – b. barnes

KEY: ♡ personal favourite | ✧ new additions

please note that my blog is rated 18+, minors dni or you will be blocked <3

✩ series

time after time [ongoing] ♡ ✧ ↳ time loops ; post tfatws ; angst with a happy ending | 60k+

After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

✩ one shots

insomnia ↳ fluff ; sharing a bed | 1.5k

It’s 5am, and for some reason, you just can’t fall asleep.

first date, last night ♡ ↳ 40s!bucky ; neighbors ; mutual pining | 5.5k

You were supposed to go on a date tonight, but Bucky just had to interfere. It doesn't make any sense, either. It's not like there's anything going on between the two of you.

baby, it's bad out there ↳ set during hawkeye | 9.8k

Your best friend Kate has always been good at attracting trouble and this time, it’s starting to become your problem, too. Then again, what’s Christmas in New York City without meet-cutes and gunfire?

not even a little ↳ modern au ; roommates | 5.7k

The problem of living with Bucky is that he makes it impossible not to fall in love with him. Even though you could list several hundred reasons why it's a bad idea. And you have.

heal me, baby ↳ nurse!reader ; hurt/comfort | 2.6k

Your friendship starts with you cleaning up his wounds and Bucky paying to get the blood stains out of your couch. Something else starts, too.

set me free ♡ ↳ 40s! bucky ; little mermaid retelling | 6.4k

Once upon a time, a soldier fell from a train. Thankfully, this time, he is found by gentle hands, and a beautiful voice keeps him safe from the cold.

↳ sequel headcanon: being understood

blind roads ↳ bonnie and clyde au ; implied smut ; fluff and angst | 4.4k

"I'm James Bucky Barnes. This is my charming fiancée. We rob banks." (or, the Bonnie and Clyde AU literally no one asked for.)

↳ bonus drabble: no plan b

every dream gone ↳ pure unadulterated angst ; canon-compliant | 3.2k

After the events of Winter Soldier, Bucky slowly realizes just how much he lost after his fall.

↳ bonus drabble: homecoming

almost believing ↳ friends to lovers ; fake dating for a mission | 5.4k

You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

a million summers ↳ college au ; childhood friends to lovers | 3k

Something shifts between you and Bucky when he comes back home from college.

about that night (the bugs and the dirt) ↳ witch!reader ; gothic vibes | 1.2k

You never talk about that night, and Bucky never asks. Even though he can’t help but suspect something is wrong.

✩ drabbles, blurbs and more

seven sentence drabbles (masterlist)

headcanons (masterlist)

moodboards (masterlist)

✩ return to main masterlist ✩

[burreauxwrites]

28 Things I Love About Joey

—————

writer’s block is so crazy y’all … i wanted to do an joe x reader birthday blurb, but i do not have it in me, especially because i have finals this week :[

BUT BEAR WITH ME, because i hope to have chapter 2 out for my fic sometime soon (the prologue and chaper 1 are in the masterlist!) and i’m hoping it’s a bit longer in length.

but we’ll see. IN THE MEANTIME, let me celebrate pookie’s birthday with 28 things i love about him :] IT’S JOE DAYYYYY 🧡

1. he’s so talented! the it boy, in terms of quarterbacks. he’s him.

2. he’s introspective, always taking time to think about what he says

3. his emotional intelligence !!! in a world where football can be competitive, he never takes his anger out on others.

4. he speaks highly of his other teammates! other qbs place blame on their teammates, but joey points out their strengths and how they improve

5. despite being quiet and reserved, he’s a nerd! his love for like batman, spongebob, and dinosaurs even is adorable

6. he doesn’t necessarily pay much mind to what people say about him. that’s attractive asf in my opinion!

7. the care he has for the younger fans! whether it be signing a ball or whatever, he’s just always so sweet to them :(

8. he’s just a natural leader. with the small mic’d up moments we do get, he’s always hyping up the others

9. his friendship with ja’marr (they’re basically married but that’s neither here nor there)! two peas in a pod fr!

10. his eyes !!! they are just the prettiest shade of blue to me <33

11. his hair! whether it’s the long brown hair with the droopy bit, or the buzzcut, his hair always looks flawless!

12. his chest. a chest of steel if you ask me.

13. his thighs. perfect for riding imo but we’ll save that for a blurb or two

14. his hands!!! his hands may be small (according to him), but damn, are they attractive.

15. the small habit he has of swaying back and forth in pressers. i tend to do that too, so to see someone else do it makes me feel less self-conscious 🥺

16. the extroverted side of him that does come out with friends! seeing him in hard knocks and talk about his bat mobile with tee and ja’marr was so cute

17. his grumpy moments!! we all get mad obv, but he’s literally the human version of grumpy bear sometimes and i think that’s adorable

18. he’s a smarty pants! when lsu joe talking about physics…yup <3

19. his love for cincinnati :( the way he talks about cincy is so sweet, you can tell he loves the city

20. his generosity and love for helping people out! he always talks about helping out with poverty and mental health and that warms my heart <3

21. his humility! i know we all hate how hard he is on himself, but at the same time, he’s just so humble :(

22. his words about gun control and women’s rights! when i first found out he had made a post against the overturning of roe v wade, i was surprised! most athletes don’t seem to really speak on those things, but he did 🥺

23. his love for his parents <3 idk if he was a mama’s boy, but hearing him talk about his mom is so cute :(

24. his SMILEEEE 🥺🥺🥺 his eyes do the little crinkly thing…ohhh my heart 💔💔💔

25. his determination!! he’s always determined to improve and that’s really attractive to me.

26. him in compression shirts. yum.

27. him smoking cigars…i don’t normally find smoking attractive but when HE DOES IT???? phew…

28. joey as a whole!!! he’s sososo amazing and deserves the world

once again, HAPPY JOE DAY <3 i hope he knows that he is so loved and that so many people look up to him. he’s so sweet, smart, sexy, and just stunning altogether. he deserves the absolute world and all of the happiness in it. love you joey b <3 🧡

[nikoniclove]

i just saw the scene where jj puts headphones on her baby bump and i was wondering if you could write a little one shot of ace doing the same for peanut and emily and jj jjst being so confused but smitten or something

A couple of blurbs about music and the Ace in the Hole pregnancy arc:

Song is Lady by Brett Young

JJ finds her pregnant partner on the back porch with her guitar. The young woman sings softly, strumming along. She’s just starting show, the roundness of her belly offsetting the instrument in her lap more than it usually does. JJ leans against the open sliding glass door, just enjoying the view. For as much as Ace feels uncomfortable with the pregnancy and the bubbling insecurities about motherhood, JJ adores seeing her partner pregnant. The soft swell of her belly and knowing it’s her baby, their baby. JJ is excellent with words, and she can’t find the right combination of syllables to describe how it feels to love someone so wholly and see her carry their child. Warmth blossoms in her chest, and JJ’s heart skips a beat listening to Ace sing to their unborn child.

I remember when I first heard your heartbeat, it had only been 8 weeks. Standing there staring at that screen was the first time you ever scared me. God knows I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but, good news, we got her to get through it. I hope you look just like your momma and love her like I do. You’ll see close to perfect patience if you watch her every move.

