#cruise av

[lowplainlowinthemorning]

like my sis went to camp for a week and now every time she isn’t home im physically unhappy in a way, Like I want her to be happy and have friends and she’s already soooooo much more normal than I am and god am I grateful, I am doing my best not to be anxious or discouraging while she tries new things & loves her life. but the same way im happiest when the kittens r full & asleep on my bed im happiest when she’s safely in the living room watching adventure time or drawing pictures. like she went to the fair today and i was lowkey upset at my mom bc it was likr “okay just take my sister away from me again then” even tho like, rationally i understand that it was a great experience and she got to do it with a friend and im very glad for her bc im too anxious to go to fairs and always have been. but lord, i fear that love is violence.

[hiiikiko]

𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖘𝖔 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉, 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖆 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑

[popular!reader x loser/nerd!ellie]

tlou m.list

tw: dom!reader to sub!reader, bullying, drunk reader and drunk ellie, name calling, degradation, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, reader receiving head, fingering, pet play (????), and praise

ིྀ 𓎟ᛝ𓎟𓎟　†　𓎟𓎟ᛝ𓎟 ྀི

It’s not that you hated Ellie, you really didn’t care about her one way or the other. The only time that you really interacted with her was in chem, after all the two of you were in two completely worlds. You were the ‘queen bee,’ everyone adored you. You’re pretty, cute, and popular well Ellie on the other hand… like, sure she’s pretty but she’s a nerd, a dweeb, a loser, a geek. She preferred to stay at home and study while you liked to cruise the town with whichever girl you were hooking up with that week. Ellie enjoyed playing dumb video games while you liked to hang out at that diner down town with your friends. She was in AV club, you were a cheerleader. She was an honour roll student and you were voted ‘most popular’ in every yearbook.

Actually, you liked picking on her, picking on the nerd was one of the only cliche ‘mean girl stereotypes’ you’d allow yourself. It’s not like she couldn’t handle it. You can’t count how many times you pushed her up against the lockers just to tease her for watching you change, how many times you ‘accidentally’ spilled your drink on her, etc, etc. I mean, you couldn’t help it! She was fun to mess with. Why? Maybe it was the way she’d always have a snarky comeback or the way her cheeks would flush a bit whenever you got a little too close.

You think you like her if because she’s all too reminiscent of a dog, with her messy hair, that goofy smile she’d wear whenever a girl approached her, her disheveled clothing that made it look like she’d raided Kurt Cobain’s closet, how she’d whine whenever you slammed her into a locker like a kicked puppy and the way you could practically see the outline of a tail wagging behind her when you did so.

It was like she was your cute little mutt.

Actually, you were surprised she was even talking to you, maybe it was because it’s the end of the year, a week away from graduation that she decided to man up and talk to you or maybe it was the loud music and the large amount of liquid courage flooding her system.

“You know, you really aren’t all that,” she drunkenly slurred at you, waving her half full solo cup in your face as you leaned against your desk. Ellie had shown up to your party, surprisingly, had gotten a few beers into her system and followed you up the stairs into your room because she had a ‘bone to pick’ with you. She was a complete mess, her eyes a little glassy, that stupid mullet disheveled from her drunken antics, and her cheeks either flushed pink from the alcohol in her system or the face that you had leaned into her face, your lips a few centimetres from hers.

“Is that so Williams?” you narrowed your eyes at her and furrowed your eyebrows, “If I’m ‘not all that,’ then why are you here right now, huh? At my house, at my party, in my room?”

“Pfft, you think I’m here for you?” She scoffed and took another swig of her beer, a stray drop of beer dripping past her lips onto her chin, she quickly wiped it off onto her wrinkled flannel.

“They why are you here, hm? You haven’t shown up to a single party in the four years I’ve known you and all of a sudden, you just decide to show up to a party at the end of the school year? At my party?” You laugh sarcastically and cross your arms.

“So, you payed enough attention to me to note that I haven’t been to a single party all year?” Her lips curled into a smirk and she leaned against your bed, “I’m flattered.”

‘God, she’s even more annoying when she’s drunk.’

Your cheeks flushed pink a bit at her observation. Of course you had noticed but it wasn’t because you wanted to notice, it just had been something that you noticed over the past four years. You couldn’t help it or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and shake your head, there’s no use arguing with a drunk person.

“But seriously, what the hell is your problem, huh? You’re just like… you’re such a mean person, what did I ever do to you, huh?!” She averts her gaze to the grown and her cheeks flushed red. She’s a little clumsy, most likely from not being able to hold her drink.

Frankly, you were a little surprised. This little nerd that you had bullied relentlessly for years was now drunkenly chewing you out, albeit with a blush over her cheeks and nose.

You roll your eyes again and take a sip of your drink.

She stumbles a bit as she takes another step towards you, obviously very drunk which is very unlike her, “God, you just, ugh, you suck,” a small hiccup escaping her lips.

You roll your eyes, “Come on, I wasnt that bad.”

Ellie lets out a snort, rolling her eyes as she wobbled forward, “Not that bad? You were awful to me,” she slurred and jabbed a finger into your chest.

“What did I do that was so awful then?” you narrowed your eyes and took a step closer, her finger still on your chest.

She took a step back, hitting the bed behind her and hiccuped softly as her eyes lingered on the smirk on your lips, “Where should I start? No, you know what? I-I don’t have to tell you shit! You’re just a godawful person.”

A bit of drool dripped down her chin, you couldn’t help but reach out and rub it away with your thumb, “Is that so?”

She flinches slightly as you reach out, her cheeks turning even more red. She swallows hard, trying to hold herself upright but her legs are as shaky as a newborn deer’s, “Yes, i-it is so,” she manages to grumble out, her voice a bit shaky and her eyes half-lidded. She tries to glare down at you but it’s getting harder for her to keep eye contact.

“Then, I suppose you also think you didn’t deserve it?”

“I definitely didn’t deserve it!” she drunkenly hiccups out, “I was just trying to make it through school and you just had to make it ten times harder!”

She stumbles forward, ending up right in front of you, her hands clumsily grabbing onto your shirt to keep herself balanced, your arms instinctively grabbing onto her arms to steady her, you can smell the alcohol on her breath, “You made my life a living hell.”

Your cheeks flush a light pink as she balls the fabric of your shirt into her hands, you had never really noticed how strong she was or how her green eyes looked even brighter in this lighting, or—.

“Then how come you never fought back, huh? You could easily pummel me into the ground or you could’ve told a teacher,” you scowl at her.

“B-because, I’m not like that,” she grumbles, her cheeks. glowing in the dim lighting, it’s obvious there’s more to her reasoning.

“You sure that’s the only reason?”

She swallowed hard, her gaze softening for a moment, “I also… I,” she hiccuped again, unable to find the right words to say, she leans forward and places her forehead against your shoulder, “I just.. couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

She thanks the gods that you can’t see how deeply red her cheeks are, “Wouldn’t..”

You’re at a lost for words, finally you manage to choke out, “W-Why?”

She hiccuped into the crook of your neck, the grip on your shirt tightening almost like she was trying to ground herself, “I just… ugh, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.. sure, you’re a complete bitch but like, also you’re really fucking hot,” she mumbles against you, her soft lips brushing against the senstive skin of your neck.

Your eyes go wide as she admits that, “So what.. y-you have a crush on me?”

She dryly chuckles into your neck before pulling away, “You’re stuttering.”

“You’re imagining things,” you huff and pull her hands off me, “Stop that, you’re going to wrinkle my shirt,” you grumble.

Ellie giggles softly, a mixture of drunkenness and teasing in her voice, “Come on, you’re no fun,” her hands rest on your waist this time, “I was just teasing.. you can dish it out but can’t handle it?”

She buries her face back into the crook of your neck, her breath is warm against your skin, “You smell good,” she mutters before gently laying a kiss onto you.

A chill runs down your spine as her lips meets your neck, the feeling of her soft, warn mouth against your sensitive skin causes your breath to hitch.

“Get off of me, you freak,” you stammer but make no effort to push her off of you.

She doesn’t move, instead continuing to kiss you, her kisses getting hungrier, her body now pressed up against yours, “You’re such a dick,” she murmurs and nips at your neck.

You let out a small gasp as she bites at your neck, her bites harsh but not harsh enough to break skin, “I’m not a dick.”

You weren’t about to let Ellie get the upper hand, you scoff and push her off of you and onto the bed, she falls on her back. Her bangs falling in front of your face and her legs spread a bit as you crawl on top. She props herself up on her elbows as you pull her hips closer to yours by lacing your finger under her belt loop, “You are such a fucking dog.”

Ellie’s eyes widen a bit when you crawl on top of her, her body tingles at your touch but she’s still too stubborn to let you see how much you’re affecting her, “Stop calling me that,” she mutters, bringing her hands up to rest on your hips, “You’re just an asshole,” she mutters, her eyes trained on that familiar cruel smirk plastered on your lips.

She hiccups again, struggling to keep up the defiant facade she usually puts up against you. In this inebriated state, she feels all too vulnerable and at your mercy.

“Say it, say you’re a pathetic dog,” you whisper against her ear, eventually brining your lips down to kiss her neck, your left hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and the other tracing her belt buckle.

Ellie lets out a pathetic whimper and a shaky gasp, “F-fuck off.”

Unlike Ellie’s soft bites, you bite down harshly on her neck, “Say it.”

Ellie lets out a small cry, “F-Fuck, fine! I-I’m a pathetic dog,” she whines out.

You giggle against the crook of her neck, “Now, was that so hard?”

She lets out a soft scoff as your giggles fill the room.

“Keep being a good mutt and maybe I’ll reward you,” your lips trail down from her neck to her collar bones.

Ellie’s heart races in her chest, her breathing coming out in soft gasps as your words send a flutter of both humiliation and desire through her veins, “I-I’ll be good, promise.”

You smile against her skin, your hand moving up from her belt buckle to the hem of her shirt and yanking it up above her chest, revealing her lack of bra.

“Aw, no bra?” you laugh, “You really are a fuckin’ perv, huh?”

Ellie hides her face behind her hands, “Shut up, I woulda worn one if I’d known we’d y’know…”

You giggle softly and bring your lips down to her chest, biting and kissing the sensitive skin, “You’re cute when you’re not acting so fuckin’ bratty.”

Ellie’s breath hitches and she lets out soft whimpers as you nip at her chest, her hips bucking against your knee that’s pressed against her aching cunt.

It’s clear as day that she’s a virgin, from the way her cheeks flush to the way her hips are bucking erratically.. it’s so fucking cute.

You pull back from her chest and swing your leg out from between her knees and to the side of her hips so that you’re straddling her.

