#four if you count this other one i plan on writing at some stage

[gregmarriage]

if anyone is interested: crack the window pt2 (or rather pt2 of watchful deer, as the series is actually called!) is happening, i’m just putting a pin in it for a bit, bc i’m focusing on other fics, to try to give me inspo for it!

updated ao3 to make crack the window officially part of a series. it’s happening, imao i’m scared

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 7- For The First Time

Summary: Eight days ago, you kissed Frankie Morales for the first time. Eight days later, you want to do more than just kiss him.

Word count: 8.6K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) protected p in v sex, loss of virginity/first sexual experience for Frankie and Reader (some brief mentions of momentary discomfort bc of it) oral (f receiving- building the lore for Pussy Eating King Francisco Morales brick by brick), vaginal fingering, Frankie's got a big dick (it's also part of the lore, don't @ me) sweet and awkward teenage love, Frankie being everything and more, lots and lots and lots of consent, a four letter word that starts with an L, please don't yell at me, they're both 18 at this point in the story!!!

A/N: Soooooo all of a sudden I blinked a this was 8K plus words WHOOPS 🤠 I ain't gonna lie with y'all, this may be one of my favorite things I've ever written and have cried the whole way through it 😭 My plan was to have Frankie picking up MacKenzie from work in this chapter too, but obviously things got away from me very quickly, so that will be next chapter's problem!! Your kind words about this story mean so much to me, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!!! 🥺💕

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Summer of 2007, Age 18 

123 days. 

That night Frankie told you he had made up his mind to join the Army after he finished with high school, you counted out every square on your calendar from April 15th to August 16th. You had 123 days left together before you left for college and Frankie left for boot camp. 

But April 15th was 2 months ago. 67 days ago, to be exact. Each day you crossed off your calendar filled you with a little more dread than the last. You tried not to think about the dwindling number, or the impending doom of August hanging behind July and June on the wall above your desk, but it was hard to not let the thought constantly nag in the back of your mind that the carefree summer days of spending practically every waking minute with Frankie were coming to an end. 

The only thing that seemed to put you at ease was just that- after the hurt and sadness of Frankie’s departure had subsided enough, you had promised each other that the last bit of time you had together, you’d do everything in your power to make the most of it. 

If there was anything you knew the other was good for, it was keeping a promise. 

There was no denying that the past 67 days spent with Frankie had been nothing short of magical. It seemed like for once in your life, everything was falling into place exactly how you wanted it to. 

Your soccer team had won the state championship, Frankie being the first to rush onto the field to congratulate you on your victory after cheering for you at the top of his lungs the whole game. The stress of school seemed to become irrelevant, your teachers easing up as you came to the close of your Senior year, you and Frankie’s after school hangouts now focused less on homework and more on goofing around. Graduation had come and gone, you and Frankie both walking across the stage of your high school gym, diplomas in hand, teasing the other relentlessly about how awful the other looked in the stupid, tasseled caps they had forced you to wear. 

Then, there was prom.

It had been no question that you and Frankie were going to prom together- it was an unspoken, standing agreement that the both of you had since the start of your senior year. For as much as homecomings or school dances had never been your (or Frankie’s) preferred way to spend a Saturday night, there was an undeniable excitement you had about it you couldn’t really quite describe. You kept chalking it up to the fact it was the biggest night of your senior year, or that all your best friends were gathering together to have an incredible party filled with dancing and fun. 

But neither of those things could account for the butterflies in your stomach when Frankie showed up at your front door, tuxedo on and flowers in hand, watching his jaw drop and heart stop when he laid eyes on you. 

“You look beautiful, MacKenzie.” 

From that moment on, those 4 words hadn’t stopped ringing in your ears. 

They rang in your ears as he held your hand the entire night, refusing to unlock his fingers from yours. 

They rang in your ears as you felt him grab your waist while you danced. 

They rang in your ears as he lovinging teased you about your drunken hiccups off sips of stolen beer cans in Santi’s basement where the party had traveled to long after prom had finished. 

They rang in your ears in the middle of your moonlit street as Frankie walked you home, making it no less than ten steps past Santi’s porch before he froze, staring at you like a trembling deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, weirdo?” 

“There’s something I wanna do. I’m terrified you’ll hate me forever if I do it, but I’ve wanted to for so long and I don’t think I can wait anymore.” 

“Frankie, what are you-” 

“Can I kiss you, MacKenzie? Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.” 

“F-Frankie, I-” 

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget that I-” 

“I was scared you would never ask.” 

It wasn’t until then you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss Frankie Morales. 

Now, you’re absolutely sure that you never want to stop kissing him. 

There’s something about the warmed, welcomed June air that makes you want to throw every caution you’ve ever had to the wind, finally understanding what all of those books and movies had meant about falling victim to a summer fling.

Ever since that night at prom, Frankie Morales was the only thing in the world that mattered. It had only been eight days since his lips had met yours under the midnight moon, but every day since, neither of you had passed up a chance to sneak away for stolen kisses and bodies tangled in messy dances of limbs, finding any excuse to spend a moment alone together. 

Maybe your pink cheeks and goofy grins were enough to let the world know how hard you had fallen for your best friend- even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t care. Right now, consequences don't exist. 

Right now, the only thing that does is you, Frankie, and a four letter word that lingers in the back of your mind. 

They especially don’t exist when you’re wide awake at one in the morning for the third night in a row, unable to sleep as butterflies rumble in your stomach and fly up to your chest after another day spent with the boy four doors down. 

You toss and turn under your sheets, unable to stand staring hopelessly at your ceiling another minute. You reach across your bed, plucking your phone off your nightstand, finding Frankie’s name in your messages. 

You: 

Hey, are you still up? I can’t sleep 

It’s barely ten seconds before his contact is lighting up your screen, making your heartbeat just a little faster.

Frankie :) <3

Im up 2. I cant sleep either 

Cant stop thinking about u 

You: 

Me either, even though we literally spent all day together haha 

You smile at your screen as you wait for Frankie’s response, fingers anxiously tapping on your keyboard until your phone lights up again. 

Frankie :) <3

Do u wanna come over? 

I wanna see u 

Your face scrunches in confusion, sitting up in your bed to peer out your window, like Frankie would be able to see your puzzled expression from down the street as you type back. 

You: 

I mean, yeah, but it’s 1 AM Frankie??? What about your mom? 

Frankie :) <3 

Shes working overnight at the hospital 

She wont be back until like 9 tomorrow 

Its just me 

You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling that’s beginning to brew in your stomach as you read his last three texts. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation washes through you at the idea of letting yourself indulge in the teenage rebellion of sneaking out of your house in the middle of the night. An even stranger mix of nerves and something else you can’t quite explain floods your veins at the idea of sneaking out of your house to find Frankie, alone in his bedroom. 

The feeling you quite can’t explain churns faster in your gut and travels down your lower half when you realize if you’re alone with Frankie in his bedroom, you want to do more than just kiss him. 

You: 

Are you sure?? 

Frankie :) <3

Promise 

I really wanna see u Kenz 

At this point, the strange feeling that’s seeped through every inch of your body must have made it to your brain, because you’re convinced it’s the reason you don’t know how to breathe anymore. 

You: 

Okay 

I’ll be over in 10 :) 

Frankie :) <3 

Ok :) 

Come in thru the back door  

Txt me when ur there and ill let u in 

You’ve never been up and out of your bed so quickly, fumbling with your comforter and pillows just enough to resemble something close to a body under your sheets if god forbid either one of your parents wakes up and decides to check on you for the first time since you were a toddler. 

Your breath trembles, inhaling and exhaling in long and deep rises of your chest, carefully tiptoeing across your bedroom floor. You’d give anything to be in something cuter than your pajamas, but opening your closet seems like too risky of a move in your plot to escape. 

You grab Frankie’s sweatshirt hanging over your desk chair, quietly shuffling it over your head before attempting to use the moonlight spilling in through your window as enough illumination to comb your fingers through your messy hair and wrangle it into a quick braid. It’s hard to tell from the half lit reflection staring back at you in the mirror, but you pray the once over you give yourself is enough to keep you from looking like a complete mess when you show up at Frankie’s door. 

The adrenaline of it all seems to kick your nerves to the curb as you stuff your phone in Frankie’s sweatshirt pocket before your fingers gently wrap around the curve of your doorknob. As soon as you open the door, you’re well aware of the ramifications that could await you on the other side. 

You’re also well aware that consequences are temporary, and no amount of fear of future punishment is keeping you from making it to Frankie’s bedroom tonight. 

It’s a James Bond worthy performance, the way you sneak down your staircase, avoiding every crack and creak with expertise, stealthily sliding past your parents bedroom and across the family room until you’ve crept through your kitchen to find your back patio.

You flinch with every squeal of the sliding glass door as you nudge it open, just enough to squeeze your body through. You grimace your face in fear as you pause, back to the bricks of your house, waiting for someone to catch you in the act. 

A few moments pass and the silence of your home stays stagnant, giving you the all clear to bolt across your backyard, dashing through your neighbors lawns until you find yourself at Frankie’s, hands shaking as your fingers punch at your keyboard. 

You: 

I’m here! Let me in!  

As your thumb presses send, your adrenaline has waived just enough to let the anxious tension take hold of your body, palms sweating and heart racing so fast it just may beat out of your chest. Your teeth gnaw at your fingernails, waiting for his response to text you that he’ll be right there, or he’s about to let you in, but this is Frankie- It should be no surprise when he opens the back door immediately. There’s not a chance in hell he hasn’t been waiting for you down here since the moment you texted him you were coming. 

“Hi.” You whisper, biting down your lip to contain the smile that’s spread across your face as he’s opened the door. 

“Hi.” He whispers back, tongue darting between his lips as his eyes wander up and down your frame before locking with yours. 

His palm grazes your cheek, cradling your jaw as he steps into you, chest to chest while your lips lock in a gentle, electric kiss, the kind that makes you want the taste of him to linger on your tongue forever. 

“You wanna go up to my room?” He asks, the hot breath of his words dancing across your skin as his mouth still hovers over yours. 