“You should really sing more often,” JJ encourages when Ace lets her fingers still on the strings. “I’m sure he enjoyed it as much as I did.” She watches the characteristic blush color the young woman’s cheeks. “You’re so fucking cute, you know that?” She settles onto the bench swing, resting her chin on Ace’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ace chuckles. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

“I knew you were holding a backyard concert, and you needed an audience, so I hustled home for my front row seat and backstage pass.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she states playfully, lovingly. JJ beams back at her, begging for more songs. JJ knows their son is going to be raised with so much love and just as much music, a beautiful playlist to capture their life as a growing family.

——

After news gets out that you’re pregnant, the whole group of them starts bickering over what Peanut is going to listen to while case talk happens. You wear headphones on either side of your belly to block the conversations about victims, killers, and other terrible things. Reid and Morgan go as far as hijacking the Bluetooth headphones to play what they want, Reid wanting classical for his nephew while Morgan insists on 90s R&B. It goes back and forth until JJ swats them both. “I’ve put you in time out before, and I’ll do it again.” Then she takes your phone and plays the BeeGees, The Beatles, or Nirvana.

When Emily gets her way, it’s The Cure or the Banshees. She wants to make sure Peanut is introduced to her preferred punk tastes before any of her chosen family can sway Peanut’s tastes with terrifying pictures of his Imma as a goth teenager. You play whatever playlist you’re in the mood for, which is usually an eclectic mix of everything.

[grubcakes]

Halloo ૮(˶˃ᆺ˂˶)ა!!! I am Cicada (HE/THEY)!! This is my selfship blog yayay (❁´▽`❁) Welcome!!!

(pls read this little blurb along with the intro post before interacting or following umym yes)

COMMISSIONS:

Small warning!! I will occasionally post mildly-suggestive content of my yumeship (Outfits, poses, and imagines n the like...) if that bugs you then I would unfollow!!

I yume Ludwig Von Koopa from SMB!!! I am a selective/nonsharing yume, sso.,., do with that what you will. IYAAA

art by peopleeeater!^

I do also yume other characters which I MAY post about from time to time, but it is highly unlikely . Ludwig is Only My boyfriend forever and my autism commands me to only draw him and i am simply a slave to my heart.

DNI List :

Pro/Com/Dark shippers + Dead Dove or Variants. You will be blocked on sight. This blog isn't for your people!

Anti - Selfshippers or just OCxCANON haters.. cuz... why ? It is fun . You have no whimsy of you hate it.

General DNI - R~cist, Xenoph~bic, Anti-S~mitic, Pro-Isr~el, Tr~mp/El~n lover, Homoph~bic, Poly-haters, Transph~bic, Anti-Xenogenders, Anti-Neopronouns, Abl~ist, Cluster-B Demonizers, Endogenic Sys, Anti Self-Diagnosis, Sl~r-Slingers, etc. Censoring words bc i have no idea on how tumblrs word policy or whateva is like... ya

I am very iffy about doubles. I take me and Ludwig's relationship more seriously than I let on! If I do follow you/are mutuals with you and you're a double, please read the bottom of the little blurb post i have on here!!

Please try to refrain from asking heavily suggestive things about my Yumeship!! There are probably minors here. And people who don't like NS/FW!

Tags I use ! :

#🎼🌱

#🎼🌱 • biomusic

#🎼 • cannon in sea major {Ludwig Von Koopa}

#🎼🌱 at night for mildly suggestive!

#cadaposting random cada rambles...

#cadacomms My commissions!

#cadaventing self explanatory

#SAVING FOR SOON... for people i want to commission!

[hannie-dul-set]

six quick and easy hacks to 🆙 the quality of your fanfiction!

as promised, here it is! i’m not here to tell you how to plot out your story, or how to write your characters’ personalities. the tips i’m sharing are more on formatting and structure, secret (not really) cheat codes to instantaneously make your already written work even better! 

my qualifications? being a tumblr hag for over five years (my even more embarrassing pre k-pop writeblr included!) so i’ve unlocked quite a bit of secrets and discovered some eurekas throughout my time here HAHAHAH. anyway, let’s start!

#1 VARIETY IN PARAGRAPH LENGTHS, SENTENCE LENGTHS, AND SENTENCE STARTERS.

nothing turns me off more than seeing paragraph blocks after paragraph blocks when looking for some new fics to read, especially when you’re reading from a cramped up device such as your phone.

when i write a lengthy paragraph, i try to follow it up with a one-liner, or a mid-sized one. but it’s something i consciously keep track of— when i noticed that, “oh, this gdoc is getting a little too wordy, a little too chunky,” i make sure that my next paragraph is significantly shorter than the current one because it keeps the entire page interesting. one to two sentences of lines of paragraphs after another and another doesn’t look pretty. chunks of paragraphs after paragraphs is boring.

make your pages visually dynamic by ensuring variety.

like this, for example.

→ fic: home for the bitchless.

seeing a large chunk of text and a singular line immediately after also sort of forces your reader to stick around and read an otherwise intimidating lengthy paragraph because— oh! what could have possibly led to that singular like of dialogue or thought! #subtlemanipulation you get me? 😔🤙

this rule of mine applies to sentences and phrases within the paragraph as well!

→ fic: love vomit.

and as a bonus, you can use paragraph breaks and cuts to your advantage! manipulating the way a sentence or paragraph ends in a certain way makes your works more rhythmic! and, when you play it around the right way, abrupt cuts and breaks also add the right mood and drama to your work!

→ drabble: the boy who cried wolf.

part three of tip number one (one…we’re still at number one…) is on sentence and paragraph starters. i keep it as a rule of thumb that if i start a paragraph with “you,” or with someones name, i don’t use it again in the next one to avoid monotony. it’s a very miniscule thing really, and i doubt that people notice this HAHAHA but this is something i religiously swear by because repetitions like this are visually boring.

→ wip: sunwater.

of course, this can’t be avoided all the time, and repeating the sentence starter “You” or any other pronoun, word, or phrase can be intentionally utilized to strongly drive a point. just don’t overdo it!

→ drabble: patience, patience.

→ blurb: monsters don’t hide under the bed.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

there are other good and strategic uses for repetitions as well! we’ll get to that later.

lastly, variety in sentence and paragraph starters doesn’t simply mean changing up the first word. things can still get really boring even if you use “you” or a character’s name interchangeably if your sentence structure remains the same.

this, for example, is monotonous.

the structure (and length) of all three sentences are the same. A does this. B does this. A does this. and even if you switch things up but still use the same sentence structure, it still falls flat. case in point, below, a structure i often see in a lot of fics i stumble across.

those are flat. those are boring. they don’t…you know…make you feel something, even when you follow the rule of not using the same starter twice. let me try improving it by adding more variety in the sentences (+ adding a tip that i’ll be discussing right after!)

the word “He” here is used twice to create a rhythm and draw emphasis, but the rest of the excerpt maintains a sense of variety to make the narrative more interesting and compelling to read.

*

#2 PICK A POV AND STICK WITH IT.

before i start a scene, a drabble, or blurb, the first question i ask myself is, “whose point of view do i want it to be in?”

one, it’s a lot neater, more organized, than omniscient point of views in my opinion (unless you’re like a super fucking skilled writer of course HAHAHHA). two, it allows for a bit of mystery, suspense, and engagement because you don’t have access to what other people are thinking about, and three— in line with the first tip— when you know whose brain you’re in when writing, it allows for more dynamic narrations, gives you an excuse to be messy because our internal thoughts are messy as well, and makes the writing a hell of a lot easier when you’re focused on monologuing one person alone!

when writing shorter fics, drabbles, or blurbs, i swear by this rule, no excuses HAHAHAH but when writing longer fics, sometimes i switch around the point of views per scene, just to make a more well rounded story.

sometimes, the point of view doesn’t even have to be any of the main character’s! writing from an external POV is also really fun and adds another layer of interest. see example below, a Jeonghan breakup fic written exclusively from the perspective of the outsiders. very fun idea! 

breakup scene written in Seungcheol’s POV.

another squabble written in Seungkwan’s POV.