“W-What are you doing?” she says, her voice laced with desperation and the desperation made even more obvious by the way she sits up and her hands grip your hips tighter.

“Aw, you wan’t more? Is that what you want?” you bring your hand up to her face and gently caress her freckled face.

“P-please?” she leans into your touch.

“Then beg, mutt,” you giggle cruelly as her face contorts to one of embarrassment, her brows furrowed, eyes wide, and lips slightly parted.

“Come on, t-that’s embarrassing,” she whines.

“Unless you want me to leave you here a forever virgin, I suggest you start begging,” your hand slides down to her neck and you give it a gentle squeeze.

Ellie looks down and you can almost see the phantom puppy ears on her head flatten with shame, “P-please, c-can you f-fuck me?” she whines out and buries her head into your chest, her grip on your hips tightening, sure to leave bruises.

You push her down onto the bed, “Good puppy.”

Ellie lets out another whimper at your praise, she tries to move her hips against yours but you hold her down firmly.

“If you want to feel good, you have to do something deserving of a reward,” you growl out against her skin.

She looks up at you with pleading eyes, “I-I’ll do anything, j-just say it and I-I’ll do it,” she’s practically trembling under your touch.

You climb off her, “Get on the floor and on your knees.”

Ellie does so a little too quickly, getting on her knees in between your legs.

You stand up and slide off your lacy panties off from under your skirt, “You ever done this before?”

Ellie watches your every move, another small hiccup slipping past her lips as she shakes her head.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you sit back down and part your legs.

Her pride bubbles up as she looks up at you, that defiant look in her eyes once again, “I could still be good at it even if I’m a virgin,” she mutters, trying her best to sound confident.

“I’ll see about that,” your fingers interlock with the short locks of auburn hair atop her head and you use your free hand to pull off her glasses before bringing her mouth closer to your soaked pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” she whimpers out, “I knew you got off on bullying me,” she chuckles, earning an eye roll from you.

After a moment of hesitation, she tentatively sticks out her tongue and licks your pussy, earning a sharp gasp from you. Her face is now buried in you as she can’t help but latch onto you, her tongue moving in circles. Ellie was trying her best to mimic what she had seen in porn but her experience shone through from the way she drooled all over you, her licks a little sloppy.

“Y-you taste so good,” she whines against your clit and her hands grip onto your thighs harshly.

After a few minutes, her movements become more fluid and precise as she gets the hang of it, sucking on your clit and using her fingers to tease your entrance. She can’t believe the noises you’re letting out, the cute little whimpers and mewls escaping your lips only fuel her hunger for you, the way your hand holds her head in place is driving her wild.

You can’t believe how good she is at this, you can’t believe how well she’s doing, especially for a first timer.

“I’m pretty good at this, huh?” She pulls away and licks her lips while looking up at you, her tone cocky and a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Shut up,” you groan and pull her back, your hips rocking against her mouth slightly.

Ellie moans against you, putting in more effort to make you finish, trying her best to prove that she is deserving of a reward. She moves her hand over your thighs, giving them a slight squeeze as she flicks her tongue over your clit, causing your eyes to roll back and your hips to move on their own.

Despite her inexperience, Ellie can tell you’re on the verge of cumming and moves her to your hip to help control them, her voice comes out in a rasp, “You gonna cum?” she mumbles against your aching clit.

You feverishly nod your head, “F-fuck, yes, god you’re such a good girl.”

Ellie lets out a moan at the praise as she pushes two fingers inside you and latches her lips around your clit.

Her long fingers curl upwards and brush against that sweet spot inside you, earning another moan from you, “Cum f’me, please? Fuck, please I need you to cum on my face,” she pathetically whines out.

She’s now so consumed with your pleasure that it’s almost like she doesn’t even want a reward anymore, all she wants to do is make you feel good.

You lock eyes with her, her eyes glazed over from both the alcohol and the overall lust flooding though her.

Finally, Ellie hears you cry out in ecstasy. Watching your hips move against her fingers and tongue, watching your eyes roll back, makes Ellie moan quietly and brings a smile of satisfaction to her lips.

Even after your orgasm, Ellie’s mouth remains latched onto you.

“E-Ellie, fuck, stop, I’m too sensitive,” you say between whines, your hand tugging at her hair as you try to pull her off your painfully sensitive cunt.

“But I want more,” she holds your hips in place and keeps going, ignoring your broken please, “Wanna make you come again.”

Her eyes flicker up to your face, loving how absolutely wrecked you looked under her mouth. You were always so stuck up, acting like you were above her and here you are, your usually perfectly fixed hair now out of place, your makeup running down your flushed cheeks, and your eyes rolled so far back into your head, it was hard for you to focus on anything but the sensation of Ellie. She pushes the two fingers back inside you and over her tongue down your tough. You twitch around her fingers as she thrusts them in and out in a scissoring motion.

Ellie smirks against your thigh as she bites down onto it. You gasp at the feeling, a mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Ellie watches your every move, a small smile on her lips, it’s as if she’s in her own form of heaven. She doesn’t think she can ever go back to watching porn now that she has you, your reactions ten times better than any pornstar she’d ever seen before.

She’s enjoying this way too much, your scent, your taste, your body, just everything about you is so intoxicating. Her fingers work faster now, curled up towards your g-spot.

“Damn, if I’d known you were like this sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have been such a fuckin’ bitch,” she dryly chuckles against your thigh.

Her thoughts become mushy, her brain high off the feeling of being dominant over you for a change and her body shaking with pride at the fact that she has the school’s reigning mean girl whining pathetically under her.

This whole time, she thought you were the dominant one based off all the times you had pushed her to the ground and spit on her, how you used to corner her in the locker room and yet here you are right now, begging for another finger to be added to your greedy cunt.

Ellie grins mischievously and adds another finger, “Begging is a good look for you,” she laughs.

You’re too fucked out to even come up with a snarky response, your pussy just sucking her long fingers into you.

“What, cat got your tongue?” she laughs, “It’s about time you shut the fuck up.”

She pushes your thighs even further apart, pressing on your lower stomach as her fingers curl up once again, causing your thighs to shake around her.

“Fuck, you gonna cum again?” she giggles and presses wet kisses against your stomach, all you can do is nod in response, “Yeah, then cum, cum for me.”

She keeps ramming her fingers into you, her pace is fast and relentless, “Fuck, come on, cum for me, make a mess all over my fingers,” she whines, she’s as desperate for you to cum again as you are.

She lets out a satisfactory moan as you cum around her fingers. She pushes her fingers in and out quickly, making you squirt around them. She leans back down and laos up your mess before licking her fingers clean.

Ellie moves to sit on the bed next to you.

After a few minutes, your brain is fully recovered and you prop yourself up on your elbows and glance over at her, your words breathless, “That was…”

She looks at you with a cock smile, “Awesome? Amazing? Fuckin’ mind-blowing?”

“Could’ve been better,” you lie.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “Are you kidding me? You’re serious right now? I totally rocked your world,” she scoffs, “Hell, you couldn’t even talk straight.”

Ellie continues teasing you for your lie as you recover from the two insanely powerful orgasms you just had.

It’s till hard for you to wrap your head around what just happened. You had never expected her to be so good at something like this, given how much of a loser she is… her head was so insanely good that it’s no wonder why she’s always on the honour roll.

ིྀ 𓎟ᛝ𓎟𓎟　†　𓎟𓎟ᛝ𓎟 ྀི

[a/n:] wrote this with one hand >:3 (jk) also that kanye song stuck in my head </3

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 2

Hey guys! Did you miss me? LOL!

Just a heads up this chapter is a little angsty because we have get Steve desperate enough to try going on a game show. But have no fear, it doesn't last long.

Also in this Susan Mayfield never marries Neil Hargrove, but she moves to Hawkins because her job moved her there. So Billy and Max aren't step-siblings.

Part 1

~

Steve nearly had a panic attack right there in the car when Chrissy screamed. There wasn’t a crisis. Or at least not one that needed immediate attention. What it was, was their little drunk text about #needsmoregays at A Love Connection went viral. There were actual fucking news articles. Yeah, the first was from Pink News, but the rest? Actual fucking trades. Variety, Dateline, even The Hollywood Reporter, for fuck’s sake.

Steve was going to pass out, but he managed to get them to the school safely. Thankfully there was nothing on Chrissy profile that was her real name or where she worked. She had a work Twitter for that. And that one was only on her computer at work. She was very careful not to cross the two. So there weren’t any news people out front of the school. But her DMs were filled with requests for comments or even actual interviews.

He decided she could do whatever the hell she wanted, he wasn’t going to get involved in this. She’s the one that drunk tweeted. Yeah, it was because of something he said when he was also drunk. But still!

He also decided ignore Chrissy and Robin at lunch, choosing instead to have it in his classroom to avoid them. Because, yes, he was avoiding them thank you. He just wanted to see gay people have love, too. Last Saturday was a disaster and he wanted proof that gays like he could find love.

Luckily, it was only a nine day wonder and Chrissy’s inbox went back to normal. Or as about as normal as one can get after have a tweet go viral.

They were cruising through the school year, same as always. There were always the super smart kids and the ones that didn’t care about history. So Steve always tried to make it as fun as possible.

Gladiator days where they wrestled stuff animals. Letting the kids stab him in March. Building their own mini pyramids. His hallpass was a gladius for extra fun.

They were gearing up the for Olympic games just before Christmas when Mrs. Byers, the principal pulled him out of his class.

“Hey, Steve,” she said warmly, “you’re not in trouble.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at his class before looking back at her. “Okay...”

She smiled up at him sweetly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to watch the AV club today after school? Mr. Jenner went home because he’s puking his guts out. Normally I would just cancel, but a couple of the kids are in the club because their parents can’t pick them up until after seven.”

He let out a long sigh. He was going to go home and get ready to go try a new bar Chrissy had found. But now, by the time he got home, showered, and ate it would be too late to go out.

“Yeah, sure, Mrs. Byers,” he said.

“Thank you so much, Steve,” Mrs. Byers said. “Mr. Jenner will be so grateful too.”

Steve nodded and then waited until she walked away to roll his eyes. Nate Jenner’s alcohol problem was the worst kept secret in the school. Even students were aware that there were times he taught drunk. Most kids didn’t know why he would be slurring his words or conked out on his desk; only that they were his ‘bad days’. But the kids who did know? They tended to shield the other kids from the worst of it.

The problem was that Mr. Jenner was two years from retirement and they didn’t want to make him lose his pension. Which Steve thought that he absolutely should. That old coot had no business teaching students like that.

He went back to teaching his class, wondering who they got to cover Mr. Jenner’s classes. He finally got through to the last class and went to the science ‘wing’ of the school. He walked up to Mr. Jenner’s class room and there was Robin coming out of it.