Before, you would have quipped him with some sort of witty, sarcastic response, teasing him that you’d rather stay out in the pitch black and get eaten by mosquitos until he dragged you inside, eyes rolling at your sass. Now, the best you can manage are shaky breaths while you nod your head in agreement, praying your brain will let you form some sort of coherent thought before you speak. 

Frankie grabs your hand as he pulls you into his house, taking the familiar path through his kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, the pounding in both your chests filling the silence for the words you seem to lack. 

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him as you make it to his room, your bodies tangling and intertwining in a frantic dance, stumbling across the floor until the backs of Frankie’s knees collide with the bed, the two of you toppling over in soft giggles onto the mattress. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” Frankie sighs, one arm wrapped around your hip and the other resting on your face as he leans back in for another kiss, your smiles pressed against each other. 

“It’s only been like, three hours since I saw you last, dummy,” You quietly snicker, letting your hands wander up his chest, “You really missed me that much?” 

“Yeah, really.” He replies in between kisses, fingers digging just a little bit deeper into your side, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kenzie. You’re all I think about. You’re all I ever wanna think about.” 

You try to swallow the lump that’s lingering in your throat, but with each second that passes, it seems to grow, trapping the words your brain is fighting to get out. The simple bliss you’ve found in pressing your mouth to Frankie’s has become overshadowed by the looming tension spreading through you as you imagine the soft plush of his lips across your skin, or the way you want his hands to creep down the waistband of your shorts and ease the ache that’s been building between your legs. 

Your body freezes at the realization that you want to tell him that you can’t stop thinking about him either, that you can’t stop thinking about the fact you want more than just his lips pressed against yours, how you want him to be the first one you feel inside you, that he’s the only one you ever want. 

That there’s nothing more than you want to be his. 

It doesn’t take long for Frankie to realize he’s making out with a half open mouth, pulling away with concern as he studies the pained expression across your face. 

“Kenz, a-are, are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?” Frankie stammers, gulping as he shifts himself to follow your lead and sit up on the bed. 

“N-no, no, it’s just that- fuck- I just- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” You stutter, face growing hotter and hotter as you furrow your brow, eyes peeled to Frankie’s blue and green plaid sheets as you try to find the words you want so desperately for him to hear.

Frankie reaches out his hand, gently resting it on the bare skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your pajama shorts. You glance down at the way his fingers carefully rub back and forth, trying to calm your nerves enough to look at him. 

“It’s okay, Kenzie. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m here to listen.” He responds, trying his best to be the anchor in your storm, despite his own nearly shot nerves. 

“I- I- I really like you, Frankie.” 

“I really like you too, Kenz.” He smiles softly, just enough teasing inflection in his tone to get you to giggle, just a little. 

“I just- I- um, do you- Frankie, do you- do you ever think about doing more than just kissing me?” 

A stark silence fills the room, quiet enough that each breath through your nose and thump in your chest amplifies and echoes in the space between you. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek watching Frankie’s face go blank, eyes widening with every second he lets your question process. His Adam’s Apple bobs in sync with the trembling exhale he takes before he looks back at you, praying that your word vomit hasn’t led to a detrimental mistake. 

“Do um, holy shit- you mean like, l-like what? Like, like, h-having sex? W-w-with you?” 

He’s panting like he’s just finished a marathon, his eyes darting wildly between you and his sheets, terrified to answer your question with anything else but his own question to make sure he’s really just heard what you said. 

The tops of your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod your head just enough, the subtle shake just enough to let him confirm his suspicions that you’re asking as a way of letting him  know how often it’s crossed your mind. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think about it.” He stammers, feeling his fingers tremble against your skin, hand still resting on your thigh, “D-do- do you? Um, think about it?” 

“Yeah.” You whisper, voice shaking as you reach down to lay your hand over his, letting your fingers slide between the gaps between his knuckles until they intertwine, gripping each other tightly, there was no chance the other could float away. 

The silence shifts to a different type of tension, a thickness in the air so palpable, it makes it just as hard to move as it does to breathe. The two of you stare at the interlocked hand resting on your thigh, stuck in a game of chicken of who dares to make the first move into the uncharted territory you’ve entered. 

“I- I’ve never-” 

“Me either.” Frankie interjects, cutting off the end of your statement.

It’s almost humorous to admit it out loud, like the both of you didn’t already share every detail of your lives with one another, and had somehow managed to let this fact fall between the cracks.

The two of you let out quiet laughs to yourselves, finding comfort in the comradery to work up enough courage to let your gazes meet again, wondering if Frankie can see the same yearning in your eyes as you see reflected in the soft brown his. 

“MacKenzie, I- I-�� he mutters, scrunching his face with his swallow, trying to compose himself, “I only wanna do what you wanna do. I don’t- um, I don’t want you to think that if- if you don’t want to, o-or whatever, that I would be mad. I promise I would never, ever be mad at you because of that. Y-you know that, right?” 

“I know.” 

There’s not a part of you that doubts it. Not for a second. You know that there’s no one else on the face of this earth you trust more than him. 

There could be no one else but him. 

“You know I would never be mad at you either, right?” You ask, relieved as you watch Frankie gently nod his head. 

You’re not sure if it’s instinct or the weight of the tension that makes you lean into him, foreheads pressing together so that the messy curls of his sleepy hair are tickling your skin. You can hear how hard his heart is beating, waiting on your every breath as he leans back into you. 

“I want to. I want you, Frankie.” 

“F-fuck- Are you sure?” He asks, his free hand creeping across the sheets, carefully sliding up your thigh and under his sweatshirt you’re wearing, letting his fingers toy at the softness of your stomach and the waistband of your shorts. 

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, your own hand traveling up his leg and towards the tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. 

“I-if it’s too much, t-tell me to stop, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, MacKenzie.” 

“I know you will. I trust you, Frankie.” 

“O-okay.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s then your mouths crash together in a messy dance of tounges and teeth, an instant electricity igniting in your core with anticipation and want. It’s frantic yet sensual, the way there’s nothing more you want than him, but can’t bear to miss a moment to take it all in, savoring every second you melt into him.

As your hands wander across each other’s bodies, Frankie shifts you to lay on your back so he can cage his frame over yours, the ends of his fingers barely daring to roam any farther than just below your hips or too far above your stomach. 

“C-can I take off your shirt?” He asks, already breathless at just the sight of you underneath him. 

“Technically your shirt, Morales.” You smirk, making his cheeks turn even more pink at the way you giggle when you say his name. 

“It’s yours now, looks way better on you than it does on me. Drives me fucking crazy seeing you in my clothes, Kenz.” He grins, carefully tugging your sweatshirt and the shirt underneath it above your head as you lift up your arms, helping him wriggle it free. 

As you pop out from under the fabric, the first thing you notice is the way Frankie’s jaw is hanging open, eyes wide as can be as they stay glued to your bare chest. 

“Holy shit.”  Frankie whispers to himself, tongue darting between his lips, staring at the way your nipples have hardened from being exposed and aroused. “Um, w-wow.” 

Seeing you topless sparks something in him to do the same, reaching over his shoulder to tug his t-shirt off his back and over his head, leaving nowhere for the heave of each heavy rise and fall of your chests to hide. 

Slowly, Frankie lets his hands slide up your stomach until he’s palming your breasts, grouping each one in his hands, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against your sensitive buds. 

He leans down to kiss you, starting at your lips before trailing down your neck and collarbone, until he reaches your chest, carefully kissing each handful he has in his grasp. 

You’ve never felt your core ache the way it does now, throbbing with want and need for more, just from the way Frankie’s groping you. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling- you’ve touched yourself before with this exact scenario playing in your mind, but never has it made you feel like this. 

“Y-you can take off my shorts, i-if you want.” 

“O-kay.” 

The gentleness of Frankie’s gaze makes your heart skip a beat, the chocolate brown of his eyes locked on yours as he scoots himself down the bed until he finds himself settled between your legs, now parted open for him. 

It’s then you’re overtly aware that Frankie is about to see you completely naked, a new wave of anxiety crashing through you as heat rises in your cheeks and makes you fidget the fabric of his sheets between your fingers. 

“I- I- I’m not wearing cute underwear. S-sorry.” You stammer, wincing as Frankie’s thumbs begin to dip below your waistband. 

“Seriously, Kenz?” He chuckles, pausing in his tracks to shake his head in disbelief, “Do you really think I care what underwear you have on right now?” 

“Well, n-no, but-” 

“You really think I’m about to turn down having sex with you because you’re not in the right underwear? That you won’t even have on in like, three seconds?” Frankie snickers, trying to help ease your clearly visible nerves. 

“Shut up.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you playfully swat at him, forgetting about the fact you were topless and immediately clamming up again as you felt your breasts sway against your chest. “S-sorry, I- I’m just kinda nervous.” 

“Why are you nervous?” Frankie questions gently, wrapping his hand around your calf, thumb softly circling your skin. 

“Well you’re about to see me naked for the first time, Frankie. I think that’s a pretty fair reason to be nervous.” You force the stifled laugh stuck in your throat, attempting to uphold any confidence you have left in your facade. 

“You’re about to see me naked too, Kenz. Would it make you feel better if you saw me pantless first?” 

He says it like he’s teasing, but you know there’s a part of him that’s serious- that he’d do anything to make you feel better, even something as simple as being the first to forgo any clothes on his bottom half. 

“No, I know, Frankie, it’s just-” 

“Do you know how beautiful I think you are?” 

It catches you off guard, how quick he is to stifle your protest, the warmth of his words flushing your cheeks, now shifting to fit the delicate grin that’s growing between them. 

“You’re so beautiful, MacKenzie. Everything about you, I swear.” 

He must feel the butterflies churning in your stomach, his hands sliding down your thighs to grab your sides, leaning over to press soft kisses just above your waistband. He stares up at you once more, giving each other subtle nods of reassurance as his fingers play with the elastic, carefully helping you to lift your hips just enough to shuffle your bottoms down your legs until they’re a crumpled pile on the floor. 

It eases the tension that’s built throughout your body as you watch in real time how Frankie’s brain short circuits, mesmerized by the view that’s revealed itself between your legs. You timidly squirm your lower half against the sheets, just enough to feel the sticky warmth of your arousal that’s been pooling since the minute you stepped foot in Frankie’s bedroom. 