→ wip: the breakup soup.

*

#3 REPETITIONS AND THEMES = COHESIVENESS.

this section contains tricks on how to wrap up your fics into one cohesive little present with a pretty ribbon on top! 

first is the use of repetition. use a cool funky line at the beginning of your story, and reuse/rehash/revise it at the end for a neat finish, especially when you have trouble figuring out a way to end your story (lifesaving hack! trust me!) 

i use this mostly in my shorter works—

→ drabble: you’re my bucket list.

→ blurb: louder.

—but it works just as well with longer fics, especially when the repetition is all throughout, and not just at the start and finish.

→ fic: mogi.

sometimes, it doesn’t even have to be a repeated phrase or line! it can be a little gimmick and it’d still work to make your fic cohesive! for example, in the fic below, i use the giving of strawberry candy/strawberry kisses to tie all the different scenes together because this was initially a set of separate drabble ideas wrapped into one long fic.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

and for this one (another ricky fic….yes…..) i use the whole cat metaphor to do the same. 

→ drabble: yours to keep.

the next tip to make your work cohesive is to grab a singular theme, object, whatever, and take advantage of it for your narration HAHAHAHHA this can be better explained by looking at the examples below.

theme: citrus.

→ drabble: citrus in the morning.

theme: storm.

→ blurb: blizzard.

the above examples are my shorter works, but it can work for longer fics as well! just check out this 36k word monster HAHAHAHHA.

theme: seasons.

→ fic: love vomit.

these are very simple ways to make your fic more put together! even if it’s just a simply blurb about a confession, adding a theme to aid the imagery bumps your fic quality to a +++++

*

#4 THROW AWAY THE Y/N’S!

now this one is quite honestly just a personal nitpick HAHAHHAHA but seeing the word Y/N when i’m reading something really pulls me out of my immersion. (and i only stopped using Y/N’s in my fics at the start of my 2023 comeback….so if you see my older works still using it…hahahha please don’t prosecute me).

anyway, you can do this either by embedding it in the narration—

→ fic: star studded baggage.

—or by using nicknames and titles instead!

→ wip: the breakup soup.

→ fic: can’t handle this.

*

#5 GET INTO THE (UN)NECESSARY SPECIFICS.

instead of just saying “Your professor called you,” grab a random last name and say “Prof Yoon asked to see you in his office.” instead of saying you went to the cafe, the mall, the store, grab an actual place or make one up because no one in the world says “they’re going to the cafe to grab a frappe,” (unless the store’s name is actually The Cafe). people say they’re going to Dunkin Donuts or Coffeebreak or wherever.

sure it’s not plot relevant, sure it’s not integral, but little things like this make your narrative and dialogue a lot more realistic and less awkward. it makes it seem like your characters are actually living inside a world of their own.

*

#6 GRAMMAR AND FORMATTING.

these are given HAHA but when i talk about grammar, i mean making sure that the commas and periods are consistently inside the quotation marks when writing dialogue. i mean minimizing the use of italics because overusing it can ruin the reading experience of a good piece (i was guilty of this too!) and i mean making sure that the use of tenses are consistent all throughout (unless if it’s a creative and plot choice), because all these things really matter if you want your fic, drabble, or blurb to be of overall high quality.

and that’s basically it! hope these tips help somehow...hope i’m not revealing my secrets for naught and someone can actually put them to good use HHAHAHHA what’s most important obviously is that you’re having fun with what you’re writing…etc. etc. insert inspirational you can do it speech here.

anyway, happy new year! and happy reading and writing<33

[howlyourmelancholy]

Dreaming of You

summary: in which you recall a dream you had about james potter.

warnings: little bit of dirty talk. sex dream. 

words: 630.

notes: i said to myself i was going to finish the next one shot for sirius & emalia before starting anything new, and then this idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. so here is another smutty little blurb for james. 

"I had a dream about you, actually."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and then the memories came flooding back as the dark-haired boy scrutinised you from across the table. James narrowed his eyes, his gaze playful as he lofted a brow.

"Yeah?" There was an obvious tease in his voice that threatened to send a blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. The boys around him snickered and laughed, with Sirius giving him a side look that was obviously smug male amusement, assuming that any dream a girl had had to be sexual in nature. "About what, exactly?"

Sirius' assumption wasn't exactly wrong, but you weren’t about to puff up the egos of either of them. They could be insufferable as it was.

"Oh, uh, well."

There is a stream of light coming through the windows; the curtains are only half closed and barely blocking out the sun. The room was empty, classes having finished hours ago, but you hear the pattering of feet outside the door you’re pushed against.

Your skirt is rucked up around your waist, and your knickers are around one ankle. James is behind you, his cock sliding in the satin clutch of your pussy. Each time he bottoms out, you have to bite your tongue to keep quiet. It feels like he’s in the back of your throat, the impressive girth of his cock stretching you completely so that your arousal drips down your thighs and coats the dark curls at the base of his shaft.

"T - tell me again why we’re having sex in a classroom instead of a b - bed somewhere." You said, struggling to find your voice between soft pants. A particularly deep thrust forced a groan from you as his cock crashed deep enough to have your knees turning to jelly; the noise sent arousal racing through him.

James pressed a couple of quick kisses against your shoulder, his fingers biting into the curve of your hips while he pulled you back to meet the piston of his own. "Because," he said, his breath hot against your skin. "I saw those lacy red knickers when you were walking up the stairs, and I couldn’t fucking wait to have my cock buried in your tight pussy. You know how I feel about lace."

His words are punctured by intermittent deep thrusts, forcing the air from your lungs in loud, wonton moans. James clamped a hand tightly over your mouth to stifle them, knowing that someone would definitely hear. It makes it harder to breathe, makes you lightheaded, and turns you on all the more. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear, and you hear the amusement in his voice when your walls clamp tightly around him.

"Gotta be quiet, love. Unless you want someone walking in here while you're cumming on my cock? My dirty fucking whore."

"Hey."

James snapped his fingers in front of your face to pull you from the memories, something that normally would have annoyed the hell out of you. Instead, you blinked at him slowly, your eyes a little glassy as the memories of the dream faded back into reality.

"I’m sorry, what were you saying?" You said, your voice soft, even a little whimsical, as you rubbed your thighs together beneath the table, hoping to stifle the damp heat that’s blossomed at your core.

James' gaze is less playful now and instead has turned more suspicious, as though he can smell your arousal in the air. He regarded you with a narrowed stare before speaking. "I wasn’t saying anything. You were about to tell us about the dream you had."

"Oh, right," you laughed, waving a hand between the two of you dismissively. "Something about penguins."