“Now that’s just unfair,” he moaned. “If you were watching his classes, why couldn’t you watch the AV club?”

Robin patted him on the shoulder. “Because I played the dumb blonde routine until Mrs. Byers gave up.” She waved at him as she walked away.

With a sigh, Steve went into the room and began getting out the equipment that they would need. He didn’t know much about radios and shit, but he did know what they did and didn’t need.

He had just gotten set up when the first of the kids arrived.

He wasn’t surprised to see Will come in first. With his mom as principal, all of the teachers tended to tiptoe around him as to not have any ‘misdeeds’ taken back to her, so his last class never went over. Ever.

The next couple of kids to file in were Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair. They both had Robin’s Spanish class last period, so it was no surprise to see them together.

“Sinclair!” Steve said, fist bumping the kid. “What are you doing with these nerds?” He was only joking and they all knew that. Lucas had been friends with Will, Dustin, and their other friend Mike since Dustin moved in in the second grade. Lucas loved history and was one of Steve’s brightest students so he liked to pick on him for his choice of friends.

“Sorry, Coach,” Lucas said with a grin, “if I wasn’t around they’d fall into an uncovered manhole or something.”

Steve gave Dustin their secret handshake, complete with death and everything to make up for the nerd comment. But Dustin and Will took it all in stride. They were used to the teasing.

A couple other kids came in. One spotted Steve and immediately walked back out.

“Some people just aren’t made for fun,” he lamented to the kid’s retreating back. “I’m just too cool for some people’s children. It’s not my fault.”

They all chuckled and then finally the last member of the AV club arrived. Mike Wheeler.

He sighed when he saw Steve, but didn’t turn around. He threw his backpack on the nearest desk and slumped into the chair with a heavy sigh. “Why can’t we get a teaching advisor who isn’t such a flake!”

Steve wiped his brow internally. Mike didn’t like him all the time, so the fact that he was complaining about Mr. Jenner not being there rather than Steve taking his place was a relief, honestly. It meant he wouldn’t be grumpy the whole time.

“All right everyone,” Steve said, clapping his hands together. “Dustin is in charge, Will will take notes for next time. Let’s go!”

The club went as well as could be expected considering Steve really didn’t have any idea of how all this stuff worked.

After class while Steve was waiting on the curb with the ‘Party’ as they called themselves, waiting for their parents to pick them up texting Robin and Chrissy.

“Coach...” Lucas asked, “did we ruin your plans?”

Steve felt a stab in his chest as his head shot up to look the kid in the eye. He looked down at his phone where there were dozens of messages bitching Robin out for leaving him with the AV club because she had a girlfriend and Steve didn’t even have that. Or boyfriend, which was his preference. He had dated women in the past but he liked men more. Or rather liked men full stop. That was certainly a revelation and a half.

He put his phone away with a sigh. “No, Lucas you didn’t. It was due to the irresponsible behavior of Mr. Jenner. He’s the one to blame. I was just a little annoyed at Miss Buckley because she knows this stuff better than I do, but got out of it under false pretenses.” His eyes cut to Will. “Don’t tell your mom I just said that. I don’t want Miss Buckley in trouble.”

Will held up his hands in surrender. Steve nodded.

“I love history and sports and swimming,” he began, he held up his hand to stall whatever words were going to come out that kid’s mouth. “For fun, Dustin. I like swimming for fun, which is why I didn’t include it in sports.”

Dustin huffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a pout.

“I like going out with friends and meeting new people,” Steve finished, “and of course I love teaching you kids. But I look around me and I just see someone who’s stagnated before he’s even thirty.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling a bunch of teenagers this. Sorry.”

Will put his hand in Steve’s. “You’ll find someone. If my mom can find someone at her age, you can find someone, too.”

Steve gave his hand a squeeze and didn’t point out that Mrs. Byers, Joyce had already had two kids and had been divorced by the time she was thirty so it really didn’t count.

Mike’s mom Karen arrived first. Mike just waved goodbye and slipped into the passenger side of her car.

Steve shook his head. Mike was trying to learn how to balance friends and liking girls and after school activities. He’d get there.

Dustin’s mom and Will’s older brother Jonathan arrived at the same time. Jonathan was Steve’s age, but Will have been born over a decade after him as a last ditch attempt to save his parents’ marriage.

Steve waved goodbye to them and then it was just Steve and Lucas.

“My mom always told me,” Lucas said softly, “that there might not be one person out there for everyone, but there is the right person out there for what you need right now. I think she was trying to explain why Mrs. Byers had two husbands, but I think it works for you, too. You’ll find you right person at the right time.”

Steve blinked down at this boy, barely thirteen. He rubbed the top of Lucas’s head. “Thanks, kid.”

Just then his dad pulled up. “Go on,” Steve murmured. “I’ll see you after the break.”

Lucas re-shouldered his backpack to just the one shoulder. He paused as if he wanted to say something else, he just shook his head.

“See you later, Coach!”

He got into his into dad’s car and immediately started talking to him about school excitedly.

Steve pulled his coat tighter around him. He wanted to be that dad, but as time wore on it was looking less and less likely. He went back inside to clean up and grab his stuff. He had a pile of assignments he had to grade. He never gave homework and never did tests. Both were pointless in his opinion, plus it meant that he less stuff to mark and grade. He based his grades off participation and being able to stay on task.

He walked through the darkened halls and felt the weight of it on his shoulders. His best friend and her girlfriend were out having the time of their lives, while he was alone in more ways than one.

He didn’t even Garfield to keep him company anymore. Yeah, he was just a stupid goldfish, but he was Steve’s.

The cold seeped into his bones and buried into his heart. He was even going to be alone for Christmas. Chrissy was taking Robin to her brother’s for the holiday. They felt bad because they both knew Steve’s parents had cut him off long ago and didn’t have anywhere else to go.

But he had encouraged Robin going. Meeting her girlfriend’s family was important. And with Chrissy and her brother, Peter both being estranged from their parents it was even more important than usual. They promised they would be back for New Year’s and Steve promised he would be fine.

He stepped onto the curb and stopped, tilting his head back, eyes closed as he fought back tears. When the first snowflake landed it made him flinch at the sudden extra coldness to his cheek. That one was followed by another and another. It was hell.

He opened his eyes and let the snow melt on his lashes, the cold mingling with his hot tears.

~

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: SEVEN SLOTS OPEN

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- 9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @garden-of-gay

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

Since I love both “911” and “Doctor Odyssey”, and they’re both Ryan Murphy shows, I’d love to see a hint that they’re in the same universe.

Like Tristan saying to Max “…yeah, it’s just a good thing we weren’t on that cruise ship that sunk last year…”

Avery: “Tristan…”

Tristan: “C’mon, you remember the story, Aves! There were actual pirates who took over the ship, then a big hurricane happened, and the ship actually sunk!”

Max: “I heard all the passengers got out alive, though. That’s extremely lucky.”

Avery: “One fatality among the crew. Apparently there was a female police sergeant and her husband -“

Tristan: “ - Who was a bloody firefighter -“

Avery: “ - And they helped save everybody. Pretty cool story…”

[usafphantom2]

55 years ago today the XB-70A AV-1 took its final flight to the Air Force Museum. Designed in the 50s, the Valkyrie was capable of cruising for miles at Mach 3+ while flying at 70,000 feet.

About @NASAArmstrong's supersonic research with this aircraft: go.nasa.gov/42p81U8

@NASAhistory via X

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This home, built in 1969 in Anacortes, Washington, simulates living on a cruise ship. It has 8bd. and 10ba. $8M.

The living room has a wonderful view of Guemes Channel- notice that they have a telescope set up at the window. 

A “porthole” in the wall gives a direct view of the living room fireplace.

The home has lots of interesting architectural details and skylights. There’s a view of the tower from the dining room. 

At the kitchen sink, it looks like you’re at the helm of a ship moving out to sea.

Love the copper exhaust hood and nautical lights.

The pantry has a sink, refrigeration, wine cooler and appliances.

Beautifully detailed detailed ceiling above the stairs.

Love that reading nook.

You can even see the water from the mezzanine landing. 

The main bd. views and cozy fireplace.

Spacious en-suite bath with timeless cabinetry.

So many places to sit and enjoy the view before a fireplace.

This secondary bd. is just as lovely as the main one.

TV room.

If you’re not into nautical decor, this is definitely not the home for you. 

The tower is an observatory.

Lovely deck with an outdoor fireplace.

And, look at this smaller, yet spacious, full sized home also on the property.

The house sits on the waterfront on 2.08 acres of land.

https://www.redfin.com/WA/Anacortes/1114-B-Ave-98221/home/15655999

[yourpalmickeymouse]

Konnichiwa Mr. Mouse- I 'ave a few questions? They are- somewhat connected. Have ya' ever been outside the country? An' if so, where an' how was it? Also, how many languages do you know? D'ya wish to know more? That's all! :3 -Ozzy/Jax/Julius (I have too many user/online names, I know 😅)

Hiya Ozzy/Jax/Julius, (That is a lot of names)

I sure have! I just love goin' around the world explorin', seein' the sites, and meetin' new people. I didn't get to travel much outside of Mouseton when I was younger. But now that I'm older, Minnie, Goofy, and I took a vow to travel to as many countries as we could in our lives. We already managed to go to quite a few like Italy and France. Oh and there was that cruise last summer where we got to go to a bunch of islands outside of the US. That was great!

Though I will say, I feel like I haven't travelled as much as I would've liked to. I try my best to go abroad as much as I can, but lately it's been hard as we all got so busy and I am findin' the few times we do go very rarely stays a vacation...

But movin' on to your next question. I'm a little bit embarrassed to say that I don't really speak many languages outside of english. I know bits and pieces, but not enough for a full conversation. But it has always been my life goal. I've tried readin' books and watchin' videos and even used over a dozen apps, but none of them seem to work.

But I'm not givin' up. I'm actually plannin' to meet up with Donald soon to see if he can help me learn some spanish and portuguese. I have a strong feelin' this may be the key to helpin' me.

Thanks a bunch for the questions, pal!

- M.M.

[callsign-owl]

Homecoming

This is a continuation of After-Party

Trigger Warning: abuse, physical violence

Zurich Switzerland & London, United Kingdom - July 2008

The departure lounge at Zurich Airport was a blur of hurried travelers, echoing announcements, and the mechanical hum of luggage conveyor belts. Owl sat stiffly in a plastic chair by the gate, his fingers tapping nervously against his knee. The prospect of returning home loomed over him like a dark cloud. After the little stunt Owl had pulled during his graduation ceremony, it meant facing his father and the inevitable consequences of his own actions.