“H-holy- holy fuck. O-oh my god.” Frankie murmurs to himself, eyes locked on the puffy, wet mess of your pussy, “MacKenzie, I- wow. C-can, um, can I touch you?” 

“Mmhmm. Y-you can touch me, Frankie. F-fuck, I want you to. Please.” You whisper, letting your legs part for him more, clit pulsing with anticipation to feel Frankie’s fingers. 

“I-if it doesn’t feel good o-or, you know, you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?” 

“Okay, Frankie.” 

You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this wound up, every throb of your core pulsing through your body with so much intensity you’re convinced you may explode if Frankie doesn’t touch you this second. 

The pads his fingers gently slide over your swollen lips, collecting the slick that clings to them before he brings them to your clit, his precise and delicate touch still making you gasp the moment he starts to circle around your sensitive nub. He swirls his fingers with the lightest touch like you’re made of glass, scared he’ll break you if he dares to push too hard. 

“You can, fuck- you can press more if you want.” 

“Okay. I just- I didn’t wanna hurt you, or anything.” 

The corner of your lips curl with a soft smile, the stiffness in your muscles relaxing with how warm and safe he makes you feel. 

“I-in the same place, though? Same circles, just like, more pressure?” He asks, quietly calculating his next move as you shake your head in response. 

Frankie begins to circle again, slowly increasing the weight of his fingers against your clit, brushing against it in just the right way to make you whimper in delight. 

“Oh my god-” You sigh, breath hitching in the back of your throat. 

“Good oh my god, or bad oh my god?” Frankie questions, terrified he’s done something to upset you. 

“No- no, good oh my god. K-keep doing that.” You stammer, pulse quickening as a familiar tingle of pleasure begins to build in your stomach. 

Your reassurance gives Frankie the boost of confidence he needs, drawing tight circles around your nub with the pads of his fingers for a few moments, until his thumb takes over, leaving his middle two fingers free, ghosting over your entrance. 

There’s a louder moan as Frankie barely slips his middle finger inside of you, lightly prodding in and out of your hole, welcoming the new fullness in the warmth and wet of your walls. 

He pumps a few more times, letting his finger sink deeper with each stroke until he’s knuckle deep, reaching further than any spot you’ve been able to feel yourself. It’s when a second digit joins his first that you feel nearly breathless, the stretch and sting making you wince for a moment as you adjust, realising how much thicker and stronger his fingers are than your own when you touch yourself. 

Frankie immediately notices your tense expression, quickly pulling back, raising his hands like he’s been caught in the act, guilt ridden look painted across his face. 

“Fuck, Kenzie, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s okay, Frankie! It feels good, I promise, your fingers are just a lot bigger than mine.” 

He tilts his head in confusion for a second until the lightbulb clicks with him that he’s not the only one in the room who's ever been horny and taken care of themself to help solve their problem. 

“Wh-what do you think about? Wh-when, when you touch yourself?” He asks with a quiet caution. 

“I- I think about you, Frankie.”

You answer without hesitation. Not to appease him, not to convince yourself, but because it’s the truth. You’ve thought about him more times than you can count. 

Your answer ignites another spark of self-assurance in him, carefully letting his thumb swirl against your clit as his middle finger gently slides back into your entrance, working up to the same tempo he was at a few moments ago. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” He confesses, a willing admittance now that you’re laying your cards out on the table for him. 

“Well, there was one time, a long time ago, I thought about Orlando Bloom after I watched Pirates of the Caribbean.” 

You’re not sure what spurs on your unnecessary addition to your comment, but it makes you and Frankie both snort, needing a moment to compose yourself from your fit of giggles. 

“Are you trying to tell me you’re really into pirates?” Frankie laughs, biting down on his lip. 

“No, you dork! That’s not- Jesus, you know what, forget I ever said anything, okay?” You sigh, rolling your eyes at Frankie, trying to will away the reds and pinks that plague your cheeks. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Kenz, don’t worry.” He teases, his smile slowly shifting to a stoic sort of concentration as he stares down at his fingers pressed against your pussy. “I- I wanna try something.” 

“What?” 

“Can I um, can I go down on you?” 

“Wait, really?” 

Despite your own inexperience, you weren’t naive enough to ignore the rumblings from friends of friends, or stories of girls on your soccer team, constantly complaining about how all their boyfriends wanted them to suck their dicks with nothing in return. They’d claim it was gross, or weird, or that it would taste disgusting, so you’d be hard pressed to not believe that every boy under the sun mostly likely found themselves in the same school of thought. 

“Do you not want me to?” Frankie questions, trying to hide the small pang of disappointment you’re sure he feels in his chest at your puzzled reaction. 

“N-no, it’s just that- I didn’t think that- I thought guys thought that was gross.” 

“What? Who said that?” Frankie scoffs. 

“I don’t know, like, Sarah and Morgan from the soccer team always complained about how their boyfriends never wanted to because they said it was gross or whatever.” 

“Well Sarah and Morgan’s boyfriends have a single brain cell left between them after all the hits they’ve taken during football this season.” 

The two of you laugh again, finding relief in the way your friendship prevails through the discomfort. 

“You really don’t think it’s gross?” 

“No. I- I think it’s kinda hot.” 

It’s now Frankie’s cheeks that are flushed with crimson, trying his best to hide his embarrassment. You can tell he has more he wants to say from the way his eyes dart between yours and the bed, forcing you to tilt your head with that little nod he knows means that you’ll keep pestering him until he breaks. Lucky for you, it won’t take much. 

“Santi stole this DVD from his cousin's house, and honestly most of it was so stupid because obviously it's all fake. Like, no one’s that excited to get fucked at a doctor’s office. But anyways, there was this one part at the beginning where uh- where the guy goes down on the girl and I- um, I don’t know. I- I wanted to try it, I guess.” 

“Really didn’t think I was gonna have to worry about not picturing Santi in my head tonight.” 

You and Frankie giggle as you pretend to gag at the thought of Santi becoming a part of you losing your virginity, praying there never comes a day he finds out he’s in part to thank for Frankie’s peaked curiosity. 

“I- I want you to. If you want to.” 

“I want to. Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.” 

The pace of your pulse begins to quicken again, watching the way Frankie’s face lights up as he races to position himself between your legs, laying flat against the mattress with his face hovering above your heat, his hot, trembling breath tickling your folds. 

You swear he licks his lips before his mouth meets you, but the slow, long drag of his tongue across your clit already has your head thrown back against his pillow, the warmth and wetness lighting you up from the inside out with jolts of electric pleasure. 

He repeats it a few more times, languidly lapping in smooth and steady strokes, each with just a little more pressure than the last. It’s instinctual, how you buck your hips towards his face, like your body knows it wants more before your brain can process it, signaling to Frankie you’ve given him the okay to keep going, to give you more. 

Little gasps escape your parted lips as his tongue moves faster, circling your clit the same way he had with his thumb, making your body melt into the mattress. It’s almost unearthly, how good it feels, little fires igniting in your stomach with every flick of his tongue. 

You don’t mean to startle him with how loudly you whimper as he intensifies the pressure, mouth still latched around your clit while his brown eyes peek up at you, breathlessly nodding to him that he shouldn’t dare to stop now. 

He takes it as a sign to test the waters even further, letting his middle finger be sucked into the warmth of your velvety walls before ever so carefully sliding in another. The stretch is still there but the sting has faded, his fingers a welcomed addition to ease the way you realize you’ve been clenching around nothing, subconsciously desperate to fill the empty ache in your core. 

Inch by inch, he sinks them deeper until you feel him bump against a soft spot inside you that makes you scream in a way you’ve never felt before, fireworks exploding everywhere in your body as his tongue and fingers work in tandem. 

A familiar tingle rapidly begins to build at the base of your spine, except the same type of tingle you’ve experienced alone has never multiplied and compounded in the same way this one does. 

Desperate for something to grab on to, one hand fists at Frankie’s sheets, the other, shooting down to the messy curls of his hair, burying your fingers until they disappear under his unkempt locks. 

You’re not sure if you’re so pleasure drunk you can’t think straight, but you swear you can feel that stupid, smug smirk pressed against your pussy as you hold onto him for dear life. 

He keeps the same pace with his tongue, fingers prodding in just the right spot to make you feel like you’re losing control, limbs numb and shaking like jello as you feel the tingle creep down your legs and up through your chest. 

“F-Frankie, I- oh fuck- fuck, oh my god, fuck, I- I- oh my go-ahhhhhhhhhh-”  

It’s all consuming, the way the pleasure washes over you, like waves crashing into the shoreline- relentless and never ending. There’s a moment you’re convinced your body’s left this planet, floating off in space in a cloud of endless ecstasy. 

You’re not sure how long you’re lost in the electricity of it all- Minutes? Hours? Years? You’d believe any and all of the above. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as you come to, greeted with the image of Frankie still settled between your legs, wild haired and goofy grinned. 

“Frankie…. Holy fuck.” 

A beaming, boyish smile lights up across his face at the way you’re panting, wiping the shiny slick stained around his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah? D-did it feel good? Did you um- did you-” 

“Yeah. Holy shit. Remind me to thank Santi’s cousin if I ever meet him.” 

“Jesus Christ…” Frankie sighs, rolling his eyes at your giggles, heart melting at the way he can’t hide his rosy cheeks and curled lips every time he looks at you, “It felt good though? Like, Actually?” 

“Yeah, it felt really good, Frankie.” You coo, watching Frankie prop himself up to sit back on his haunches, letting your gaze wander down his bare chest until you reach the clearly tented fabric of his pajama pants, lingering just long enough for him to notice where you’re staring. 

Silent tension fills the room again, the both of you realizing that you’ve only conquered one part of the journey you’ve embarked on together, and that the second half of your travels pose many more risks than the first. Frankie is the only one you want by your side as you brave your adventure together. 

With a little push, your back parts with his mattress, sitting up to close the gap between you. You’re close enough now that your hands can roam up his thighs, softly palming at the stiff bulge straining under his pants. 