[nellielsss]

⭑ ★ ⭑ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ⭑⭑

Summary: Everyone's heard of the yakuza boss and his sweet little girlfriend, but what about the female yakuza and her two beloved pets: the Rabid Panther and the Silent Wolf? Inspired by Scarface by LDR. HCs + blurbs on Toji and Grimmjow as your bodyguards. Note: I have suddenly been revived from my writer's block all thanks to Grimmjow! Reader is also ENTJ/ENFJ coded (I can't decide LMFAO just pick whichever one fits you the best). It's also kind of a love triangle except they don't have feelings for each other so IDK what to call this. I also just wanted to show my newest husband some love for his bday! Pairing: Yakuza!f!reader x Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez & Toji Fushiguro/Zen'in Warnings: Mentions of death, weapons, firearms, basically anything that comes with crime boss related fics 💀 also Kenjaku's death is mentioned cus I hate his ass and needed a victim.

╰┈➤ The Rabid Panther and the Silent Wolf, that was what Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and Toji Fushiguro were known as, respectively. The two pets to the feared yet beloved beauty, the infamous yakuza boss (L/N), (Y/N). She was one of the Four Great Kings of the Tokyo underworld and the only female of the bunch. Out of all the aforementioned kings, she was perhaps the most benevolent one of the bunch, but that wasn't saying much considering the most vicious and hated king, Ryōmen Sukuna, was all but a tyrant with a kill count that went well into the tens of thousands (at his own hands as well). The only reason she was even considered benevolent was because she didn't kill with her own hands (not unless she was terribly angry with her foe), and because she also smiled the most.

Why would she need to soak her pretty nails in ugly blood when her two pets would do anything for their owner?

As for what gave them their monikers, though...

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez earned the title of the Rabid Panther because of his violent and garish methods of disposing his opponents.

Grimmjow had a tendency to stain his white clothing and sharp claws in a pretty shade of blood red. There was nothing the blue-haired man loved doing more than sinking his claws into the unlucky foes that happened to incur his wrath or his boss's wrath

He had a pair of special rings made for him (commissioned by you, of course) just so he could get a better grip on his opponents.

The whole reason you hired him as a henchman was just because of how devoted to the fight he was. Though he was reckless in his pursuit of destroying the strongest opponent in his vicinity, you couldn't help but feel drawn to the man.

It was on one snowy January day when you happened upon him. You stood there, clad in a snow-white and red kimono when you witnessed him tear apart 3 of your henchmen, right before your very eyes. Despite the fact that he just killed your own men in a very vicious manner, you didn't cower in fear or order them to kill him; you simply reached out and wiped the blood off of his face.

"B-Boss, don't get too close to him!" The pleads of the other men fell upon deaf ears as you gazed at the wild-eyed man. He was snarling, practically foaming at the mouth, and yet you didn't waver.

"You're a rabid one," was what you first said to him.

"I'll tear your fucking throat out, lady!" he snarled at you, trying to back away from your handsy hands.

You didn't say anything, simply smiling and touching the man's face. "Handsome, too... your shade of blue pairs quite well with red."

Despite his numerous growls and threats of killing you, your hand moved to cup his cheek, move underneath his chin, and tilt it up so he was looking right at you.

"How would you like to be my rabid animal?"

Maybe you could use a man like him--a man not willing to get his paws dirty and lick them clean when he finished the job.

He didn't use guns often; he stuck to weapons that could make a man's blood paint the walls. Hell, with the kill count and voracious appetite this man had, he could make the streets of Kabukicho flow red.

Speaking of Kabukicho--he was one of the only henchmen (you preferred to call him a lieutenant, since the title befit him) to have a small group of his own. He was in charge of handling the areas with the most amount of people in them, since he could be as loud as he wanted without anyone paying him any mind.

Half the time, though, the "army" under him (what he called his Fracción) would just sit back and watch as he pummeled some poor bastard who tried to rip off one of your many businesses.

"I told you, don't fuck with me, and don't fuck with my boss!" Was what he liked to shout before tearing the throat out of his most unlucky victim.

He was made one of your only lieutenants the fastest, since he could so easily dispose of people, and also since he was just the strongest one of the bunch.

To those he was against, he was a vicious panther who didn't know how to stop shedding blood; but to you, he was no more than a cute little cat who purred and meowed in excitement when you pet him.

"Good Grimmjow," was what you cooed whenever he did something right. He came to relish the feeling of your long, perfectly manicured nails carding through his spiky blue hair. He used to detest being babied and doted on in such a manner, but it felt amazing to hear his beloved owner boss praise him for having wiped out an opposing faction's squad that tried to destroy one of your own squads.

The other henchmen of yours tended to look at this display of affection in an odd manner. They had just witnessed him poke the eyes out of someone an hour ago, and now you were petting him like a housecat?

And he was enjoying it?

Don't let this display of affection fool you, though; he would stab the shit out of anyone who talked back to you.

It certainly didn't help anyone who hated you that he was practically obsessed with you, head-over-heels for the woman he affectionately referred to as his master.

You took him off the streets, clothed him, fed him, and brought him to a position higher than he thought was possible for a man like him.

Sure, he was self-assured in his strength, but he was alone, and what good would it do to him if someone were to ambush him?

The longer he stayed by your side, the more devoted he became to you.

He would roll over on his back and purr for you if that's what you so desired.

He owed you his very existence, so god help your foes if he ever heard someone bad-mouthing you.

For instance, do you know that scene in Kill Bill where O-Ren Ishī hopped atop a table and sliced someone's head off in a meeting?

Well, you wouldn't have to do any of that, because with a simple nod of the head, Grimmjow would go over there and viciously slice their throat and make the blood splatter all over everyone else's food.

But the other man, dressed in a dark, form-fitting outfit and standing beside you was just as, if not more, deadly than Grimmjow. Isn't it amazing to have two brutalizers at your beck and call?

Toji Fushiguro earned the title of the Silent Wolf because of his, well, silent methods of execution and warfare. With just a step of the foot and the trigger of a finger, he could put a bullet in anyone's head within a matter of seconds.

His favorite weapon was his M1911A1 modified with an effective silencer that could mask his position anytime, anywhere. He would also do it with a smirk on his face.

Toji Fushiguro joined the ranks of your yakuza faction after he tried to assassinate you on one rainy November night.

He was hired by the ex-leader of one of the 4 great factions, Kenjaku, to assassinate you after a deal gone wrong.

He would've been paid a cool 1.5 billion yen if he managed to kill you and your pet panther successfully--and have a hefty bonus if he could manage it in only 2 shots.

He had his trusty pistol at the ready, and his overinflated ego had him fooled that he was going to become a very rich man.

On his end, he actually was quite close to killing you and claiming that bounty, he'd just underestimated your fighting prowess.

"That's quite the gun you're holding there, Mister," you said when he was about to pull the trigger on your head. His eyes widened a little when he was found out, and in the moment he was caught off guard, Grimmjow quickly whipped around and pinned him up against the wall.

"Shall I tear his throat out for you, boss?" the blue-eyed man asked, his eyes never leaving Toji's pinned self.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you approached him, studying Toji's face for a few seconds, and you spoke to him directly. "I take it you came here to assassinate me?"

The man nodded without saying anything.

"I take it you were also paid to do so," you said, this time not asking him a question.

He, again, nodded.

"I figured as much." You took a second to scan his appearance, noting the worn-out grey pants he wore and the fitted black t-shirt that obviously needed a washing. "Someone like you would need the money... still, I'm surprised you had the balls to come here and try to kill me on your own with one measly gun."

"I have more weapons at my disposal, miss," he snarked, still being strangled by Grimmjow.

"You will speak when prompted to!" the man growled, still keeping his eyes on Toji.