Owl glanced at his boarding pass for what felt like the hundredth time. What made matters even worse was the fact that Owl hated flying. The thought of being trapped in a metal tube hurtling through the sky made his stomach churn. Every bump and sway heightened his nerves, every announcement of turbulence sent his heart racing a little more.

As passengers began to line up for boarding, Owl took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His hands shook slightly as he gathered his things and joined the queue. The flight attendants greeted him with practiced smiles, but their cheerfulness only served to underscore his unease.

Walking down the narrow aisle of the plane, Owl found his seat and stowed his bag in the overhead compartment. He sank into the window seat and put on his headphones trying to ignore the rising panic threatening to overwhelm him. Owl fastened his seatbelt with a shaky hand and stared out the window, watching the ground crew move around the plane, preparing it for departure.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the intercom crackled to life, the pilot's voice cutting through the cabin noise. "We're just about ready for departure. Flight time to London Heathrow is approximately one hour and 50 minutes. We'll be cruising at an altitude of thirty-six thousand feet."

Owl closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the anxiety bubbling up inside him. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white. The engines roared to life, vibrations humming through the aircraft as it taxied toward the runway. As the plane accelerated and lifted off into the night sky, Owl's grip on the armrest tightened. The sensation of ascent made his stomach lurch, and he clenched his eyes shut, willing the minutes to pass quickly.

Eventually the seatbelt sign chimed off, signaling that they had reached cruising altitude. Flight attendants began their service, rolling carts down the aisle offering drinks and snacks. Owl gladly accepted a drink hoping it would calm his rising panic.

Time stretched on, each minute ticking by agonizingly slow. But eventually, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom once more, announcing their descent into London Heathrow. Owl's heart skipped a beat, a mix of relief and dread flooding his senses. The plane descended smoothly, gliding through layers of clouds before the wheels touched down with a gentle thud. Passengers around him gathered their belongings and began to disembark, chatting about their plans in London.

Owl waited until the aisle cleared before retrieving his bag from the overhead compartment. He stepped off the plane with shaky legs, grateful to be back on solid ground. As he stepped into the airport terminal, the familiar hustle and bustle of travelers enveloped him. He navigated through the crowds, his steps quickening as he approached the baggage claim. Each passing moment brought him closer to the unavoidable confrontation with his father.

Once Owl had retrieved his suitcase, he made his way towards the exit, where a black taxi cab awaited him. Normally Owl would ave opted for the Tube but with the current amount of luggage that would have been a proper pain in the ass. The driver nodded respectfully as Owl settled into the backseat. The cityscape of London was passing by in a blur when the rain began to fall. A dreary welcome home. Owl leaned his head against the cool glass, wishing he could be anywhere but here.

Eventually the taxi turned onto familiar streets, winding towards the mansion that loomed like a fortress in the distance. Owl's chest tightened with every passing landmark, every recognizable corner that brought him closer to the reality he had tried so desperately to escape.

As the taxi pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion, Owl drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable clash with his father. The rain intensified, a storm brewing both outside and within him. With a heavy heart and a mind filled with turmoil, Owl stepped out into the pouring rain, his suitcase heavy in his grip.

Owl ascended the front steps, the weight of anticipation settling like a stone in his chest. The heavy oak door swung open before he even reached it, revealing his father standing there, a dark silhouette in the dimly lit foyer.

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Bartholomew's voice sliced through the air, cold and disdainful. His piercing gaze bore into Owl like a knife.

Owl's response was typically defiant, a shield he wielded to protect himself from his father's scorn. "Good evening to you too, Father. Miss me?"

Bartholomew's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disgust. "You dare to mock me? After all the trouble you've caused?"

"Trouble? Oh, you mean existing?" Owl's voice dripped with sarcasm. Of course he knew exactly what his father was referring to in this particular case.

The tension crackled between them, a palpable force that seemed to fill the entire foyer. Bartholomew took a menacing step forward, his tall frame towering over Owl. "You are a disgrace, *redacted*. A disappointment. I don't know why I bother keeping you around."

Owl's jaw clenched, but he refused to back down. "Maybe because deep down, you enjoy having someone to look down upon. Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?"

The words hung in the air, a challenge and a taunt all in one. Bartholomew's face turned red with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. In a swift motion, he lunged at Owl, catching him off guard. Bartholomew's hands gripped Owl's shoulders and forced him back against the wall with a painful thud.

"You insolent brat!" Bartholomew's voice was a low growl, filled with fury. "You think you can talk to me like that?"

Owl winced, pain shooting through his shoulders where his father's fingers dug into his flesh. He tried to squirm free, but Bartholomew's grip was like iron.

"You're nothing," Bartholomew seethed, his face inches from Owl's. "You'll never amount to anything. I should have gotten rid of you years ago."

Despite the fear and pain coursing through him, Owl refused to show weakness. He met his father's gaze defiantly, his eyes flashing with anger and defiance. "Go ahead. Hit me like you have done so many times before. Show me what a big man you are."

Bartholomew's grip tightened further, and Owl couldn't suppress a grunt of pain. He felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction.

“You’re pathetic,” Bartholomew hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “All your theatrics, all your rebellion—it’s nothing but the desperate cries of a child begging for attention. Well, *redacted*, you have my attention.”

Owl let out a hollow laugh, though the sound came out strained under the pressure on his shoulders. “Oh, is that what this is? Father of the Year finally noticing his son?” His voice was low, bitter, each word deliberately calculated to provoke.

Bartholomew’s expression darkened further, his lips curling into a sneer. Without a word, his hands slid from Owl’s shoulders to his throat, his grip tightening with alarming speed and precision. Owl’s defiance faltered as the realization of what was happening settled in. He tried to jerk away, his hands instinctively flying to his father’s wrists, but Bartholomew’s grip was unrelenting. Owl’s knees buckled slightly as the pressure on his windpipe grew unbearable. He clawed at Bartholomew’s hands, but it was a futile effort. His lungs burned, and black spots began to bloom at the edges of his vision. For a brief moment, Owl caught a flicker of something in his father’s eyes—not regret, not concern, but cold, calculated satisfaction.

Owl’s body started to betray him, his strength waning as the oxygen drained from his body. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, and the sounds of the world around him faded into a dull roar. His last conscious thought was a mix of fury and resignation: So is this how it ends?

When Owl’s body finally went limp, Bartholomew released him, letting him crumple to the cold marble floor like a discarded puppet. He stood over his son’s prone form, his chest rising and falling heavily as he regained his composure. The storm that had driven him to such extremes began to dissipate, leaving behind only the faintest traces of satisfaction. Bartholomew straightened his suit jacket, smoothing down the fabric as though the altercation had been a mere inconvenience, and then turned sharply on his heel. Without so much as a glance back, he strode down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the mansion.

Owl lay motionless, his chest rising and falling shallowly as his body struggled to recover. A few moments passed before a weak cough escaped his lips, his lungs greedily pulling in air as he regained consciousness.

Slowly and shakily, Owl pushed himself to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting. His vision swam, the room around him tilting dangerously before he braced himself against the wall for support. His throat burned with every ragged breath. For a moment, he considered collapsing back onto the floor and just staying there, letting the weight of exhaustion and pain drag him down. But he knew better. Lying there would only invite another confrontation if Bartholomew decided to come back.

Owl gritted his teeth and pushed forward, each movement driven by sheer stubbornness and a desperate need to retreat to his room, the only place in the entire house where he could pretend to have a shred of control.

Continue reading here

[massivedreamer]

THREE DAYS

Pairing: Dave York x Cartel boss Fem!Reader

Summary: The greatest thing Dave York will ever learn is to be loved… and to love in return.

Rating: E

Word count: 6,304

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, language and explicit content, no age gap, no use of y/n, use of a nickname, no physical description. Kidnapping and captivity (don’t worry, David's a big boy and it all ends up consensually), mentions of corruption, drugs, violence, prostitution, child trafficking, illicit activities in general, infidelity, invasion to privacy, masturbation (male/female), unprotected p in v (don't do it at home, kids), rough sex turns vanilla cause two baddies are in love, face riding, doggy style, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cream pie, emotional orgasm. I think that covers it all.

A/N: This is some psycho killer rom com fever, I have no idea where it all came from but I'm a Pisces so there's that.

My first fic in a long, loooong time and my first Pedro's boys related tale. Encouraged to go back to the writing path by the lovely @lavendertales. English is not my native language, so please, forgive any trespassing. Written for the @pedrostories 's celebration (Did I make it before the deadline??)

Hope you like it and do let me know what you all think!

Yes, there's also a PLAYLIST

The kidnapping was the easiest part. Dave York´s daily routine must have been as predictable as his sex life with the wifey. It was disappointing, really. Your team had only surveillanced him for a couple of days and got his schedules and routes all figured out. For a DIA agent, not to mention a DIA agent-turned-mercenary, he had been sloppy. Lazy. The enemies gained through so many years of being a traitor and a greedy scumbag were all out there. Did he really think he was safe living his suburban life? Wasn't he scared his side job would have consequences at any point?

Did Dave York really consider the possibility of you forgetting him? 

Of course, you sent Chet. He was your chosen brother, your lieutenant, your most loyal dog. Even though he could have done it alone, he took three of the new boys with him. He had personally trained them and thought this task as their perfect baptism of fire. The jet would be waiting. Your newest runway for the Washington deliveries, paid by unaware constituents, would be ready for the illegal flight in which only Dave would be sent to California. To the mansion/dungeon they had just finished building according to your specifications, somewhere in the desert. 

-“Not again…” said Dave, rather calmly and through the hood once he could sit up and hear Chet´s voice. He could recognize that ridiculous high pitched male tone anywhere. “¿What the fuck does she want now?” 

–” I don´t know, York. And it's not my place to give a fuck. But I hope it hurts”. Chet turned to the driver and whispered instructions on how to get to the private tarmac, fast but inconspicuously. 

Dave chuckled and kept his cool, but on the inside, he began to worry. They had seized and crushed his iPhone as soon as they got him in the truck. Carol would soon start freaking out if he didn't answer her messages. Why the hell didn't he bring the satellite tracker today? He tried to guess where they were going, paying attention to the stops, the turns, the sounds. He could definitely recognize when they were passing Constitution Ave. But that was it. He had the feeling the directions Chet was giving the driver were solely to confuse him. After a while, the rhythm of the vehicle became monotone. They were cruising a highway. But, which one? Nevermind. It was obvious that the destination was in the outskirts of DC. 

- “Out, York!” 

Trying to deliver his most menacing voice, Chet yanked Dave by the arm and handed him to someone else. The highway trip was about 20 minutes and even though he was still with his head covered, it didn't take too much effort for him to realize they had arrived in some sort of an airport. She is definitely thriving. 