“Oh f-fuck-” Frankie stutters, jaw going slack with ever pass your hand makes over his erection. 

“Can I take off your pants, Frankie?” You whisper, burying your head in the crook of his neck, craning your head just enough so that the hot words of your breath dance in his ear. 

You can barely finish your sentence before Frankie’s scrambling off the edge of the bed, standing up straight to give you the easiest access to shuffle his pajamas down while you kneel on the mattress. 

You pray Frankie can’t feel the way your fingers shake as they sink under his waistband and brush against his stomach, pulling his bottoms down just slow enough to memorize the subtle V that sinks between his hips, or the soft trail of barely there brown hair under his belly button that thickens with every tug. 

With one final breath, you slide them down enough to finally free what’s been hiding underneath, his length fully hard, bobbing as it springs free. This must have been what it felt like for Frankie, understanding the way his eyes went wide and brain went blank after he saw you for the first time.

It’s not like it’s a surprise to you, the concept of what he’s had tucked away in his pants.

What does, is how the sight of it nearly knocks the wind out of you. 

“F-Frankie… Holy shit.” 

“What? I-is something wrong?” He winces, immediately bracing himself for the worst. 

“No, it’s just- just like, Holy shit, Frankie.” You reiterate, making it very clear you’re more than impressed as you gesture at what’s hanging in front of you. 

“O-oh, t-thanks.” He stutters, a sweet shyness overtaking him as a result of your admiration. 

You scoot yourself closer, a boldness overcoming you as you delicately wrap your hand around his length, slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. You pray that whatever you’re doing feels okay, but from the way Frankie’s whimpers and moans escape from his parted lips, you take it as a sign you’re safe to take another step further.

“Since you went down on me, do you want me to go down on-” 

“N-no!” He pauses, drowning his face in his palm for the way he’s panicking, making you drop him from your grasp, “No, I- uh- shit- sorry, sorry, no it’s just- No, not because I don’t want you to- b-believe me, I really want you to. Like, really want you to.” 

“O-okay, so?” 

He must feel awful for the puzzled and pained expression on your face, reaching with both hands to cradle your jaw, making sure your gaze is fixated on him. 

“I’m sorry, I promise nothing’s wrong, I just- fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet and I know if you go down on me, I will in like two seconds, and I wanna cum when we’re having sex. I-if you still wanna, ya know, have sex. Jesus, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I think I’m- I’m nervous, too. ” 

The top of your teeth graze your lower lip, batting your lashes in heavy, long blinks, your lips curling in a sympathetic smile that you’re not alone in your uneasiness. Finding comfort in the uncomfortability, together. Knowing how easy it would be for him to play it all off like no big deal, or pretend to mask the confidence he lacks, and yet, he doesn’t, makes you want him even more. 

“Do you still want to? I- I’m nervous too, but I want to. It makes me feel less nervous that it’s with you.” 

The tender kiss he plants on your lips as your bodies move in sync down the bed is the only answer you need, shuffling backwards towards the pillows while Frankie hovers his body over you, mouths only parting to let you settle into the mattress. 

Each kiss becomes more frantic and desperate than the last, mouths melting together as your tongues wrestle. The way he kisses you is all consuming, enough to make you feel like the only people in the world that exist in this moment are you and him. 

“You sure you want to?” He gasps, fighting for his words to escape his parted lips. 

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, barely soft enough for him to hear. 

The two of you nod, Frankie shifting his weight to reach across you, shuffling through the drawer of his nightstand until he fishes out the box of condoms he has hidden away. He sits back on his knees, carefully ripping a square from the line of packages, tossing the rest over the side of the bed. He’s even more delicate as he tears the edge of the foil he’s holding in his hands, removing the rubber and methodically rolling it down over his shaft. 

“It’s on right... Right?” 

“Yeah. I practiced putting them on earlier this week so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when I tried to do it the first time. Although I think telling you that probably makes me look like an even bigger idiot.” 

“No it doesn’t,” You softly reassure him, “I’d rather have you do that than put it on wrong. I don’t want any of your babies yet, Morales.” 

Yet. 

You’re not sure what makes your brain decide to add those three letters into your sentence. You’re also not sure why you don’t hate that it did. There’s a part of you that thinks there’s a chance that maybe Frankie didn't hear it, but you know that boy would die before he stopped hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. 

There’s a part of you that also swears he’s trying with everything in him to keep from smiling. 

Your attention shifts with Frankie’s body, hovering back over yours with his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, sinking his hips to line himself up with your entrance. His tip brushes against your clit, a familiar jolt of pleasure swirling in your stomach at how you clench around nothing, anxious and aching to feel him inside you. 

“I-if it’s too much, or it doesn’t feel good, or you wanna stop, just-” 

“I know, Frankie. I’ll tell you, I promise.” 

Your low exhale syncs with Frankie’s gulp, each of you bracing yourselves as you finally feel his tip breach inside you. You try your best to relax, squirming your bottom half with each inch Frankie sinks himself deeper. You’re sure there’s a wince as he pushes past the halfway point- not painful, but a sting and stretch in a way you’ve never felt. Frankie freezes, gently grabbing your hip. 

“You good, Kenzie? You want me to stop?” 

“No, I’m okay, just kind of stings a little, but it still feels good. Maybe if you didn’t have such a big dick, it wouldn’t be a problem.” You tease, letting out a little huff of laughter. 

It’s now Frankie’s turn to scrunch the muscles of his face, cocking your head at the grit of his teeth. 

“Frankie, are you okay?” 

“Yup. Yup, I’m good. When you laughed it squeezed my dick and it felt really good and I’m trying not to make a fucking fool of myself right now.” 

“Sorry, no more laughing, got it.” You grimace, desperately trying not to giggle at Frankie’s pained concentration as he shakes his head at you. “Y- you can keep going, though.” 

“F-fuck, o-okay.” 

There’s another deep breath before he’s pushing his hips towards you, taking his time as you feel the pain start to shift to indescribable pleasure, the feeling of how full he is inside of you making every wire in your brain short circuit. 

“Holy fucking shit.” Frankie whispers under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good, MacKenzie.” 

You wish you had the words to tell him how you feel the same, but the best you can muster is a muffled moan that escapes from your unhinged jaw, brain empty at the sweet stretch of his fullness, stagnant inside you. 

F-fuck Frankie. Oh my god.” You murmur, letting the muscles of your face untense so the weight of your eyelids can flutter open, soaking in the image of Frankie above you. The rest of your body follows, slowly beginning to relax as you adjust, yearning for more than just his hips flushed against yours. “Y-you can move, Frankie.” 

He lets his arms sink from the plank he’s holding, letting your chests flush together so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into your skin with the first thrust of his hips, steadily sliding in and out of your heat, savoring every second of the sensation. 

“You still okay, baby?” Frankie coos into your ear, the new nickname only adding to the way you want to clench down around his length as he keeps his languid pace, dragging his cock along the warmth and wetness of your walls. 

“Mhmmm. You can go faster, i-if you want. F-fuck, it feels so good, Frankie.” 

The way you whimper and whine his name sets off a low rumble deep in his chest, lips locking with yours as you feel him pump just a little harder, his length nudging the same, savory spot he had found before with his fingers. Your hand shoots up to wrap around his bicep, nails marking crescent moons in his skin. 

Every move he makes is solely based on your reaction, reading the way your body responds to him before daring to take a step further. Your iron grip and sweet moans are enough to spur him on further, a steady rhythm now working through each thrust of his hips. 

There’s a new knot in your stomach that starts to tighten, building in your gut and slowly creeping its way to spread throughout your body. The coarse hairs curling at the base of his shaft brush against your clit just enough to spark a jolt of electricity to your core, bucking your hips into his with each thrust. You’re desperate to reach the same high he had given you before, eager to ease the ache of your sensitive bud. 

Frankie picks up on the way you rut back into him, snaking his hand down your front, making just enough space between your bodies to let the pads of his fingers find your clit. The pressure he adds with the circles and swirls makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat, overwhelmed with arousal by how all encompassing Frankie is. 

It’s hard to believe how quickly you find yourself becoming addicted to him, your body yearning to become one with his and never separate. You want your heart, your soul, for all of it to be his, and only his, to be unable to find where you end and he begins. 

The only thing you want is to be his. 

With each stroke, your pussy flutters faster around his length, the tingle that had formed at the base of your spine now seeping through your veins, teetering on the brink of collapse. 

“F-fuck- fuck, Frankie, don’t stop. Fuck, I- I think I’m- I’m close.” 

If it was anyone else, there would be no words to describe the embarrassment from the pathetic whimper you let out at the way Frankie groans while he punches into you. A look of pained concentration splays across his face, focusing with every brain cell he has left to make sure you finish first. 

“Shit- I- I- fuck, I’m close, too.” He stutters, chest heaving in between each word. 

He presses his forehead into yours, meeting you with the tacky sheet of sweat that now clings to his skin and dampens his curls. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his body laid across yours- you almost dare to wish that this moment, this feeling, would never end. 

But the way he whispers your name, each letter warm and tickling your skin, a sweet symphony only he can sing is what sends you over the edge, pushing you past the point of no return. 

“M-MacKenzie… f-fuck, MacKenzie-”  

Each syllable is an explosion inside you, lighting you up to send sparks through every last limb until you’re sobbing his name, singing his own sweet song back to him. 

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankiefrankiefrankie-ahhhhh-” 

The dam inside you finally breaks, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you as you squeeze around him, swallowed whole by the electricity of it all. 

There’s not much your mind can process after you snap, but there’s enough strength left to keep your gaze locked on Frankie and the way he gasps as his jaw drops after you’ve finished. He’s just as lost as you, relishing in your afterglow as he chases his own high, each thrust more sloppy and erratic than the last. 

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit MacKenzie, fuck, I’m gonna cum so ha-aaaaahhh-” 

There’s only one last shift of his hips before he’s spilling into the condom, a final moan that follows his release as he collapses into you. Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy as you pant in the soft silence that fills the room.

The quiet brings a gentle comfort, basking in the bliss that radiates off each of you as you let yourselves drift back to earth, praying it gives you enough time to remember how to speak. 