"Please, Grimmy, cut him some slack," you said light-heartedly, putting your hand on his white jacket. "He obviously just needs a warm meal."

"But he tried to take your life-"

"Grimmjow." He took that as a sign to relax his grip around the man's throat a little. "Hand me his gun," you ordered suddenly, to which he happily obliged.

"Here, boss," he gruffed, handing you the pistol with the silencer on it.

You tossed it around in your hands, feeling the weight of the metal. "This is certainly a nice pistol you've got here, Mister, although it is in need of some repairs... maybe it's time you replace it and get a new one."

"I was hoping to do that with the money I'd earn from this mission," he chuckled softly. "I'm not one to save up for nice things."

You emptied the bullets from the magazine and dumped them to the ground, then tossed the gun into a nearby dumpster. "How much did Kenjaku pay you to assassinate me?"

Everyone in the alley looked at you suddenly, a little shocked by how weird your actions were. "How did you know?-"

You cut Grimmjow off and said: "he's the only one who would possibly want me dead, and he's also the only one who'd have others do it for him."

"1.5 billion yen, ma'am," Toji spoke up, unperturbed by the glares everyone was giving him and the vitriol he was facing for trying to assassinate you.

"I see," you hummed, tapping your foot in thought. "Given the fact that you and I have never crossed paths before, I'm willing to bet you were here simply for the money and not because you had some sort of vendetta against me."

"You'd be correct, ma'am-"

"Stop calling me ma'am, I don't wanna feel old."

"Apologies."

You smiled a bit and crossed your arms over your chest. "Anyway, what if I paid you 2 billion yen to kill Kenjaku? You can even bring Grimmy here to help you."

It was his turn, again, to be shocked. "But, Boss, he just tried to kill you!-"

"I'll do it, no questions asked. As long as I can get a new gun, of course."

"Good," you smiled wider, showing off your pearly canines. "Release him and take him with us." Grimmjow did as he was told, releasing his neck but still holding him by the shirt collar. "Now, we're going to treat him for a nice, warm bowl of ramen. Understood, boys and girls?"

Everyone was in agreement, albeit shakily, and they went with you to the nearest ramen shop with your new toy in tow.

"By the way, what was your name? I don't think I caught it back there."

"The name's Toji," he said gruffly. "Toji Fushiguro."

Grimmjow, ever the vigilant henchman, turned to you and asked: "are you really sure you want to go through with this?"

"Has my judgment ever betrayed me?" you retorted, making him go silent again. "He was stealthy enough to sneak behind me and almost kill me, which I should punish you for, by the way. Anyway, I know potential when I see it, and I saw a great deal in him. Almost as much as I saw in you."

As for what role Toji served, he was the wordless yet deadly assassin who could get a headshot just as fast as Grimmjow could tear someone's jugular out (he has a thing for throats, if you couldn't tell).

He and his trusty silencer pistol can do just about anything, and his custom-made sniper rifle made up for what his pistol lacked.

Toji was the silent enforcer, the voice of "reason" if you can consider his methods of killing before talking reasonable.

Truth be told, Toji would've been content in any role, so long as he didn't have to interact with idiots too much and got paid handsomely in return for his work.

Toji ran the stealthy missions, the ones that required the utmost quiet and precision, as well as the ones that had to be done ASAP.

He started calling his little army the "wolf-pack" after hearing the title he was given behind his back.

He actually never saw himself falling in love with his boss, either. He didn't obsess over you like Grimmjow did, nor did he idolize you like the other henchmen; he found himself drawn to your charismatic nature & the eloquence with which you spoke.

For a crime-boss who had such a high body count, you certainly didn't have the air of one. You almost seemed like a friendly woman, but that was because you didn't have to worry yourself with killing those who wronged you.

It was only when someone really pissed you off that he saw you take matters into your own hands.

Honestly? It was kinda hot seeing you execute someone yourself.

"The boss wants her money, so why hasn't your bald ass coughed it up already?" Grimmjow asked angrily, doing the talking for all of you.

"I-I swear, it was here a few days ago, but I was robbed!"

"Did you forget about the security cameras she had installed? What do you take her for--a dumbass who can't run a business correctly?!" the blue-haired man kicked the man in question with the toe of his leather boot, sending him flying & cracking a rib in the process.

"Just... just another week, and I'll have your money-"

"Toji, hand me your gun." The cold chill in your voice made everyone look your way, including Toji, himself.

"As you wish, boss." The silent man simply unbuckled his holster and gave you the pistol with that nonchalant smirk on his face. He'd never seen you hold a gun yourself; it was always him holding the cold metal weight in his hands.

The silence in the room was disturbed by the sound of your stiletto boots clicking on the floor, accompanied by the sound of you handing your fur coat to the closest girl. "Do you know why I'm such a successful boss, Mr. Tanaka?"

Mr. Tanaka merely whimpered where he laid, feeling the cold barrel of the handgun press against his forehead. "N-No, I-"

"It's because I'm such an incredible businesswoman," you replied coolly, pressing the barrel against his forehead harder. "All of my businesses have flourished under the watchful eyes of the people I've so deliberately put in charge. They oversee everything and make sure I turn a profit out of practically the air we breathe in. Do you want to know what happens when they fail to live up to my expectations? Do you want to know what happens to people who fuck with me?"

Before he could even answer, you easily ripped the silencer of the gun off, tossed it aside, and put a bullet in the poor man's cranium.

"This."

Once he was dead for sure, you stood up and tossed the gun back to Toji. "Don't fuck with my money ever again," was what you said, taking your coat back from the girl who stood there in fear & shock. "And that goes for all of you bastards. I could have all of you killed right now in the blink of an eye, and nobody would ever notice that you're gone. All of you are replaceable."

Nobody in this room had ever seen you lose your cool like that and fire the gun yourself, not when you had an expert marksman like Toji and a ferocious wildcat like Grimmjow.

Toji honestly couldn't lie; it was hot as fuck seeing you put a bullet in a man's skull yourself.

"That was an expensive silencer, boss," he said as you all left the room.

"I'll get you a new one."

Yeah, he was in love with a Yakuza... however it happened, he didn't know; but he embraced it. He wasn't one to shy away from his true nature, after all.

It helped that you bestowed the equal amount of care to both of your pets. Neither the wolf nor the panther got more than the other, and they were both treated to the same luxuries as the other.

New coats and wardrobes made of the finest and most durable fabrics, the best weapons money could buy, and the nicest rooms overlooking the garden in your little compound located just outside of the city.

Toji and Grimmjow both had their own apartments in case they needed to stay in the center of town for a mission, but they much preferred to stay by your side; Grimmjow wanted to be as close to you as possible, and Toji just liked the feel of the compound. It was serene, calm, relaxing for a Yakuza's mansion.

They even had their own embroidered kimonos that they wore when they were with you! (how cute).

Honestly, the only issues they had... were with each other.

Always competing for your affections, rivaling to see who could earn the most smiles and praises from their beloved boss.

It was like a love triangle straight out of some romance manga, only instead of a school it was a crime boss's compound that had blood on its walls, and instead of bento boxes there were sharp objects.

"Don't be stupid, she obviously likes the way I stab my opponents!"

"Your methods are too damn messy--you stained one of her fur coats with blood, for fuck's sake It took two weeks to clean the damn thing; she obviously likes my silent-but-deadly approach."

"Where the hell's the fun in that?!"