- “I guess we´re not going to Cozum…?”

Dave didn't have the chance to finish the joke. The needle did its job perfectly. You couldn't risk your favorite bad boy using his legendary photographic memory, not even from the air. 

A white room.

A bed. 

A chair.

One small window.

Sunlight.

What time was it? What day was it?

Shit. Dave opened his eyes and before moving a muscle, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He had to make sure he was the only one in that cell. Because that's where he was. You had put him behind fucking bars. He´d be lying if he hadn't considered the possibility of going to prison someday. But that you were going to be his judge, jury and executor? 

In the upper left corner of the locked room, there was a discreet, up-to-date camera that definitely recorded sound. Two speakers, matching the color of the walls, were hanging at each side of the bed. It was a California King Size. All of the sudden, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby” started blasting through them. Dave sat up and some obscene flashes from the recent past slapped his memory. And, unexpectedly, fueled his groin. 

-”There´s not coming back from this. Did you know that, right?” – Dave spoke over the loud music, not sure if you were able to hear him. “You kidnapped a federal agent. You´re fucked!”   

Donna stopped abruptly but you continued the singing. You always had a lovely voice. In another life, you could have been a terrific singer. “IIIIIIII… love to love you babyyyy…!” 

“Did you change your number?” – you asked, with a fake curiosity. “I cannot seem to reach you anymore…” You sighed, almost moaned. 

“I only updated my spam call list” – Dave answered, nonchalantly. “What do you want, Killer Q?”

“ I can’t stop thinking about you” 

“ Awww...  You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby…” – Dave laughed. 

That laughter hurt. Look at what this motherfucker does to you. One year ago, you were the most ruthless woman that had ever set foot in the drug trafficking industrial complex. As a boss. And in the US, of all places. Your facade of a succesful businesswoman, though a cliché, was more than efficient. The reality was that you had become the cocaine Godmother, the meth Empress, the Goddess of opioid. Your name had started to be known across the substances’ world, with a reputation forged under seas of blood. Every single poor devil, with so little brain to disrespect you and everything you had to go through to get where you were, was either impaired or underneath some surface. 

And you were a witty bitch. While supervising the traditional kneecapping session reserved for dealers with dreams of entrepreneurism, you love to deliver some really funny lines. And yet, Dave York mocking you, left you speechless.

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then I guess Muhammad must kidnap the mountain…” – You were back. 

“I thought we were done doing business” – Dave started losing his confidence. Not knowing what the hell you wanted started to have its effect on him. Deep down, and after all he had seen and heard, he had to admit he was a bit afraid of you.

“Business?” – you tried to disguise your vulnerability. “So, I’m just another deal to you, huh? 

“Yes…" –Dave looked at the ceiling – "And no? I thought you and I were benefiting from each other AND having fun.” 

There was a silence that, by no means, you intended to float so heavy in the air.

“Well, I guess for me… it turned into something more than entertainment…” 

You had to close the mic to drink from the Evian bottle. You hadn’t planned to spill your truth in the first minute of conversation but there you were. Finally, admitting it. Out loud.

Were you going to say the word though? One thing was for sure: you had never felt like this. Let's be honest: a 13 year old, lured out of her miserable home, from a miserable town, having her soul ripped by men and their huffs and grunts, every single night, for a decade, was never meant to be the fairytale princess archetype. And other 10 years of her life, just surviving, lowering her head, listening to the important conversations, connecting with the right people, even escaping slavery through a marriage of convenience with a kingpin, didn’t contribute much to her personal knowledge of what love was. Or is? 

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” – you demanded. 

“What do you want me to say?” – Sat at the edge of the bed and in the absence of the woman confessing such feelings for him, Dave just kept staring at the wall. “That I still don’t know why I’m here?”

“Oh you do…” – you sounded darker – “Think”

“Wait… Do you wanna have sex with me, Killer Q? Is that it?” 

Now you were the one laughing. 

“Oh my God… Men. Why are you all so basic? – You were enjoying this – Do you really think that if I only wanted to fuck you, you’d be in that cell, without me all over you? C’mon, try harder, York…” 

“Do I really have a choice…?” Dave mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, his brain trying to come up with what scheme could be the closest to the one in your mind. You made it clear it wasn’t sex. Money, maybe? Extortion. You were infatuated and planning to send some incriminating material to Carol. You surely could have set up the equipment to record your encounters. Vegas? Last Spring? That’s when Donna played over and over, right? Memorable. 

You watched through the monitor and smiled at the sight of the supposedly cold mercenary, slightly blushing. 

“What do you feel for me, Dave?” 

“Right now, I hate you.” 

“I doubt that, baby… I got a better idea. It’s getting late, I’m tired and I need to go to bed. It’s sad we can’t share it yet. We will. But first you´ll have to seriously examine your actions, thoughts and, most importantly, your feelings in the recent time" – you took a long pause – "so you can be more honest with your responses in the next three days we’ll spend together. Night night, David” 

"What? Wait! Three whole motherfucking days here?!” Dave was equally outraged and concerned. “I’m hungry! And…” - he hesitated and lowered his voice – “What about going to the bathroom and…?”

Two sliding doors opened almost in unison. One, small and by the bed, produced a tray with some delicious seafood dish, a glass of Chardonnay and a generous portion of Creme Brulee. The other entrance, bigger and near the main gate, showed him a luxurious bathroom, with a change of comfortable clothes and toiletries.

“You have two hours until the lights are off”

Day ONE

Daylight bathed the cell and Dave was surprised by how soundly he had slept. It must have been some residual effect from whatever tranquilizer they gave him before getting him in the jet. Or was it maybe that he felt comfortable? Bullshit. He was the renowned CIA agent David York and this was a dangerous situation. Even infatuated as you claimed to be, you were a threat. And, come on… you didn’t mean anything to him. He’s had his pretty decent share of affairs and he had come to terms with his cheating asshole condition. You were no different from the parade of office girls who begged on their knees for one more night of cuffs, lube and discarded condoms, right?

Right.

Still in bed, Dave looked longingly in the direction of the food door, mentally begging for a black coffee, no sugar, scrambled eggs and bacon. Not knowing the time was slowly driving him crazy. He trusted his appetite and the sun elevation angle to say it was close to noon. Of who knows what day but it was something. He went to the bathroom and freshened up.

“Uhmm.. Hello?” — Dave talked to the air, in the hopes you presented once more, vocally. Not that he was particularly interested in hearing your voice again or anything. “I could use some breakfast, you know? By the way, dinner last night was awesome. If you tell me where we are, I would highly recommend this place on TripAdvisor!” 

Nothing.

Nada.

Wait.

There was something.

Suddenly, and as if he was in a real hotel and some nextdoor honeymooners were doing what honeymooners usually do in hotels, Dave started to hear some lewd sounds coming from somewhere nearby. At first, it was barely audible, which made it difficult to pinpoint the source. But it rose to a crescendo, getting higher, clearer. Hotter. Dave realized it was not coming from any place near the cell but from the speakers crowning his prisoner bed. 

“Give it to me, daddy…! Ohh…Fuckfuckfuckfuck… Yesyesyesyeyes!”

It was you. You were fucking some random dude and broadcasting it live and in stereo. For him to be the only audience.

"Ooooh Gooood…Yeaaah… Harder! Please! Please! Pleaaaase! I’m so close! Make me come! No one can make me come like you, daddy…!” 

Dave was standing in the middle of the room, hands on the hips, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. If this was your strategy, it was beyond pathetic. The skin slapping skin sound was getting louder and faster. You sounded so satisfied, kept moaning and begging. Dave had to admit that the guy was doing a great job. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just panting and grunting. There was something about him though. The noises he was making, the pace he was fucking you… The only sexual activity Dave had eavesdropped in his life was his dorm roommate, back in college, 25 years ago. And after all that time, he still recalled it was a lousy job. So, even though there were no parameters to be based on, in this case, Dave could strangely tell, just by listening to his performance, that for this guy it wasn’t just sex. What a loser, putting so much care into making you come, probably watching your face in ecstasy, proud of himself, thinking you’d adore him afterwards…

You came. Hard. 

“What are you doing?” – Dave was done.

A giant screen popped up from one of the walls, revealing some truly NSFW scenes. So it was not just audio after all. There you were… and Dave York, fucking you senseless, chasing his own high in that Colorado cabin, last time you were together. 

“You mean, what are we doing?” – you sounded so full of yourself. 

“Take it off” – He was watching the video, weirdly mesmerized. - “Take. It. Off”

“Oh but here comes the best part! - You imitated a little girl who didn’t want to go to sleep.

“Take it off. Or I will “ – Dave grabbed the chair and walked in a menacing way towards the screen.

His movements in the video were frantic. His beautifully formed butt, hammering between your legs, was the star of the piece.  He was about to watch himself reaching orgasm, with a woman who wasn’t his wife. What a piece of shit he was.

“Ooooh fuuuuuuck… unnngh… I fuck…ing.. I... fucking LOVE YOU…”

Dave dropped the chair and the screen went to black. It’s not that he didn’t remember saying that. The problem was that he had been trying to forget that he said it. He composed himself.

“You gotta be kidding me…” – he chuckled and calmly returned the chair to its place – “Really? What’s your point with all this?” 

“I think it’s quite obvious, David” – you lit up a cigarette and reclined in your leather armchair. 

“You know? I thought you were crazy, but with this, you’ve exceeded my expectations”  – Dave didn’t try to conceal his rage anymore – “Do you really believe that the shit we say during sex is meaningful?!”

“I have a question for you, Dave. If this thing between us was nothing, why didn’t you stop calling me? Because let me remind you that it was you who looked for me. Not the other way around” 

You were right. He desperately tried to find a plausible answer to your question. “Well, I guess it´s because you´re a great fuck, Q.”

“I am. In fact, I absolutely excel in bed. ” – You paused – “And yet, none of all the men I’ve been with, not a single one of those motherfuckers really wanted to see me again after a couple of times” 

Dave remained in silence.

“Oh but you were only ‘having fun’ with me for, what? Almost 2 years now? – Yes, you were counting –  “Until you cut me off completely, last week. Excuse me for only being sensical at reading this situation, York"

He had to admit you were right.

 “So tell me… What happened? Little Carol found out about your feelings?”

“Don’t you bring Carol into this…”

“Oh but she already is! What was it? – You fake a gasp – Did you say my name while making love to her tenderly…?”

“Shut up!” – Dave almost growled. 

“Sorry” – you said, sincerely.

“What?” 