It’s Frankie who arrives back first, too consumed with your own journey back to hear the way his voice breaks as he carefully whispers your name. 

“MacKenzie?” 

“Yeah, Frankie?” 

“C-can I tell you something?” 

“Anything.” 

His sweet call brings you back, thumb brushing against the warmth of his cheek, waiting on every word he's working himself up to say.

“MacKenzie, I- MacKenzie, I- I think I love you.” 

It's then you're sure your heart stops- four little letters forcing a smile so wide across your face, your positive your cheeks may hurt for days after.

Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll keep hurting like this for the rest of your life.

“Can I tell you something, Morales? I think I might just love you, too.” 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

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@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[herofics]

No Longer Mine, part 2

A/N: Well, the first part of this fic, aka No Longer Mine, got very popular, at least compared to many of my other posts. I was planning on writing a second part anyway, but I also got a lot of comments asking for one so I’m happy to write this. I feel like I can’t get Nanami’s “voice” right, so the dialogue feels OOC, but I’m too tired to try to keep changing it. Hope you like this one too :D (Part 3 coming when I get around to it)

Some people asked to be tagged, so here’s that list: @labelt-san @username23345 @ourfinalisation

Word count: 1.9k

You didn’t know who else to call. You felt this horrible pit or dread growing in your stomach. Did you have anyone left? Were your friends from before your missing time even alive anymore? There was always a chance of dying suddenly because of the work you did. You didn’t have your phone and you didn’t remember anyone else’s number except for Gojo’s and maybe Nanami’s, you weren’t really sure. You decided to ask the nurse for a phone anyway and take your chances.

Nanami was in the middle of showering, so he couldn’t get to the phone when he heard it ring. No matter, he could just call whoever it was back. He had no idea that returning that phone call would turn his life upside down.

Six months had passed since your return, and a day hadn’t gone by that Gojo hadn’t thought of you. He felt guilty for not looking for you when you went missing, and on the other hand he felt guilty because all these thoughts were happening while he laid awake in bed, with his fiancée asleep next to him. He loved Ava, he really did, but he couldn’t get you out of his head.

For the first time since you were found on that side street in Tokyo six months ago, you woke up feeling content. It had certainly been an adjustment period after you got out of the hospital. All the nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat or just straight up screaming in your sleep. For the first month after you got released from the hospital, you stayed at Nanami’s place with the intention of looking for a place of your own. He let you take the bed while he slept on the couch. He woke you up from countless nightmares and held you as you cried about something you couldn’t even remember.

You were angry a lot of the time. Angry at whoever had taken four years of your life, angry at yourself, and angry at Gojo. It was the main emotion in your life for months. No matter how much you screamed and cried, no matter how many pillows and coffee cups you obliterated, Nanami stood by you through all of it.

It was very much like you were going through the five stages of grief. Denial happened at the hospital when you first found out that four years of your life had been stolen. Anger was with you for the whole process, and no matter how much you bargained, begged the universe that you would do anything to just go back, it didn’t happen. Life just doesn’t work that way. You don’t get second chances and you don’t get to go back in time to change things. The depression part wasn’t easy either. Sometimes you would pretty much go for days at a time without even getting out of bed. Nanami was still there, he made sure you ate something every day. He made sure you would get through it.

You were there to welcome him home from every mission, even during your worst days, you made sure to say “hi” to him when he came back. You were there to patch him up if he needed it. At some point he started actually looking forward to coming home, it wasn’t just a house anymore, it was a home, because you were there. He never wanted to pressure you into anything, the relationship just happened.

At some point during those six months, you and Nanami had become close. You had been friends before, but this was something different. At some point he didn’t leave the bed anymore after calming you down when you had a nightmare, at some point you just let it happen, you didn’t want him to go. At some point, you too, moved on. Finally, after six months, you found yourself waking up feeling content.

“Good morning sleepyhead” you whispered in his ear before pressing a kiss on his temple.

“Morning” he muttered sleepily.

“This is probably the first time I’ve seen you sleep past nine in the morning” you chuckled.

“I forgot to set an alarm, it seems” Nanami sighed, turning to face you.

“Do you have any missions for today?” you asked, tracing circles on his chest with your finger tips.

"No, today is all for you" he said softly, as he placed his hand on yours on his chest.

“That’s good to hear” you smiled. “I was wondering if we could go to Shinjuku? I need to get some shopping done. I still owe you some coffee cups…”

“Sounds good” he said.

The two of you got out of bed and before you knew it, you had eaten breakfast and were on your way to Shinjuku. Ijichi was kind enough to drive you, and you agreed he’d come pick you up later in the day.

You’d gone into a few shops, but nothing had struck your fancy, so you hadn’t bought anything yet. You were just enjoying your time out with Nanami. That’s when you noticed a familiar, tall, white haired figure in the crowd.

“Kento?” you squeaked.

“Hmm?”

“I think Gojo is here” ever since that day at the hospital, you hadn’t been able to call him by his first name. Not that you really needed to anyway, you weren’t together, nor were you even in contact at all anymore.

You’d been doing your best to avoid him and it seemed he had done the same, and now you just happened to run into each other. It was like the universe was giving you a giant middle finger. You tried to move so Nanami was between you and Gojo, so he wouldn’t see you.

Gojo didn’t notice you at first, he just saw Nanami, but he of course wanted to say hello to his colleague. It was quite crowded, so Gojo didn’t see you until his hand was already almost on Nanami’s shoulder. When he saw you, he froze, his hand just hovering a few centimeters above his colleague’s shoulder, before he pulled it back.

“Oh, hey” Gojo muttered.

“Satoru, I almost lost you in the crowd, you walk too fast” Ava said, as she appeared from behind him.

“Sorry baby, I just wanted to say “hey” to Nanami and… (Last Name)”

Ava’s eyes widened as she realized who you were. She’d heard about you from Gojo, she’d seen your grave, you were supposed to be dead. That’s what she’d been told, that’s what her fiancé had told her, but here you were.

“Oh. Nice to meet you (Last Name). I’m Ava, Satoru’s fiancée” she said with a beaming smile, while hanging onto Gojo’s arm, offering her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you too” you said, shaking her hand, trying your best to smile back at her, but it felt awkward.

That’s when Gojo noticed it. You were holding Nanami’s hand. He felt an ember of anger flame up in his chest for just a second, but that was enough for you, Nanami and Ava to notice the spike in his cursed energy fluctuation. However, you were the only one who noticed what he was looking at when it happened. He quickly quelled his anger, but it was already too late.

“Oh screw you” you muttered under your breath, before turning away and rushing off.

“Haven’t you done enough damage?” Nanami questioned with an angry tone. “They’ve gone through enough”

Nanami took off after you, leaving Gojo just standing there, confused, with an annoyed Ava still hanging onto his arm. As Ava tightened her grip on Gojo’s arm, he could already basically hear the argument that was going to happen as soon as he got home with her. It was his own fault really, he hadn’t told her about you being back. He wasn’t even sure why he had even done that. It’s not like he had feelings for you anymore, right? His body just reacted, a spike in cursed energy meant absolutely nothing.

It didn’t take Nanami long to find you. He knew your favorite sweets shop was nearby, and that’s where he found you. You were just wandering amongst the shelves, muttering something to yourself.

“Are you alright?” Nanami asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You placed a hand on top of his and just sighed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run off. He just makes me so mad, especially when things like that happen”

“I know, beautiful, I know” Nanami sighed.

“You felt it too, right? How his cursed energy spiked when he saw us holding hands”

“Are you sure that was the reason? I know he’s immature and arrogant, but surely not to that extent” Nanami said.

“I told him he moved on like I was nothing, when he came to see me at the hospital. Now he must think I’m worse, because it’s only been six months since I came back and I’m already with you” you rambled.

“If he has a problem with us, he needs to come out and say it” Nanami stated sternly. “He’s not allowed to get angry about how you moved on and with who, he doesn’t have that right anymore”

“I know, but I still feel like shit about it” you sighed.

“How about we buy some of your favorite sweets and go back home?”

“Home huh… Sounds good to me” you smiled tiredly.

Even that little encounter with you had made Gojo feel like his head was going to explode. Now with Ava complaining at him, it was even worse.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were alive?!” she hissed loudly as she paced back and forth in front of him.

“How many times do I have to tell you: I don’t know!” Gojo groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat on the couch.

“How do you not know something like that!? You consciously decided to lie to me about this, so how do you not know?!”

“I-I just don’t! Okay?! Could you stop fucking talking, your voice is giving me a damn migraine…” Gojo yelled, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Wow” Ava scoffed in disbelief. “You know what? You can go back to that bitch for all I care” she hissed venomously, before marching out of the room.

“Fuck” Gojo sighed, and laid down on the couch.

He could feel the migraine coming on and now he felt like shit about yelling at Ava too. Gojo didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it’s not like he’d been seeing you behind her back. Hell, he hadn’t seen you a single time since that day at the hospital, so why did it matter? Why did you matter? Why did he still care? You had gotten so upset at him for moving on during the four years he thought you were dead, and now you had moved on with someone else in six months.

He just needed some sleep, right? He would just wake up from this nightmare the next morning and the past four and a half years would all turn out to have been a bad dream. You would be there next to him and he would never have to even think about you with someone else again. The thought made him feel guilty. He was with Ava, why was he still thinking about you? Why was he always thinking about you?

[collapsedglasshouses]

TANGLED THREADS [Noah Sebastian x fem!reader, Nick Ruffilo x fem!reader]

COLLEGE!AU

CHAPTER ONE: STRIKING A CHORD SUMMARY: There is something about you, Noah can't really bring himself to process. No matter what he does, everything comes back to you. Unfortunately, he knows that Nick feels the exact same way. PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x fem!Reader; mentions of Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ [unprotected p in v, degradation, rough sex ig, …], no mentions of reader’s name, angst, noah is toxic and delusional and also a utterly big simp, reader is toxic, toxic dynamics, mentions of noah thinking about nick during intercourse kind of?, swearing, its not completely proofread … WORD COUNT: 3.8K A/N: Hello, hello! A little note at the beginning. I got inspired while watching Challengers for the hundredth time in like… four weeks. This is inspired by a scene in the movie. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I’m planning on writing two more parts. For those, who miss Nicky in this one, chapter 2 will be for you!