"Boys, boys, if you don't calm yourselves, I'm going to have to put you in your kennels," your calming voice interjected when you walked in on the two men squabbling. It was honestly so endearing to see a couple of grown criminals fighting over something as silly as whatever they were fighting over, but if they went too far they'd probably break a valuable, so you chose to quell their argument.

"We're so sorry, boss! Right, Fushiguro?!" Grimmjow asked, jabbing the man with his elbow.

"Of course we are. Would you stop elbowing me, Jaegerjaquez?!"

Instead of reprimanding them further, you put your hands on their heads and ruffled their hair. "Grimmjow, your methods provide me with entertainment; and Toji, your methods bring me peace of mind. Now, would you both please bring me some peace of mind and stop squabbling? You're going to break one of my vases."

"Anything you say, boss!" Grimmjow exclaimed, all but swishing his tail about.

They continued to fight after you left, but thankfully they didn't break any valuables.

As demonstrated above, you tried your very best to quell their rivalry, but you also found it entertaining at the same time. To think that people who crushed skulls and tore men open could rival each other for your affections made you laugh, and you welcomed the rivalry (so long as they didn't break anything).

The two men also tended to butt heads over their decision-making processes.

Honestly, you didn't even know why you ever trusted them with your duties when you were out, especially when every "proxy" meeting turned into squabbles every single time.

"What I'm saying is that we need to go in, guns blazing and all!" Grimmjow shouted at Toji. "We need to instill fear in their hearts, make them cower where they stand!"

Your faction was trying to deal with a rogue group of bandits that kept attacking your warehouses that were stationed throughout the Tokyo Metropolitan Area, but how to deal with them was a matter that nobody could solve except for you, not even Grimmjow & Toji with their greatest attempts.

"That'll get us busted, you knucklehead!" Toji retorted. "We need to go the stealthy approach and make sure they're caught off guard."

The two men were now literally butting their foreheads together. "You're always so boring, Fushiguro, will you ever learn to relax and have fun?!"

"I can have fun without blowing the damn mission!"

It was like one of those moments in anime where there was electricity crackling between them, and none of the other top henchmen were willing to butt in on this argument.

"If only the boss was here..." they all groaned in unison.

At the end of the day, though, these two men would do anything to make sure your life and your faction ran smoothly.

They'd do stuff as menial as your dry cleaning if you so asked them to.

Though you tried not to choose favorites among your rankings, it was quite clear that the two were tied for first place. They were the only ones allowed to enter your living quarters, that was how close they were to you.

They were also the only ones allowed to see you naked...

And be naked around you, and touch you, and make love to you until the sun rose over the walls of your estate.

Of course, they always turned it into a competition of who could make you cum the fastest and the most, but it was all in good fun!

God help anyone who dared to speak poorly of their boss around the two of them, for they'd be ripped to shreds twice as fast.

Enjoy your two loving bodyguards!

"But I obviously love her more-"

"Would you shut up, Jaegerjaquez?!"

FINALLY CURED THIS FUCKING WRITER'S BLOCK 😭 also how come every time I get a new fav they shoot up in the ranks?! I liked Yami for two weeks and now he's #1 & Grimmjow's #3 after only a week?!?! | © ʙʀᴜɴᴇᴛᴛᴇ-ʙɪᴛᴄʜ77 on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 8/1/2024

[vampiretendencies]

request; reminding them how lucky you are to have them, with jj?

pairing; jj x fem!reader

warnings; fluff

authors note; writing blurbs rn to cure my writers block, you may request from the list below or send in your own idea, as well as any other requests for one shots, imagines, etc.

other ways to say i love you prompt list

A jab to the ribcage was no way to rest.

Feeling such pain in the middle of your slumber, has you jolting upward to merely peer at a wide-awake JJ. Hard to make out— the shared room being dimly light, whilst the street lights from outside peeked harshly through the blinds.

As much as JJ could watch you sleep on repeat like it was his favorite movie.

He had something on his mind, that must be released at this very second. So, unfortunately your sleep was a bargain, but he’d be sure to make it up to you.

You were pressed delicately to his chest, legs intertwined symbolically wrapped up in each other, now facing one another. But now you are passively staring into his soul, wondering what could possibly be wrong at 3:30 in the morning.

“What?”

You hissed, such an idiotic shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He’d awoken a beast, being sure to tame it at once.

“What, baby?”

“Did you just fucking poke me?!”

Still he looks onward to you, besot filled eyes— such infatuation for one person.

People have given away pieces of their heart to multiple other people, but not JJ. He beckoned for this moment.

To be transformed and stupidly, insanely infatuated with someone.

You, that is.

That’s why, he’s proding you from exhaustion this late.

He just could never let you go too long without knowing so.

“That I did do but … but for good reason.”

“It’s never a good reason with you.”

Annoyance filled your voice, but he gave you the benefit of the doubt. Eyes awaiting his response, that seemed to take hours, when it was really two minutes.

“Never told you that before we met, I told John B I saw this moment right here … right now … with you.”

“You’re telling me this at almost 4 AM, because …”

“Because m’ a fuckin’ genie baby … shit, or is it psychic?”

He heard a small giggle erupt from your figure; a sign that he needed to continue talking, pulling you in closer if that was even humanly possible. The urge to be inside your skin overwhelming— as it’s filled with warmth and, the closest he’ll ever get to seeing and knowing your heart.

“Seriously though, I think you healed a part of me I never thought could be fixed,” JJ swallowed the lump in his throat, fingers combing through your hair, cooing at you with such remembrance. “I’ve always been searching for this stability … but I knew that once I didn’t want to run from this, you’d be my one … the one person I physically could not breathe without.

“J, you know ‘m not going anywhere-“

“Not finished, pretty girl,” He hushed you softly through pursed lips. “It’s a privilege to even be in your presence … m’ so Goddamn lucky.”

JJ would rather be caught dead than talking about his feelings, not now, anyway. With you, he’s constantly spewing out the most obscene, off-the-wall thoughts. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“And I love you, okay ?”

He reassured, as if you asked for it. Speaking his words directly into your lips, hungering for you to know those thoughts, to taste that and swallow them whole. Never having to question his utter devotion for you.

“And I love you, J,”

There was no ‘too’, no that was pathetic. The love shared was equal, no in between.

Just equal.

[loolooloo-i-got-some-apples]

- masterlist collections -

all of my sloppy fanfics, headcanons and blurbs in one place

key :

🎱 = fluff,

⚠︎ = dark themes,

✮ = angst,

💿 = smut

CWO = currently working on

These works are my own and i do not give permission to repost, share, or rewrite these on other platforms.

masterlists !

FYI: for anybody wondering, no my requests are not strictly these shows/movies or characters, you can request whatever you’d like, these are just guidelines and characters i plan on writing for the most.