“I don’t want to antagonize you, Dave. It’s just…”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why you kidnapped me…” 

“You gave me no choice, Dave. Look, I know you think I’m a heartless woman. I myself thought I was. This is my desperate measure, to my desperate times. I love you. – You fought the impending tears with all your strength – And call me crazy all you want, but I know for sure you love me back. That’s why you ghosted me. It scares the shit out of you feeling something like this for someone like me.”

Dave couldn’t think of any explanatory response. Because, in fact, he had none.

The little door suddenly opened, showing a bistec with a colorful salad, his non-optional lunch offer for the day, that went uneventful after your mic turned off.   

Day TWO

Nothing had happened since the dawn of that second day. Dave hoped you were having second thoughts and maybe were planning on releasing him. He also questioned himself if that’s what he wanted. After a quick shower, he noticed night had finally fallen in whatever place this majestic prison was located. He had no clue what time it was and, honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. While laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was the only entertainment he could find, Carol and the girls suddenly came to his mind. What would they be doing right now? He felt for them. Even though he had long come to accept that he didn’t love Carol anymore, he truly valued her. She was a great woman, a perfect mother, and at this point, a resilient wife. And his daughters… They were the most beautiful beings he could have produced and the only decent footprint he will leave on this Earth. What would they think of him if he divorced their mom? Dave mentally punched himself for considering that.

Complete darkness swallowed the cell. Of course, it was getting late for the daily event. All lights went dead except for the big screen that suddenly started showing some CCTV images. It was Dave’s street. 

“Have you been to my home too, Q? Pfff, I don’t know why I’m surprised…”

There was not a comeback from your part. 

After a few minutes, it was clear that the footage was an edition from different days, but at similar hours. Dave realized that in those cuts there was something concerning. The same man appeared  to be jogging, but discreetly glancing at his house. Everyday. He was wearing different sporty outfits and anyone could think he was simply a neighbor trying to be fit. But for the trained eye of Dave York, it was easy to understand that that guy was something else. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember the job I got you, 6 months ago, for that Qatar minister? You and your men failed, Dave. They launched an investigation over the dude. And he eventually had to resign. Guess what? He isn’t the forgiving type. He came to me and asked for your personal inform…”

“You put my family in danger, you fucking psycho?!” Have you lost your mind?

“Do you really think that your family would still be alive had I done that, York? 

“Q, you have to let me go” – Dave didn't want to joke anymore – “I need to warn them. Please, let me just do this and I promise, I swear on their lives, you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Please.” 

That pleading made you fall even more in love with him. 

Dave kept watching the footage, terrified of what could be coming next. The video was fast forwarded and he could see as the jogger, who was running his usual target street, crouched and pretended to tie his shoelaces. All of the sudden, he disappeared behind a white van that passed by him and slowed down right where he was. He never reappeared after the van kept on going. A knife was left abandoned on the pavement. Exactly 15 seconds after that, the Mercedes with Carol and the girls turned around the corner, coming back from school. Now Dave remembered the night his wife had commented how weird it was finding that knife in the middle of their street. Dave didn't think anything of it.

"Sometimes I ponder how easy and convenient it would've been for me to let that "tragedy" to happen"

"What about Al-Salim? He could send more people…"

"He fell into depression. And sadly took his own life back in Qatar, the very afternoon this healthy man suffered a heart attack, at the entrance of the George Washington hospital. Dark coincidence, don't you think?"

Dave was at a loss for words for the longest moment. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you’d done for his family. For him. 

"I guess… you don't need my services anymore. It seems like now I can hire you for this kind of job. Thank you, Q" 

The screen went dead and it was pitch black again. Dave didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Aren't you curious about how I hacked your security camera?  And your home intranet, DIA agent?" – your tone was playful again.

Your voice wasn’t coming through the speakers anymore but from right outside his cell. Like in a theatrical performance, the beam of a projector somehow lit up only you and your body. There you were, no make up, loose hair, sitting on a kitchen chair and wearing nothing but a white long dress. The powerful lightning made you look like a sexy specter. 

“How are you Dave? Comfortable, I hope” – You crossed your legs and adopted the pose of a therapist who was about to have her first session with a new patient. 

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it” – Dave was not lying. 

“I suppose you do. Tell me, do you also sit in the dark at home, late at night, when you Google me?

“Oh, please… Don’t flatter yourself, Killer Q”

“Please, your Honor! I have some unmistakable evidence to substantiate my case…”

You stood up and the projector revealed, over your curves, recordings from a computer screen, where your name appeared, over and over again, in searchings with a variety of word combinations that ultimately lead to the same topic: your romantic life. Your name + the terms “boyfriend”, “dating”, “partners”, “love life”, “marriage plans”, “past relationships”. 

 Dave felt his face on fire and thanked the darkness for concealing it.

“That could be anyone's computer”

The images of the hacked screen then changed to a divided layout of his deceitful puppy eyes, his hands on the keyboard in which he was entering the terms, all matching the dates and times of the searches you previously and sensually had helped showcasing. 

“I think that’s your computer, agent York.”

You got up and came closer to the cell, took down the dress straps, one at the time, and let it fall to the floor. You could barely see Dave but you could sense his eyes roaming your naked body. Neither of you said a word. You ceremoniously came back to the chair and sat again, feeling the wetness that had been accumulating since he had thanked you for saving his family. 

“I just know it, Dave. Please, just say it” – you begged with hooded eyes.

The projector was now bathing you with a soft shade of pink, matching the glistening between your legs, on full display for your prisoner to see. When you started circling your clit, your nipples rock hard even before getting undressed, you knew you were not going to last. On the other side of the bars, Dave was breathing heavily and his bulge began pulsing. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t give in to the need to pull his cock out and get himself off to the magnificent scene he was witnessing. He had always thought your body was glorious, even with your scars. Maybe, because of them. 

“Baby… Mmmm… can’t you see? This is… all… yours… Oh… I… am yours…”

You were stabbing your cunt with two fingers, curving them at the right place, at the right rhythm. The sounds you were making, increasingly wetter, desperately faster. One foot on the ground, the other stepping on the spindle, you had definitely used that wooden chair for sinful exercises before. And your moans echoed in the room where Dave was. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, gulping and palming himself, fully erect and finally doing what he very much had resisted. You could hear him and it turned you on even more. Almost standing up, you went back to your clit, frantically rubbing it, keeping your eyes fixed in Dave’s direction. When he saw you come, it was like looking at some goddess sculpture, with a gaping mouth expression, frozen in ecstasy for a few seconds, screaming his name right after. Spitting his hand and fisting himself, once, twice, thrice, Dave spilled his seed all over the tile floor. Panting and slightly sweating, still in the dark, he watched you approach the cell again, still naked and with a satisfied grin on your face. Your hand, still covered in your juices, went straight to grab one of the door metal bars and smudge it with your flavor. Then, you picked up your dress, gave Dave one last look and left. Everything went dark again. But before any light would turn on and gave him away, Dave rushed to the door and licked what you had left for him.   

Later in the shower he had to take care of himself for a second time.  

Day THREE

A huge smash woke Dave from one of the best sleepings he had had in a long time. The lack of proper rest in the past 48 hours had been highly balanced out by the self pleasure activities shared with you the previous night. In his haze, he could hear that there was some commotion out there but, again, he was unable to determine the source. “What is it gonna be today…” He rubbed his eyes and then rolled them. 

Dave stood up and walked to the door, grabbed the bars and listened closely. There were two voices. They were arguing. And it didn’t sound pretty. “You don’t understand! It’s not because of you! That was definitely your voice. “Why the fuck do you even bother? With him? I always stood by you, you ungrateful bitch…!” 

Chet. 

Wait. Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Dave was baffled. He had always thought your loyal lieutenant was a rampant homosexual.  “Chet, stop it, please!” You sounded more and more scared, on the verge of tears, almost. Dave’s heart started racing, his knuckles turning white while squeezing the bars of the door. It was like Chet was bringing the whole house down. Glass crashing, furniture flying, walls being punched. Then Dave heard a slap and a muffled gasp. And he lost it. 

“Cheeeet! You coward piece of shit, leave her alone!!! You want me??? Here I am!! Come and get me, fucker!!!” 

Dave started furiously kicking the bars, of course, to no avail. He searched and searched, for some sign of a door opening device, while he kept hearing your screamings. He scanned the cell and looked at the chair. The window. He probably was not going to be able to break it, or fit into it but at that point anything was worth trying. He stepped on the chair when suddenly everything went quiet. Fearing the worst, he stepped down. The screen turned on and there it was your face. Dave York never thought the day would come when he’d get to see you in such a state. Your hair in disarray, reddened puffy eyes, bloody lips and sheer terror plastered in your expresion. Still so beautiful. You were whispering to the camera installed in the control room from where you clearly operated all these days, looking to your side every five seconds, afraid of Chet entering any minute. 

“I’m so sorry Dave! – you were sobbing but quickly tried to get yourself together – “There’s a panel… uhm… hidden, on the inside wall… it's the right side… No! Sorry! Sorry! Left side by the cell door! You give it a little push and…” – you froze and glanced at your flank –  “It will show a big red button…You push it and it will open the door. Please, you gotta help me, please! He’s gonna kill me, Dave…! Forgive me, I was so stup…”

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed you by the hair and yanked you out of the frame. The screen went dark.

Dave heard three gunshots somewhere nearby.

He rushed to the door and followed your instructions. Once he was free he ran like a madman. He didn’t recognize himself, feeling a desperation so uncommon for a cold mercenary like he had been for so long. It was corridor after corridor, and they all looked the same. The walls were slightly curved, lacking any pictures or decoration. The little windows above his head, just like in his cell, provided great lightning, but he couldn't help thinking it was like being inside a pantheon. He tried one door, then another. And another. They were all locked. It resembled a mental facility, Greek style. At last, Dave reached a T turn and when he looked, it was a long corridor on both sides. But to the left there was something he hadn't encountered so far: an opened door. In fact, it was ajar. Dave came to the frightening realization that Chet could still be around, armed. While he only had his bare hands. He cautiously entered and came across your control center. A dozen monitors, a camera, a microphone and a tumbled armchair. Some screens were still transmitting video from different parts of the house and Dave instinctively looked for the one broadcasting from his dungeon. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you, laying still on the California King. Dave didn’t stay to check on your state through the monitor but ran through the door and raced the corridors again, trying to remember the path back to the place he had been for the past three days. Were you passed out? Or were you dead? Focus, Dave. Hurry up. 

“Wow. For someone who only had fun with me, that’s… pretty moving, baby”

Dave had run so fast the last part of the hallway leading to the cell, that he virtually bounced on the ending wall. It would’ve been almost comedical if he hadn’t launched like an animal to the now closed jail door. When he desperately looked inside it, there you were. Unharmed, gorgeous, laying on your belly holding your head with your hands, looking at Dave with innocent eyes. Naked. He was trying to catch his breath, holding the metal bars, looking down. A smile, one that you had never seen on him, appeared on his face when he lifted his head and gazed at you. 