Noah Sebastian liked to think of himself as a patient guy. He was nice. People said he was understanding and empathetic. It was something he was known for on campus. It was no secret that a lot of people on campus, especially some guys he had encountered, were total douchebags. But he was not one of them. He was known as “the sweet guy that likes to sing and play the guitar”. At least, according to most people who he had met.

That being said, he really couldn’t wrap his mind around why you were frustrating him so deeply he wanted to collapse to the ground and seize to exist.

It’s been a while since he and his best friend, Nick, had met you for the very first time at this talent show at the bar down the street. The two boys weren’t new to these shows. They were frequent contestants and had already won a fair share of these events. Noah wasn’t in college to seek a particular profession; he was there because his family wanted him to. Meanwhile Nick just enjoyed living in the moment. He didn’t really have a plan for the future, so when his best friend proposed his idea of becoming musicians, he simply agreed. Since then, nothing was more important to the two boys then their music project, with which they desperately wanted to break through.

At least it was until they met you. To say Noah had been through hell and back since the moment you stepped on that stage at that particular night, was a drastic understatement.

He still vividly remembered watching you as you smiled shyly, your guitar hanging from your neck like it was a statement piece. He remembered the almost physical reaction he had to you. The crowd was cheering nearly as loud as they did for him and Nick when they had stepped on stage just an hour prior. There even were people that made signs for you in support.

It was so obvious you were a favourite and when you started your performance, Noah felt like he was going into cardiac arrest. Your voice was angelic and the way your fingers glided over the strings of your guitar made his knees weak. He could tell that Nick was thinking the exact same thing. If the way he swallowed so hard wasn’t hint enough, it definitely was how his breath slightly caught in his throat when you started to engage with the crowd just a little more.

"Goddamn..." Nick had muttered under his breath. Noah could distantly see Nick’s hand clench on top of his thigh when you smiled into the crowd.

Nick and Noah didn’t even realize they were openly gawking at you and if they had noticed they probably would have been embarrassed. Still, it felt like everything they did was justified. You were creating magic on that stage and everyone in that room knew it.

Normally, Noah would have been disappointed over losing a contest, considering him and Nick where trying to get more people into their music they were slowly developing, but when it was announced that you had gotten the award, it felt like all his sorrows simply vanished.

“You know… If you get her on our project… I’ll gladly play the bass.” Nick let out in an almost stuttering breath as both of them stared at the stage where you were thanking everyone.

A couple of weeks, more like months, had past since that night. What Noah really didn’t expect was the fact that he was currently sitting with you at a lunch table, while you were complaining about a literature assignment you still had to finish. In all honesty, Noah wasn’t really listening to you, too busy trying his best not to glare too obviously at the Limp Bizkit hoodie you were wearing. It was extremely obvious who this piece of clothing belonged to, and Noah was internally fuming because of it. It was Nick’s. The hoodie string had a slightly different color than the rest of it. Noah remembered when Nick had changed the string after losing the original one.

You must have kept it the last time you saw Nick. The bold letters on the front seemed to almost mock Noah. He was biting the inside of his cheek while you rambled on and slammed his can of coke down on the table with a little more force than he intended. You hadn’t noticed. Or at least, you ignored it.

Noah didn’t really know what exactly was going on between Nick and you, but he tried his utter best to be okay with it. At least he did in the beginning. After all, Nick had been his best friend since Noah was twelve. Noah should have been stoked about the fact that you were into Nick just as much as he was into you. It was so clearly obvious it was the case when the two of them had walked up to you to congratulate you on winning at that talent show weeks ago.

It wasn’t like Nick was a player or something, but Noah almost crumbled into a million pieces when he realized you were playing into Nick’s desperate attempts to get into your pants. You weren’t averting your eyes shyly or blushing when he blatantly checked you out, you were throwing back smart comebacks to his lines. You were looking up at him through your lashes, blinking at Nick as if you were innocence itself and Noah felt like something inside him had died on the spot.

It would have been absolutely shattering and soul-crushing for Noah if he wasn’t such a good friend. He simply stifled this feeling that could have only been described as jealousy and plastered the best smile on his face as he watched Nick and you shamelessly flirt with each other.

It wasn’t like it was anyone’s fault. Nick and he really hadn’t had the chance to talk about who could try and score with you prior to that evening. If anything, it was fair game, and Noah simply didn’t take the chance out of kindness and loyalty to his best friend.

The night had lasted long enough for you and Noah to connect as well, but differently. You were chatting about college and what courses you were going to attend after the break, realizing you had a lot of things together. You were smiling so sweetly at him over your glass. Still, it had stung seeing you laugh at Nick’s joke with slightly too much enthusiasm while sharing a cigarette with Noah, but there was absolutely nothing he would or could do about it.

You had chosen Nick, and it had nothing to do with Noah. At least, that was what he was trying to convince himself of.

But the longer he spent time with you while Nick wasn’t around, the angrier he got every time Nick would tag along and steal away all your attention. First, he thought it was absolutely stupid and childish of him to feel that way but as time passed, it became this gnawing, not ignorable, almost consuming rage that twisted his guts every single time he saw you with Nick.

“You know, Nick invited me to the movies this weekend. He asked if you and Chrissy would like to join.” You mumbled as you took another bite from your lunch.

Chrissy, right. She was a girl he had met in that particular literature class you were just complaining about. They had hooked up a couple of times, but Noah just couldn’t focus on her. They had decided to be friends, but honestly it was just awkward for Noah to hang out with her now.

Noah involuntarily huffed at your statement as he took a bite as well. “Yeah. Sounds fun.”

That was when you caught onto him.

When he looked at you under his lashes, you were already looking at him. “You know… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Noah’s eyebrows flinched upwards, like he was caught. “No… No, no. It’s fine… Really. I’ll be there.”

You slowly nodded, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you sure, you’re alright? You’ve been acting strange.”

“Yeah.” He blurted out too quickly, but you seemed like you didn’t want to push it.

Nothing felt right, and Noah knew it would have been a way smarter decision to just keep his mouth shut, but his words had outrun his thoughts. “I just-…”

You were watching him again, encouraging him to continue with a slight nod. Noah fiddled with his food, searching for the right words.

“I’m just surprised you two are still… you know… together, I guess.” He muttered under his breath. His more rational self would’ve punched him for that, but the anger simmering inside of him took the wheel.

“Excuse me?” You exclaimed, caught completely off guard, your tone sharp with disbelief.

Noah just sighed and set down his fork. “Nick… He’s always had a hard time… committing.”

One of your eyebrows shot up as you studied him. His tone was calm, even sweet, but the accusation behind his words hit like slap. Guilt twisted in Noah’s stomach almost immediately after the words left his mouth, but this time he swore to himself he wouldn’t retreat. He held your gaze. He wasn’t lying - Nick really did have a track record of avoiding any kind of commitment. Yet deep down, Noah knew the truth. He and Nick weren’t close enough at the moment for him to know if Nick was even seeing anyone else.

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes scanning his face like you were trying to decode him. Noah forced himself to maintain eye contact.

“Are you really shit talking your best friend right now?” You said at last, leaning back in your chair. The casualness in your tone unsettled Noah, and it showed in the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I am not.” He insisted, his voice tingled with frustration. “I just know him a lot better than you do and I am trying to spare you the heartache.”

“Sounds a lot like you are shit talking to me.” Your tone hardened, disbelief mingling with irritation. “And who even says you know what the hell is best for me?”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.” Noah answered you, his tone matching yours. “He just doesn’t have feelings for you!”

You scoffed, your face twisting in anger. “Why the fuck do you even care?”

“I am just saying.” Noah exclaimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. “He hinted at it.”

That was a lie. A blatant, baseless lie. Nick hadn’t said anything of the sort. In fact, Nick hardly ever talked about you unless you were present. And when Noah thought about it, he wasn’t sure why he’d even lie. Maybe it was the anger clouding his judgement, or maybe it was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself.

“Did it ever occur to you that I do not care?” You snarled at him, leaning forward now, voice rising.

At this point, a few people at nearby tables began to quiet down, their curiosity getting the better of them as they tried to eavesdrop. Noah stayed silent, the weight of your words sinking in—but not quite hitting home.

“I just wanted to tell you that.” He said weakly, fumbling to defend himself. God, you were infuriating. Of course, you would defend Nick.

“Yeah, but I wanna know why you care?” You asked again, your jaw tightened. You already knew why he cared but you wanted him to say it. You leaned closer to him over the table and spoke quietly. “Does it bug you so much that I fuck your best friend?”

Noah clenched his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before and he especially never expected to be the cause of it.

His eyes narrowed as he held your gaze, leaning closer to you. “You don’t get it, do you?” He muttered through his teeth.

“I think you don’t get it, Noah.” You bite out as Noah was starting to smell the familiar scent of your perfume. In other cases, it would have consumed him, but right now he couldn’t back down. “Who said I want Nick to be in love with me? Who the fuck said I give even the slightest fuck about any of that shit?”

Noah scoffed at your desperate attempt to come off as nonchalant. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh, please, sweetheart.” He shifted even closer to you. You could feel his breath on your face. “The way you act like a lost puppy around him tells me you care deeply about that.”

You blinked at him for a second, taken aback by his rude tone. You knew in some way he was right, but the fact that he called you out so blatantly made your blood boil.

Noah on the other hand thrived. The look of rage and intensity in your eyes was what Noah searched for, for months at this point.

“You know what.” You muttered, Noah didn’t miss how your eyes travelled to his lips for a second. “Fuck you. You are literally the worst fucking friend in the world.”

With that you stood up from your chair, gathering your stuff and leaving the cafeteria, leaving Noah with nothing but his thoughts.