OBX

featuring - rafe cameron, jj maybank, john b routledge, pope heyward

SOUTH PARK

featuring - kenny mccormick, stan marsh, eric cartman, kyle broflovski, butters stotch, tweek tweak, craig tucker

BROOKLYN 99

featuring - jake peralta, charles boyle, rosa diaz, amy santiago

DAWSON’S CREEK

featuring - dawson leery, pacey witter, charlie todd, jack mcphee, cj braxton

DAZED AND CONFUSED

featuring - randall ‘pink’ floyd

WHIPLASH

featuring - andrew neiman

ANNE WITH AN E

featuring - gilbert blythe, jerry baynard

BIG HERO SIX

featuring - hiro hamada, tadashi hamada, wasabi, fred

BRIDGERTON

featuring - anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, colin bridgerton, theo sharpe, simon bassett

CALL OF DUTY

featuring - soap, ghost/simon, konig, price, keagan p russ

CRIMINAL MINDS

featuring - spencer reid, derek morgan, aaron hotchner

ENOLA HOLMES

featuring - sherlock holmes, viscount tewkesbury

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES

featuring - raphael, donatello, mikey, leonardo

SAW

featuring - adam stanheight, daniel matthews

SCREAM

featuring - billy loomis, stu macher, ethan landry

HARRY POTTER/SLYTHERIN BOYS

featuring (harry potter) - george weasley, fred weasley, ron weasley, oliver wood, harry potter, cedric diggory, neville longbottom

featuring (slytherin boys) - mattheo riddle, tom riddle jr, enzo berkshire, theo nott, draco malfoy, regulus black, blaise zabini

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

featuring - hiccup haddock

IT (2017)

featuring - richie tozier, eddie kaspbrak, bill denbrough, stanley uris, ben hanscom, mike hanlon

MARVEL

requests open for all characters!

MAZE RUNNER

featuring - thomas, newt (male + gn only), gally, minho

MID90S

featuring - fuckface, ray, fourth-grade

ON MY BLOCK

featuring - oscar diaz, cesar diaz, latrelle, jamal turner, ruby martinez

PERCY JACKSON

featuring - percy jackson, nico de angelo (male and gn only), jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang, grover underwood

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

featuring - arthur morgan, john marston

SCHOOL SPIRITS

featuring - wally clark

SUPERNATURAL

featuring - dean winchester, sam winchester

STAR WARS

featuring - anakin skywalker, obi wan kenobi, din djarin

SHAMELESS

featuring - carl gallagher, lip gallagher, ian gallagher x mickey milkovich

TEEN WOLF

featuring - stiles stilinski, scott mccall, derek hale

THIRTEEN

featuring - mason freeland

TOTAL DRAMA

featuring - duncan, alejandro

WOLFBLOOD

featuring - rhydian morris

XMEN

requests open for all characters!

BALDURS GATE 3

featuring - astarion, shadowheart, halsin, gale, lae’zel, wyll

[liebgottsjumpwings]

AUGUST AFTERNOON | FAYE FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

Summary: Faye Fischer and her newly acquired friend Ken Lemmons spend a sunny afternoon at Thorpe Abbotts, Faye thinks about the past few years and is then (not so) rudely interrupted by a certain curly haired pilot. Who had managed to make her blush several times some days ago.

Warnings: general war violence, implied minor (and not canon) character death.

Word count: a bit over 2500

Note: this was meant to be a little less than 1k word blurb, turned into way more. I hope it isn't too boring as most of it delves into Faye's experiences before the mota canon. That is also because I use my ocs to study certain historical events, so this really is just self indulgence. Please pretty please let me know what you think of it! (This fic is also posted on AO3)

AUGUST 21, 1943, 16:32 

“What kind of name is ‘Just-a-Snappin’ even?” Faye Fischer wondered out loud, only half expecting an answer from the man in front of her as she came to sit up from her lying position in the grass. She squinted, just about able to make out the text on the B-17 Ken Lemmons was working on. Her squint disappeared as he came into her sight, blocking the warm ray of sunshine she had been enjoying moments prior, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “You’re gonna have to ask Blakely that one,” answered the curly haired man standing in her sun. Looking at him, she wondered why he would hide those curls under that beanie. Probably so all that working grease wouldn’t get into it. 

Faye shrugged, letting herself fall back into the grass. “Whenever I ask Blakely a question, the man answers with a goddamn riddle,” she let the end of her sentence continue into a sigh. Ken just laughed, his hands firm on his hips. The sun made the edge of his curls shine, almost like an aureole. Visually, him standing in her sun wasn’t so bad, it looked quite pretty. Her skin was starting to miss the warmth of the sun rays, though. Faye’s fingertips tapped on the cap of her camera lens, the Contax II had been laying on her stomach, under one of Ken’s work rags, to shield it from the sun. “Keep standing like that,” Faye ordered him as she removed the cap from the lens, turning on her camera. 

“Aren’t you only supposed to use that for… you know… work purposes?” she heard him ask as she fiddled with the exposure settings. A scoff escaped past her lips as she lined up the viewfinder with her left eye. “Shut up, they made me pay for my own film rolls when I arrived in England, so they’re mine technically anyway” Faye deadpanned in response, snapping a photo of Ken. “Besides,” she continued, putting her camera back under the rag again, letting her head fall back into the grass, “don’t you think the photo I just took wouldn’t go over well with all those war bond leaflets?” She held up her hands, reading an imaginary leaflet “Purchase a war bond so our curly haired cuties can maintain our bomber planes!” she sarcastically called out. It earned a belly-laugh from Ken, who then turned around, readying himself to get back to his maintenance work as he continued laughing, “I hope to God not.” Faye smiled in response, “Yeah, well, I’ve taken more leisure photos on this camera than the OSS would be comfortable knowing. It is only fair because nearly all film rolls were mine anyway,” she trailed off, closing her eyes again as the warm August sun blanketed her. 

The warmth took her back to August, nearly three years back, 1940. To the emerging hills behind Mulhouse, in the occupied region of the Alsace in France. Back then, she too had snapped a photo that the OSS would turn their noses up at. She couldn’t help it, though, the sleepy little cottage the, back then, above ground resistance she was attached to used as their base of operations was too pretty against the sunny hills. Plus, the whole rule against taking photos that do not directly aid the war effort was bullshit anyway. They increased her morale, no? Surely a heightened sense of morale would aid the war effort. Just like her friend, and resistance member Isidore was aiding the war effort by developing the photos Faye had taken recently. His girlfriend, Julienne, a distant cousin of Faye’s neighbors back in Louisiana, the Klotz family, laid next to her in the grass, yelling at her sweetheart to stop working so hard and join them in the warm sum. She still remembered the minty smell of the Ground Ivy that tickled against her cheeks in the field near the cottage as she watched Isidore exit the cottage, some of the successfully developed photos under his arm, he dropped them above the two women. The photographs whirled softly down onto them, like those propaganda leaflets that had recently been dropping from planes over the region. The association made her chuckle. She much preferred these photographs over those leaflets. 

Oh, how she longed back to be in that sleepy little field just behind Mulhouse. Unknowing and indifferent to what was about to wash over her. Over her dear friends. Over her distant relatives, up north in Sélestat.  How she wished to gain that sense of unknowing and indifference once more. The fleeting feeling of walking back home from the shul on those warm August evenings, taking the train from Mulhouse towards Sélestat, being greeted by her grandmother’s second brother, the one who stayed behind in Alsace. Being taken in to his family, learning about their extensive history and connection to this land. It made her feel proud, like her family here. All of that despite the impending feeling of calamity. That feeling grew more and more with each news item about the Germans inching closer. Forcing themselves back into the territory they’ve claimed as theirs for eras. This time, it came paired with a terrifying venom against a group of people so deeply rooted in this region. 