“Let me in” – Dave said in a deep whisper. His smile was gone and his eyes were almost black. 

“Have you had enough time to think about our conversations…?” 

“Let me in” 

“You know? I’m not so sure… What are your plans to spend this lovely afternoon in this cozy space with… me?”

“I want to eat”

Your cunt pulsed at those words. Dave looked indeed like a vampire.

You stood up and went to the opening panel, taking your time, walking painfully close to Dave, cold metal as the only barrier preventing him from pouncing on you. You finally gave a push to the red button and the cell was open. Dave stood still, leaning on the threshold. 

“This isn't what I signed up for when I joined the DIA”

“What?  Consorting with criminals…?”

“Falling for the fiercest of them” 

Dave charged and lifted you in one powerful move. And you held onto him for dear life, your mouth colliding with his, so happy you could cry. You locked your legs around him while he carried you until you both crashed against the nearest wall. Dave stopped for air. He caressed your cheek and took a good look at your face, every inch of it, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He once again tried to devour your lips but you put your fingers on his mouth. 

“Wait... Can I ask you something?

“Fire up” 

You both giggled.

“I don’t want you to fuck me…” 

“But…” 

“I want you to make love to me”

Dave's perplexed reaction turned to a sassy one. 

“How many orgasms do you think you can handle?”

“Five”

“I like those odds” 

He put you down, laid back on the bed and went upwards in the direction of the headboard. 

“Up, Q”

You moaned loudly when you sat on his face and Dave started his attack on your pussy. His tongue had been there hundreds of times now. And yet it felt like it was the first time he was licking and sucking your folds like that. 

“Oh my.. God… Dave… Keep going, like that, please, oooh please…!”

His brown eyes alternated between being open and fixed on you and closed due to the pleasure. The noises he was making, how your juices began dripping down his stubble, the way he was gripping your thighs, everything had you riding him like there was no tomorrow. 

“Dave, baby… Unnngh… I’m… Mmmmcoming… Please, make me come…”

Instead of fulfilling your wish, he pushed you away, making you lose your balance and falling on your back. But you didn’t even have time to protest since Dave was on you again, turning you around, on all fours. You felt his still clothed erection grazing your ass. 

“Are you ready to receive my love, Q…? – He cooed in your ear. 

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“All of it?”

“Give it to me…” –you sounded almost pathetic. 

You heard him taking off his shirt and sweatpants and then slapping his cock. Ass up, your wetness was now going down your legs. Proudly licking his lips, where he could still taste you, Dave teased your entrance with the tip of his length and you squeezed the sheets in desperation. You cried his name when he entered you and couldn’t breath when he started his thrusting. Slapslapslapslap. His big hands sank in your flesh, keeping you in place so your face was pressed to the mattress, muffling your whimpers. Dave then lifted you, tenderly embracing you from behind and also reaching your clit and circling it with expertise. 

“Are you close, baby? Hmmm? Talk to me…” 

“Yes baby, I think I’m… explode… am” – you weren’t coherent anymore.

“Lay back…”

He gently pulled you back, making you lean on him, both now seated on the bed.

“Open your legs, Q. Open them wide”

You obeyed. Dave put one hand on the bed for support and the other one went straight between your legs. When you realized what he had in mind, you granted him more access, placing your hips forward. 

 “Two. Or three?” 

“Three… is my lucky… number” 

He then started fingering you. He went in and out frantically, making sure he was properly hooking his fingers to get to the patch of heaven inside your vagina. Your eyes went to the back of your head and you were unable to make any sound. Dave wished there was a mirror in front of the two of you so he could witness your cute O face. All of the sudden, a loud squelching echoed across the room and Dave grinned in anticipation. 

“Here it comes, baby. Alright baby, alright, baby. Come on now” 

“Ooooohhh mmmm... Ghhhhhhhaaaaah!!!!!

You felt indeed like something had exploded out of you. It was liquid pleasure like you had never experienced before. It kept on leaking, down your legs, down the bed, down Dave´s hand. You weren’t sure how to feel or what to do next. Dave continued encouraging you, kissing your earlobe and cradling you in his chest, waiting for you to get down from your high. When you were back on Earth again, you turned around and looked him in the eye.

“Love me, Dave”

He flipped you over, kissed you lovingly, fist himself a couple of times and entered you. His pace was now slow, with a calm he had barely known in his whole life, in any aspect of it. How long he’d pretended you were merely a substance trader who happened to cross his path of illicit choices. You kept your eyes open. You wanted to make sure he was there, that he was real. That he was David York. The mercenary, the federal impostor, the cheating husband, the lover you never thought you deserve. That this wasn’t another of your sex fantasies at night. 

“I love you, Killer Q”

Dave increased his rhythm. 

“Say it again”

“I. Fuckin. Love. You”

“Come for me, daddy”

Dave thrusts became erratic, his breathing increasingly difficult. You held his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m here, baby. Look at me. Give me everything you got. Fill me in”

Those words did the job. Dave groaned deep and long, as he spurted his hot load inside you. But he was not finished. With what was left of his magic, he intended to make you come one more time. In and out, in and out, in and out, just at the right angle, to burn your clit one more time. 

And it happened that you burst into tears as you orgasmed. Dave kissed them dry.  

“Don’t cry, Q.” – Dave stared at you adoringly –”Thank you”

“For what…?” You used the pillow case as a Kleenex.

“To show me what an idiot I’ve been all this time. I really deserve being hurt by Chet. Hopefully, he’s not around...”

You laughed.

“He’s with one of the new boys”

“Training him?”

“I don’t think so…”

[misterbrownn]

randomly looked up while cruising down Pennsylvania Ave ✨

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Rebecca Ferguson on the relationship with Sweden - and Swedish film: "Give me a role" The criticism after the TV4 interview: "I don't want to fuck it up"

LONDON. Rebecca Ferguson, 40, has left Sweden and is taking Hollywood by storm.

But beyond the successes with "Dune", "Silo" and "Mission: impossible", she is careful to nurture the ties to her home country.

"I don't get that many Swedish offers, give me a role", says Rebecca Ferguson to Aftonbladet Nöje.

The Hollywood star is sitting in a suite at the five-star Rosewood Hotel in Holborn in central London. Here, the blockbuster "Dune: Part two" has occupied an entire floor for marketing and interviews ahead of the premiere date, which in Sweden is February 28.

Since a couple of years ago, London is also Rebecca Ferguson's hometown.

"I left Sweden, after covid I really moved", says the actress.

She grew up in Stockholm with a British mother and a Swedish father, went to Adolf Fredrik's music classes and broke through as a 15-year-old with the TV4 soap "Nya tider" where she had the lead role as Anna Gripenhielm. This in turn gave her a role in the American-Swedish drama series "Ocean Ave".

After she moved to Österlen in 2007 to be in the BBC's Wallander film "Sidetracked", she chose to stay in Simrishamn in Scania. There she met the filmmaker Richard Hobert, who gave her one of the main roles in the feature film "En enkel till Antibes", where she played opposite Sven-Bertil Taube, among other things. Then the international career really took off.

Wanted to start a colony Rebecca Ferguson played the main role of Elisabet Woodville in the BBC series "The white queen", for which she was Emmy nominated, Jenny Lind in the musical "The greatest showman" (2017) and the British spy Ilsa Faust in several "Mission: impossible" films. But when she wasn't working with Tom Cruise, Hugh Jackman or Michael Fassbender, she tried to build a life on the plains of East Scania. Until a few years ago.

"I built a large farm in Knäbäckshusen and tried to create some kind of colony there, with a key box, so that people could come and go, she says. "But then I had a long conversation with my son where I really said "what am I doing?"

Until 2015, she was together with Ludwig Hallberg, with whom she has a 16-year-old son, Isac. But according to Rebecca Ferguson, the ex-boyfriend was not completely on board with the plans for an open-door farm.

"Ludde" said that "we are fine, we don't need a colony, we live here", and I felt that I needed to find a root somewhere. I needed to let go of Simrishamn and root in London.

Assistant and schedule Today, Rebecca Ferguson lives in Richmond in West London with her husband Rory, who she married in December 2018. Together they have a daughter Saga, who turns 6 this spring, and Rebecca Ferguson describes the puzzle of recordings, marketing and family life as a well-oiled machine.

"It works great. I have such a luxury. It's like running a business in that it's scheduling and I have people to help", she says.

Although life as a movie star is often changeable, Rebecca Ferguson makes sure that the children have structure in their lives.

"I have an assistant, but it's more of a family friend who helps with our daughter and makes sure to fly over my son. I am also extremely close to my son's father, we are very communicative and talk all the time. We are like a big family and it's like a puzzle, but it works."

Criticism after interview The relationship with the home country suffered a thorn in connection with an interview with Efter fem on TV4 in April last year, where she did not want to speak Swedish and questioned reporter Nanna Martorell's English skills.

A storm of criticism followed and Rebecca Ferguson was noticed, among other things, by the Instagram account "Dyngbaggegalan", which celebrates uncomfortable moments from Swedish television.

Rebecca Ferguson has said that she was saddened when she heard about the criticism after the interview and said that she did not recognize herself. Almost a year after the interview, which was supposed to be about the film "Mission: impossible: dead reckoning", she brings up the incident herself - when Swedish "Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, 72, comes forward.

"Stellan, I love him. That Swedish root is so important. That's why I was so sad about the interview that took place between me and Nanna. It became such a big deal", she says.

"I was misinformed, I had no idea who I was going to meet, only that I had an angry journalist who was pissed off. They asked if they should cut her out but I said "no, take her in, why is she so damn angry?" So I went in with the gas at the bottom - and met the world's most beautiful woman."

Is there something still gnawing at you?

"The reason I bring it up is that the Swedish relationship, for example to Stellan, when I speak Swedish, feels so important. It is enough for someone to speak Swedish and I feel a sense of calm."

"Was extremely rude" Rebecca Ferguson is worried that the interview has given the Swedes a wrong image of her as an expatriate Hollywood diva.

"The only thing I needed to know was that Nanna is okay, because I was extremely rude to her. I called her, we had the world's conversation and now she gets any interview she wants," she says.

"But I don't want that role in Sweden. Sweden is the archipelago, semlor, Värmdö and my dad, Vasastan and Rörstrandsgatan – I don't want to fuck it up."

In addition to "Dune: Part two", this year Rebecca Ferguson is also currently in theaters with "Mission: impossible - dead reckoning part two". At the same time, she is recording the second season of the TV series "Silo".