Maybe he was a bad friend. Noah could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. A weird mix of emotions running through his veins. There was embarrassment, jealousy, anger, hatred and lust. The way you were looking at him, anger burning in your eyes, shot straight to part of his body he didn’t want to admit it did. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

Noah was in misery for the rest of the day. He had decided to skip his classes after lunch, simply hiding inside his dorm. He stared at the ceiling as your fight replayed in his head. In some way he felt good about finally letting out his thoughts. But with that came the resentment. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had lied. He had lied about his best friend, just because he was so desperate to get close to you.

He thought about texting Nick, but eventually gave up after numerous attempts to find the right words about what had happened without telling him he was a fucking liar.

The sun had already set when he made the decision that he had to forget you. He needed to focus on his dream of becoming a serious musician. He couldn’t waste his time on something so simple than this feeling he had about you. It didn’t matter how pretty you were. It didn’t matter how he felt a particular part of his body move when you simply leaned over the table to look at him through your gorgeous lashes. He needed to forget you.

That was what he had decided before his phone reminded him of reality.

Come over.

Noah had never moved that fast in his entire life, rushing out of his room, with only his phone and the keys. He made it to your dorm in such a short time that he nearly sprinted over campus. He needed to catch his breath when he reached the corridor where your room was at. All his resolutions had vanished into thin air when he came to a hold in front of your door.

He hesitated for a second, staring at the door, his mind racing. Should he apologize? What would you want to say? Were you still mad at him? God, he hoped you weren’t mad anymore.

He bit down on his lip as he quietly knocked on your door. Barely a second passed before it opened.

He didn’t have the time to process what was happening, as you gripped the front of his shirt and dragged him inside. Noah’s back hit the now closed door with a thud, his breath caught in his throat in surprise. He tried to save the jacket that hung on the door from falling to the ground, but your grip on his shoulders, didn’t make it possible for him to do so.

When he allowed himself to look at you, he noticed you looked different. Your eyes were puffy and red. Your breath came out in short burst as you stared him down. All the emotions he had just sworn to bury rushed back at him when he stared into your soul.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands came to a rest on your hips, hesitatingly, not sure if he should touch you.

He noticed you were still wearing Nick’s hoodie.

Noah was close to opening his mouth again, when you suddenly yanked him forward, closing the distance between the two of you as your lips crashed against Noah’s. It was so sudden, Noah stumbled a couple of steps towards you, almost causing you to lose balance.

He felt pathetic for how easily he kissed you back, not even giving a single thought of hesitation to it. His mind shot to Nick, only causing him to draw you closer to him. He surely owned himself the award for being the worst friend in the world, but all his common sense left his mind, when you pushed your tongue into his mouth.

It was rough how your lips clashed together. It almost felt violent. All the aggression and frustration from earlier filling the room between you two. It was not how he had imagined your first kiss to go, but he wouldn’t do shit to end whatever was going on.

He almost whined when your hands slipped under his shirt, your cool fingertips spreading goose bumps all over his body.

“It’s over with Nick.” You breathe hotly, before roughly kissing down his jaw. Noah was in such a haze that he almost didn’t get your words. “You need to fuck me, Noah.”

Holy fucking shit.

Noah felt like he had never been this hard in his entire life. But still, his common sense came back to him in the worst fucking moment.

He softly pushed you away to get a couple of inches between the two of you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his mind still processing what was happening.

“What?” You harshly barked at him, running a hand through your messy hair.

“I-…” Noah began. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to-…”

“Oh, suddenly you wanna act like you weren’t trying to get in my pants for the last couple of weeks?” You mocked him, your voice riddled with a mix of hurt, frustration and lust.

Something snapped in Noah. It felt like you had slapped him across the face with your words. For a second, he freezed in disbelief, before you were suddenly pushed against the door.

“Are you serious right now?” He spit in your face. “You mock me. Insult me. Tease me endlessly and then proceed to tell me how you fuck my best friend, and you are trying to tell me that I’m the one who wants to be fucked. Are you out of your goddamn pathetic mind?”

“What’s stopping you, Noah?” You snarled at him, but when his eyes darkened, you knew you made a mistake.

The next thing you knew was how your face pressed into your mattress, while Noah grabbed your waist harshly. He leaned over you, his hard member pressing onto your ass. “I’ll make you regret choosing him over me.”

Noah didn’t miss the red mark on your neck. He knew exactly who had left it there, but the thought about Nick just made his dick twitch once more. He quickly leaned down and sucked at the sensitive skin of your neck right next to where Nick had left his mark. After that, he stripped you out of your jeans with a swift motion, before getting rid of his shirt.

You flinched when he touched your clothed pussy, trying to contain yourself. “So… are you all talk or are you gonna fuck me?”

Noah grabbed your hips roughly. “You can bitch like you want. I haven’t even touched you and you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Still leaned over you, he dragged his tongue along the shell of your ear. You let out a moan, pressing your ass against him. Careful but firm, he stopped your movement before shifting his weight on his knees again. “You’re so pretty.” He whispered so quietly; he wasn’t sure if you caught on to his words.

While keeping one hand on you, the other one fumbled with the waistband of his pants. It took him less than a second until his dick sprung free. You squirmed impatiently, when you felt his precum leak onto your ass.

“You’re one to talk about being needy-…” You wanted to mock him, but he interrupted you within a heartbeat. “Shut up.”

Noah involuntarily groaned loudly, when his hips jerked against your ass. A shiver went through his body, eyes screwing shut as he tried not to cum all over your ass. “Shit, shit, shit…” He breathed out sharply. You simply giggled.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and forcefully, he yanked them down to your mid-thigh. You breathed hotly in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tighter.

With a swift motion, he flipped you in your back, before leaning close to your face. He needed to see you.

“Please.” You whined, your hands gripping his tattooed arms desperately, while his gaze ran over Nick's hoodie that you were still wearing.

Noah took his dick into his hand and dragged it through the silky skin of your folds. When he rubbed over your clit, your hips jerked upwards involuntarily. You whined, slightly shaking at the sensation as he dragged his dick to your hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside with a heated groan.

“Shit.” You cried out, immediately wrapping your legs around his hips.

As he bottomed out, he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. “I’ve fucking had it with you. Look at you. Pathetically craving for my dick. You fucking slut.” He snarled at you with a thrust of his hips. “The least you can do is take it like a good girl.”

“Fuck you, Noah.” You cursed him out, your voice not more than a breath. You saw how Noah smiled at you, feeling how you clenched around him at his words, before leaning down, pressing his lips to yours as he slowly began to move.

His lips drowned out your sweet noises and he couldn’t help but feel like he belonged right where he was. He sped up, desperately trying to stay quiet. But god, you felt so good.

“Noah.” You moaned, scratching your nails down his back. “Don’t stop… fuck… Please, I-…”

He cut you off with another kiss, whining at the way his name sounded out of your mouth.

“God, I’m gonna cum.” He whined as his hips smashed into you. “I need to feel you cum around me.”

He felt how your legs tightened around him as a small pain shot through your core from the roughness of your actions.

“I’m-…” You stuttered out. “I’m on the pill. Cum inside me.” You pushed your ankles into him, not even giving him the chance to pull out. Not like he wanted to.

“Fuck!” Noah shouted out, his hips starting to stutter as he slowly started to spill inside of you. You felt his hot cum on the walls of your pussy as you breathed out his name. He didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm, until he collapsed on top of you, not being able to continue.

It was quiet after that. A silent agreement that he would stay the night, as he slowly pulled out of you, rolling on his back next to you.

As you curled up in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel the pride in his chest. It was everything he ever wanted. You were in his arms, with his cum inside of you, for once not talking about his best friend. While you fell asleep almost immediately, his mind was still racing. He was disturbed in his thought process when he saw his phone lighting up. When he looked at it after some time, he saw messages. Several messages. All from Nick.

He decided to ignore them...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @circle-with-me @jilliemiw86 @justeli6 @sitkowski @exitwoundsx

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Year of Whump Tropes Event Info

This is the Year of Whump Tropes event! As its name suggests, it’s a year-long whump event with a focus on whump tropes. It is running throughout 2025.

This event uses a simplified/idealized version of a year, in which each month has exactly four seven-day weeks. (Match this up to real dates however you see fit.) Each month has a broad theme. Each week has a narrower theme that fits under the month’s theme. Each day has specific prompts that fit under or relate to the week’s theme.

Each day has two prompts. The first prompt is a whump trope. The second prompt varies: on MWF, it’s a dialogue prompt; on TTh it’s a discussion question; and weekends are flex days where it can be another trope prompt, a dialogue prompt, or a discussion question. You can use both of a day’s prompts, but only need to use one of them for it to count. Trope and dialogue prompts are meant to be creative prompts; discussion question prompts are meant to invite participants to share their thoughts or opinions.

This event is designed to be highly flexible. You can use the monthly theme as a prompt, the weekly theme as a prompt, or one or both of the day's prompts; and you can switch between these at will. Prompts do not have to be filled on specific days, weeks, or months; they can be filled at any time during the event and still count. 

There will be multiple levels of completionist, so you can be recognized for filling a prompt for each month, filling a prompt for each week, or filling a prompt for each day in the event.

You can also use this as a one-month event if you so desire, and you can be recognized for an achievement requiring 28 consecutive days of prompt fills. Achievements

Participation in any format is allowed, but this is made primarily with writing in mind so prompts will tend to be geared towards writers.

Prompts will be published on this blog a month in advance but won't take the spotlight until their actual month. I’d also like to have some bonus fun things like polls relevant to the current theme running on this blog; it remains to be seen whether I’ll have the bandwidth for that.

If you need more prep time or want to do months out of order (or for any other reason, really, I won’t be requiring an explanation), you can dm me to get an advance copy of the prompts list or part of the prompts list, provided you don’t repost it or spoil things for those doing the event in order.

Prompt fills will be reblogged here, and should be tagged so they can be browsed and filtered.

You can use the prompts anytime, but you will only be officially recognized for participation, completion, or another achievement if you do it during the year the event runs (2025).

Minors are welcome to participate but MUST block the #NSFWhump tag before browsing/interacting with this event blog.

This event also invites potential participants to contribute to the planning stages, so watch for that if it runs in future years. And thanks to everyone who helped brainstorm this year!