After the annexation of the Alsace into Nazi-Germany, the resistance group Faye had been attached to by the OSS was forced to go underground. Her work, instead of reporting back to the OSS on current events in the border region between France and Germany, became a high-risk operation that aided the Alsatian resistance in its activities against the Nazi occupier. When it happened, the OSS had forbidden her to associate publicly with her family and the community she had built up. They deemed it ‘too riskful’. And because Faye had no choice, she listened to those orders. And just like that, her growing connection with her ancestral home region, her family, the core of her very identity was snapped away. Just as quick as it had flourished. She watched the treatment of her people become more and more dire every day. She watched and she could do nothing but watch. Nothing outward anyway. In secret, she was doing more than she ever had done. Risking everything to make it harder for the Nazis to spread their hatred and evil. In return, she got the gnarly gift of having to distance herself from the recently cultivating bond with her family that lived halfway across the world from her. 

Yes, she still had Isidore, Julienne and the rest of their group. Though, as they were forced to become underground, a painful strain started to form on their friendship. Understandably so, tensions were high, risks were always there and the imminent feeling of doom never stopped looming over the group. 

Which ended up being for good reason. Come the early February days of 1943, Faye found herself with her left cheek pressed into the cold ground where the minty Ground Ivy once grew. The barrel of a Karabiner 98A straight against her right cheek. She still wasn’t sure who gave up their activities to the SS. She wasn’t sure if she cared enough by then either way. Or now, for that matter. In the two and a half years that spanned from that first summer in Alsace to February of 1943, Faye had grown disillusioned to the point that she wasn’t even sure if she cared about living, or dying. Maybe it was for the better that death seemed so close. That it came to her in the form of a German rifle. 

That was until she remembered why her family decided to migrate to the United States. Back in the late 19th century, the Jews of the Alsace were already facing hardships. And it was those hardships that made her grandparents decide that from there on out, their family line would not suffer under those hardships anymore. So they set sail to Louisiana, because their children, and their children, and their children (and so on), deserved a life of flourishing. So it was there, February 1943, with the cold barrel of a Karabiner 98A pressed to her face, that Faye decided that she would honor that wish. She would not die at the hands of those who wished her dead. 

She wasn’t sure how, but she ran, she ran until her feet gave out and Isidore made them duck into a dense shrub. His face stained with dirt, much like hers. And through the dirt on his face, tears traced their paths. Then it dawned on her that Julienne hadn’t made it out with them. Faye hoped with everything she had in her dear friend wasn’t left out, alone in that cold field. But there wasn’t much time for hoping. They had to make it to safety. To a place where they couldn’t be reached by those who were looking for them. 

Switzerland. Within a few days of frantic fleeing, both of them somehow made it to Basel, just over the border. Isidore’s previously tear-filled eyes had turned empty by then. And Faye feared for him. She feared for everyone they had to leave behind. The fear didn’t leave her when she walked away from the hospital she had helped Isidore to, so his wounds could be looked at. Not caring much for her own, and after the OSS had been made aware of her whereabouts, they had arranged a route to England for her. To ‘escape’ the risk she found herself in, according to the OSS. She still scoffs at the mention of ‘risk’, the OSS would never fully know. And so, after a goodbye ‘for now’ and a promise to keep in touch, she departed for the train station of Basel, on towards Bern, and from there, hopefully England. She watched the fields roll by, they were barren, empty of life. She tried to not let it remind her of Julienne too much. Hoping that her friend had somehow made it to safety, like her sweetheart and Faye.

Her memories were disturbed by the warm sun once again being taken away from her. This time, it wasn’t because a certain crew chief by the name of Ken Lemmons was standing in between her and her blanket of warmth, it was because Faye hadn’t noticed the time pass by and the sun having moved behind the officer’s buildings on the air base. She let out a groan at the feeling of her back cracking as she sat up, her camera falling into her lap. Slowly opening her eyes, to her surprise, ‘Just-a-Snappin’ had been exchanged for a different airplane. Though, her eyes were too blurry from the sun shining onto them, to make out the name. These damn pilots and their airplane names. 

What she did make out was Ken and what seemed to be a pilot, standing by the plane as Ken pointed out several things on the wing. The pilot nodding, seemingly intently listening to Ken. Faye, after rubbing her eyes intensely, was able to make out more of the scene in front of her. Her sight darted towards the plane again, reading. ‘Rosie's Riveters,’ she mouthed the words. Way better name for a plane than whatever Blakely was thinking with his one, Faye thought. Her gaze moved over to Ken and the still unknown pilot again. Squinting, she could make out the brown curls, kept small and neatly arranged on top of his head. The 100th and their tendency to hide their gorgeous curls irrationally annoyed Faye to no end. She eternally cursed Ken for hiding them behind his beanie, too. She looked back to the nose of the plane, ‘Rosie’s Riveters.’ Oh. Robert Rosenthal. The man that had made her blush the other night without even knowing he had. Robert Rosenthal had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts some two weeks after Faye herself did. She had been sitting with Helen and the other women as she watched him come into the officers’ club, his feet carrying him, dancing towards his crewmates. It was his little twist and the way his jacket moved in the air flow created by it; itt had been the first time she smiled that day. And Helen noticed. Sending Faye a teasing look as she dug the nose of her shoe into Faye’s shin. The action made Faye’s cheeks turn bright red, sinking deeper into her seat, disappearing into the shadow of the curved wall as she let out a soft, intoxicated giggle. 

It wasn’t much later, after Nash had successfully achieved a dance from Helen, that Rosenthal’s eyes locked with Faye’s. The same red from before creeping up from her throat to her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile. His returning smile was beaming, like a direct ray of sunlight across the room. She would receive a few more of such smiles from him throughout the night.

Now, with his pilot’s hat snug under his arm, Faye could see him smile at Ken, a thankful smile. And who wouldn’t be thankful for Ken Lemmons. The man worked tirelessly to send them up safely into the air. But, oh she was sure it was Robert Rosenthal standing there, alright. Yeah, that smile, of which she had been on the receiving end several times now, she recognized it. The familiar, uneasy yet welcomed feeling creeped up in her stomach again. She could feel the flush in her throat. Combined with the hours of direct sunlight she had received over the afternoon, remembering their shared looks made her slightly lightheaded as she rose to her feet. Hoping to quietly leave, as to not gain the perception of both men standing some feet away from her. 

Mission unsuccessful, though, damn it. “Fish!” she heard Ken call her. Her arms dropped beside her body as she turned around, her camera swinging with a little delay. She caught it, so it wouldn’t hit her on her stomach. For some stupid reason, her breathing increased in frequency as she watched the two men walk over to her. She had to consciously try to not take a step backward everytime they took one forward. She tried to keep her eyes strictly on Ken.“You think that is a better name for a plane?” he asked, pointing towards the B-17. Her eyes followed his pointing, reading the text on the nose of the plane for a third time. Before she realized, she already voiced her opinion. “I think naming anything but a pet or a human is a weird thing anyway,” she retorted, eyes dead set on Ken. Next to him, she heard a chuckle. “I’m actually quite proud of ‘Rosie’s Riveters’” she heard the curly haired brunette next to Ken say. There was no fighting it anymore, she had to actually look at him now. And she was sure you could compare the color of her cheeks to the apples they served in the breakfast hall, bright red. Still, like she always did, she came up with a retort; “Well, it’s better than Blakely’s, I guess,” she said, a sly, yet slightly shy smile appearing on her lips. The brunette in front of her let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling. It tugged at Faye’s heartstrings, “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he said. And there it was again, that goddamned smile.