Opens for Swedish film But despite a burgeoning Hollywood career, she keeps the door open to making Swedish films.

"It is not important in that way that I have to do culture in Sweden, but give me a script that is great, give me a role. I don't get that many offers so that would be great," she says.

In an interview with the British newspaper The Guardian in October 2019, the star said that "I don't get recognized and that suits me". According to Rebecca Ferguson, very little has changed on that front in the last five years - despite the fact that her CV has been significantly replenished.

""It's pretty cool when you're at a premiere, like with "Dune", and it's like a rock concert: thousands of people screaming when Timothée and Austin - and also me - come in. It has created such a large following, she says.

"Mission" was probably also a bit like that, with Tom. It's on a whole other level. I can imagine that many people in this film need security personnel when they are out and about. But I can only go where I want and do what I want."

Doesn't want to be seen as a diva Rebecca Ferguson estimates that four to five people a day come to her.

"They take a picture, you give them a small hug or a high-five, and move on," she says.

"There is probably a part of me that wishes I also needed to be snuck out of a restaurant from the back way, because there are so many people out there who just love me. It is the ego. But the sane part of me thanks God that I can go wherever I want with my children, my husband and my friends."

The same applies when she comes home to Sweden - which she is happy about.

"Sweden is somehow my soul. I wouldn't like to come to Sweden and it would have been the world's damned "hoppla". That's why I think I brought up this interview with Nanna again, that it hurts me that so many people saw a side of me that I'm not, which is a diva."

Rebecca Ferguson on… …to miss large parts of the "Dune" sequel's extensive PR tour:

"I'm filming "Silo" season two so I've only had to jump in now, it was no from my production company Apple because they needed to finish. Considering the strike (in Hollywood), we were behind in the filming. And I have had such FOMO. It's been a hell of a job, and at the same time quite nice, because I get anxiety on all these red carpets, I think it's quite tough."

…combining promotion of “Dune” in Paris with “Silo” recording in the UK:

"I worked during the day, flew into Paris, did interviews, changed, premiere, did the red carpet, then everyone else came, then we took one or two pictures, then I had to jump into the car, take off the corset and everything, jump into gym clothes, get on the train, take the 21 train back to London, drive to the hotel by the studio and then I was there filming all day."

…"Dune" colleague Stellan Skarsgård, whose son Gustaf Skarsgård she also worked with, in the film "We" (2013):

"He has 150 children and his family is so damn cool. God I can see it in him. And I miss Gustaf, I haven't seen him for a long time. They are such a big family and so close."

…”Dune” director Denis Villeneuve:

"He is the best director I have ever worked with. I know that in Sweden we hate the word "normal", but he is adequate, normal and so damn stable. He is calm and it rubs off on others. He doesn't have an ego, he's shy, he's direct, has a plan, he's incredibly prepared, and you don't push him. And it's awesome."

…the collaboration with Villeneuve:

"I'm mischievous, I'm cocky, I talk before I think. When I'm sensitive, I talk. And he likes it. So he and I work great together."

…the Swedish traditions she misses in Great Britain:

"I want to start holding cancer plaques, wearing a hat and the whole choir. Midsummer must be in Sweden. I have to start booking to go over, if you could rent a small house in the archipelago and take friends there and spend midsummer. At Christmas we celebrate twice and mix Swedish and British traditions."

Translated from swedish for @rebeccalouisaferguson

[turbobuckeye]

🚨📰 Dodge committed to bringing their display to HEMI’nsanity lot!!! Also, @SickTheMag, Sick Pizza, and Tom Bailey will join in on the fun this year! The #1 Dodge Enthusiasts Lot of The Woodward Dream Cruise! 💯💯💯

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HEMI’nsanity Woodward Avenue Lot:

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Hellcat/DEMON First Place and Runner Up

AWD Daily First Place and Runner Up

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[the-arcade-doctor]

CRUISING DOWN THE AVE HITTIN SWITCHEZ, DIGGIN ALL MY DITCHEZ, 6 FEET DEEP BURIED UP IN A GRAVE, CREEPIN WHILE YA SLEEPIN. HIDIN IN THE TREES FULLA FROZEN LEAVES, BITCH YA BETTA RUN FO I BLOW YOU WIT MY GUN!!

JOTA, GO!

can you feel the poison running thru my veins? the pleasure of agony distracts from the pain im tired of trying, my lifes just a game put down the controller, i dont wanna play

[nervousladytraveler]

A rough chapter titled "Falling and Falling Hard" from a work that doesn't exist.

(@veryflowerobservation might like this one)

---

'Come to my dance class today’ 

Demelza looked at her mobile and laughed, unsure if she was to interpret Prudie’s text as a question or a command.

‘No tap shoes.’ That might just buy her some time to decide if on her day off, she really wanted to join a class of pensioners at the day centre where Prudie was working these days.

‘Easily sorted. See you at 13:00!’

“What happened to you then? Didn’t make it to the toilet on time?” Prudie asked when she saw Demelza entering the dining hall-cum-dance studio 45 minutes later, rubbing her wet trouser leg and looking a bit out of sorts. 

“I fell on the ice just now,” Demelza sheepishly admitted.

Prudie Paynter was one of the few people that could get away with ribbing her so. Demelza had bottomless affection for Prudie, having known the woman since she herself was a girl. 

“That's ‘cause yer wearin’ the wrong shoes,” Prudie declared quickly looking at Demelza’s Adidas trainers. 

Wrong attire was still one of Prudie’s favourite accusations. No matter what Demelza had been wearing it would have been deemed wrong--even if she’d been wearing snowshoes or mountaineering boots complete with crampons. 

“Of course I am, Prudie,” Demelza smiled.

“But yer awright?”

“Yes, there’s a difference between merely fallin’ and fallin’ hard.”

“Now you make it sound like love,” Prudie winked. “Speakin’ of which…”

“Which we were not,” Demelza replied.

“How is the good doctor?”

“The doctor? Oh, you mean Greg?” Demelza rolled her eyes. “Well, he was never good, he’s long gone, and I hear he is fine.”

“That’s a right shame,” Prudie shook her head.

“That he’s fine? I should wish him ill since we’re no longer together?”

“No, it's a shame that you let him get away, couldn't keep him on the line a little longer,” Prudie huffed.

“What makes you so sure I drove him away and that I didn’t purposely cut the line?” Demelza laughed. “Really, he was…” She paused--she’d need to use a term Prudie would understand. “He was a total wanker.” 

“Wanker or not, he’s still a doctor. That’d be a good catch fer you.”

“I think you want me to hook up with a proper doctor like an oncologist so that you can brag to your friends,” Demelza teased.

“Can’t I want the best fer you? And don’t be daft--I do nothin’ but blab on to my mates ‘bout you! I take pride in the girl I raised!” Prudie said. 

Sometimes Demelza thought Prudie took her role as surrogate mum too seriously. She tried not to laugh at that last claim.

Prudie used to say she ‘watched grow up’ then that morphed into ‘helped raise’. Recently she’d cut out all others and their efforts--including Demelza’s own--to highlight Prudie’s heroics. And she didn't see it as a lie--now in her mind Prudie truly believed she’d raised Demelza, and done it mostly alone. 

“And I'd want you to do more than hook up--I already know yer more than capable of doin’ that…” Prudie added.

“Oh Prudie,” Demelza said, “I used the term ‘hook’ deliberately to follow with your fishin’ metaphor but tell me…Am I sensin’ some judgement from you?”

“I mean I want to see a ring on your finger!”

“I have rings,” Demelza held her hands out in front of her to admire the rings she wore when she wasn’t working. Her favourite had antique setting and an old stone--garnet. It no longer mattered who gave it to her. It was hers and had been for ages.

“Wrong sort of ring and wrong sort of finger,” Prudie mumbled.

“I rather like being alone, Prudie. And honestly, I thought you did as well, all these years you’ve managed so well…”

“‘Course I ‘ave, but every now and then I think how it would be nice to have a doctor of my own.” 

“For a prescription?” Demelza asked.

“That. And an occasional cruise.”

“So that's what a doctor is good for? What if I don't want to go on a cruise?” Demelza laughed.

“When you get to be my age, you‘ll change yer mind. Goin’ on holiday is all that gets me out of bed most days...it’s all I’ve to live for!”

“That's no change. You’ve thought about nothin’ but holidays the entire time I’ve known you.” It turned out Demelza was one of the few people that could get away with ribbing Prudie back. 

“Hey now, that's not a fair assessment of all my years of service, takin’ care of you and Nampara and dear old..”

“Of course not, Prudie. And you know that's not what I meant,” Demelza soothed her.

“Speakin’ of Ross…”

Which we weren't

“He’s doin well.”

“I heard that too,” Demelza replied simply.

“He had that knee problem back in July…”

Good god the woman loves her gossip. 

“But he’s all healed up now. No surgery required after all.”

“That’s good to hear.” 

Demelza had a sudden panic that Prudie might have invited him to the tap class as well but then pushed away the thought before it had fully formed. Ross was about as likely to tap dance with pensioners as she was to have a root canal without anaesthesia. 

“So tell me about your plans for Christmas? What are you and Cousin Tina cookin’”? Demelza asked, trying to change the subject for the 5th time.

“Turkey, naturally. ‘Course you have too much class to ask after Ross or wish him ill…”

“Class, eh?” Demelza raised a single brow and laughed. “Yes, that must be exactly it. I’m just brimmin’ with it. C’mon, Prudie, so where are these tap shoes you are lendin’ me today?”

The shoes turned out to be a men's pair and while they did fit Demelza, she felt a bit clownish in them all the same.

“Whatcha expect with them big boats of yers?” Prude laughed, pulling her into a hug. 

“My feet might be long, but good god woman, yours are wider than the Grand Union Canal!” Demelza teased back. 

Prudie’s tap shoes were wide but were serious business. Shiny patent leather with a faux alligator pattern and enormous satin bows that tied on top--they’d been specially ordered to fit her. Professional shoes for a professional instructor.

Demelza had to admit that after the day she’d had, and the agitation she just couldn’t shake that whole week, tap dancing felt pretty good. She wasn’t terribly off beat--just a little--and she managed to hide herself in the back row where Prudie wouldn't be able to see her shoddy form. 

And the thunder of forty graceless feet clomping on the centre's lino floor almost drowned out her own thoughts. Almost.

She didn't wish Ross ill. 

She never would. She’d made peace with that some time ago. But it was the third time she thought of him in as many days.  

What is going on with me? she thought and in that moment managed to catch her left foot on her right ankle. Before she had a chance to catch herself and get back in step, she found herself flat on her bum 

“Fucking hell,” she muttered.