Here are our tagging guidelines

Here is our FAQ

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Read It and Weep- Part 1

Pairing: NFL!Player!Rafe Cameron x Journalist!Reader

Summary: Sports journalist Y/n is covering a pro-NFL football game when she gets knocked down by wide reciever Rafe Cameron. He helps her up and immediately can't seem to take his eyes off of her as they celebrate their win. After, at the post game conference, him and the reader share an interesting conversation and he learns (earns) her name.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Violence, swearing, I think that's it honestly.

Song: "My Ordinary Life" by The Living Tombstones

A/n: This might be the most excited I've ever seen @tee-swizzle get over a fic I've written. This is some serious hot and cute and angsty shit, buckle up, it's quite a ride. This is part 1 of 10!

I always thought the only time I would enjoy men running around in costumes would be on Broadway.

The sophisticated, planned, calculated moves, the falsetto notes they hit while running around in expensive costumes that took hours and hours to create. Men on Broadway are just a whole other breed- don’t get me wrong, all actors and actresses alike are all impressive beyond belief, it’s a hard field to be a part of. But there’s something so groundbreaking and heartwarming to see men of all backgrounds doing what they love to do.

There’s just an art to it- Broadway- a beauty that a lot of people brush off and denounce as girly or even something that’s remarkably easy. They call theater kids loony (which coming from one, I’d have to agree just a bit), they’re constantly bullied and harassed but not when they make it to the big times. No- then they are set up on this pedestal where they are to be paid hundreds or thousands of dollars to get on stage, to dance and sing their favorite show tunes together where all of a sudden they’re people to look up to, forgetting all about their high school days and all the failed auditions that teared them down. But once they’re on that stage together, creating music and art, they’re a family in a sense. Leaving it all on the stage for the viewer, us, to enjoy. 

A brotherhood.

My new stage looks a little bit differently than it did when I was sixteen. 

My new stage consists of something similar- men, running around in matching outfits, same bright lights shining on them, sweat pouring down their necks, and they’re still a brotherhood- maybe even more so in a sense. But with this stage, there’s profanities, there's violence and, most of all, there are too many balls in one place at one time. 

Pun so intended.

The world of sports is not one that I saw myself getting into at the ripe age of twenty four, let alone football. I’ve always had a bit of a thing against football players but that happens when you grow up in the theater world where you’re constantly pushed around by the ‘higher class’ of the horrible high school hierarchy, being called names, shoved down stairs, having your lunch tossed into your lap. But the job that I was offered through a local journal in my hometown was just perfect for me- I couldn’t not take it. There would be no other job that could've come around that would’ve given me the same freetime and the ability to still have control over my schedule, all while supporting my home team. It gave me a chance to travel, to learn, and to be surrounded by attractive, sweaty men doing their thing. 

There’s a bit of a silver lining to it, I guess.

Working as a journalist for a professional football team was not the intended goal when I got my Bachelors degree in Journalism, nor was it the plan for my Masters. I wanted to go into freelancing or maybe dabble a bit in the socioeconomic crisis our country’s suffering from- maybe even write a few articles on how to save the turtles or some shit. 

But football? 

I spend most of my days on the sidelines, sketching down stats, learning plays and keeping up in the personal lives of our devoted players. I’m like one of those cheerleading girls I used to hate, practically a groupie of the team at this point. Even the coach and the other behind-the-scenes workers are on a first name basis with me at this point. 

Sixteen year old me would be disgusted- repulsed.

Current me? Not so disgusted as I’m watching a bunch of tall, bachelor-like men run around the field at top speed, tackling each other as the crowd colored in all different jerseys scream or boo in unison. I can’t fight the proud smile that’s on my lips as I look out at the field, just right there in front of me- I could reach out and just be a part of it. There’s something to home games that just gets your blood pumping in a special way, especially so close to playoffs, so close to glory and a big old fancy ring for our quarterback and team. It’s every team’s goal for the year but every news agency’s eyes are on us, watching us and the players so closely, betting and guessing that we’ll be the one to win everything this year. No pressure, right?

It’s an honor to be traveling with them all, I couldn’t have been paired with a more respectful group of men, even though some of them don’t even know my name or that I exist. They might see my name occasionally at the bottom of an article I’ve written about their triumphs or losses or they know me as the girl that they accidentally mistake for the water girl and who they then apologize profusely to following the mix up. 

Sarah the water girl and I look awfully a lot we’ve learned.

There’s not a lot of time left in the game now, less than two minutes in the last quarter and it’s tight, too close for comfort as the men in the front row of the stands scream their asses off, acting like their words will have any weight in the overall game. With how we’re playing right now, the defensive line tuckered out beyond belief, we’re not looking at winning, especially if they hold possession of the ball like they have been. The other team is smart, I’ll give them that, gnawing down at the clock, running down the time so if we did get the ball, we’d barely have the time to do anything remotely impressive. We’re down by 6 and if we’d just get a touchdown we’d be good and we would win, but we just need to get possession of the ball.

I write down the numbers of the players who’ve stuck out to me the most on this team to calm my nerves; number three Cameron offense, number seventeen McHarley defense, number 4 the quarterback- wait. 

 Why is everyone cheering? 

What just happened? 

Looking up from my notepad, I watch as our defense runs the ball in the opposite direction that we were going in before, instead towards the opposing team's endzone, indicating that, indeed, there was a turnover of some sort while I wasn’t paying attention. If that’s all it takes, my job just became a whole lot easier. 

The play resets, our offensive line and our quarterback stumble onto the field with a bit more pep in their steps compared to their previous run. They’re cheering and high fiving the defense as they pass each other in the middle of the field, bright smiles calming everyone's general anxiety and setting the record straight that we’re still in the game. There’s still a chance. 

They set themselves up within seconds and in moments they’re hiking the ball. I watch number three, one of my favorite wide receivers to watch, simply because of his overall spunk and sass for the game, subtly loving when he gets into little fights with people because I can always manage to hear his silly, boyish insults. He tries so hard to act tough, when he's really just the biggest puppy of all time. 

I’m so caught up in thinking about him, I completely miss him barreling my way just as the quarterback throws the ball in his direction. Cameron is wide open, no one even close to tackling him and I can hear him whooping as he runs towards the end zone. I grin wildly as he catches the ball, solidifying our win, and before the refs even signal for a TD, the whole crowd erupts in giggles and cheers. I go to clap and cheer for him but before I can, an opposing player is giving him one last shove for good measure and he is tumbling onto the ground, the ref beside me immediately throwing a flag into the air, just as Rafe slides in my direction full force. 

Before I can move, he takes me down to the ground. Hard. 

I hit the floor with a loud thud, ears ringing as my head slams against the turf and I can hear muffled voices and hands grabbing at me, brain rattling around in my head as I shove my eyes closed as tightly as they can, hands reaching up to cradle my aching skull. I can feel people trying to pry me up onto my feet, to help me up but I’ve barely even processed that I’ve fallen or that my favorite wide receiver is currently laying on both of my legs, trapping me to the ground. 

My eyes pop open moments later at the realization and I see cameras around me, mostly pointed at Cameron who’s kneeling in front of me, soft, blue, worried eyes gazing back at me as I struggle to find my voice. He looks at me, waiting for me to speak and, when I don’t, he simply reaches out, placing a firm, protective hand on the side of my head, steading my spinning eyes. I feel my body warming up at his touch, the loud, thrumming music playing in the stadium as an attempt to celebrate is drowned out by his voice filling my ears, his whole body leaning towards me so he can speak directly against the shell of my ear. 

“You good?” He yells over the cheering, thumb brushing against my temple, and I realize he’s not even celebrating the fact that he just won the game that’s sending us to playoff games, mapping the road to the Superbowl. I give him a half assed nod and a flushed smile and before I can say anything else, his teammates are pulling him up and into their arms, screaming loudly as boys can, all for the cameras as they pat each other on the helmets, knocking them together every once in a while.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I mutter to myself, pressing my pointer finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose to aid the headaches that’s creeping up the back of my neck, taking deep breaths and praying I don’t have a concussion. From across the field, through the mess of players and confetti, I can see number three looking over at me with kind, worried eyes that seem to want to say more than what he’s already said to me.

His eyes make me nearly forget that it’s my job to interview them. 

I guess I’ll ride my headache out and wait till the post game conference. 

–

From the time I got knocked down to the time when I stepped foot into the conference room, there were at least twenty-six different people who asked me if I was the one who was ‘tackled’ by Rafe Cameron after he caught the winning touchdown. After the third time, I started to feel a bit sheepish and honestly a bit embarrassed, wondering how long they’re going to string this out and ask me what it was like to be tackled by America’s most loved wide receiver. 

It was rough, I hit my head, it hurt- what else do they want from me? Do they want me to say I’m honored that he was so close to me, fangirl over his presence, that he made eye contact with me? Hell, he’s human and so am I. His reaction was purely a moment of humility and humanity shining through. 

But I totally did get butterflies.

But, to be honest, he is probably the most wholesome, mama’s boy you’ll ever see.

Dirty blonde, shaggy hair, blue shining eyes, overall toned to a T and he’s all meathead minus all of the misogyny and toxic masculinity. He’s always respectful in interviews, polite to women- it’s obvious he was raised well and anyone with a brain can tell that he’s wildly intelligent from his masters degree in Sports Communication. It’s impressive, his story. 

“So, you won the came, Cameron- how does it feel?” An interviewer calls out from the audience beside me, the happy smile on his face only feeding into the fact that he’s definitely a fan, and Rafe smiles handsomely, looking out across the audience with a simple, humble shrug. 

“Felt good taking the team to the playoffs. I couldn’t have done it without my quarterback, number 4, Greg Abernathy.” He reaches over to slap Greg on the back and I grin, scribbling down some words on my notepad, a small smile on my face as I listen to the boys commend each other in a bro-mance type love. They’re always very supportive of one another, having a type of relationship where you really don’t see one without hte other. They’re constantly training together, getting dinner together, having literal sleepovers at each other’s apartments (or so I’ve heard). They’re brothers, there’s no better description for the boys. “But I really have to give it up to the nice lady that I tackled, I feel horrible. I’d like to dedicate our win to her today since she obviously was a part of my excitement. You can put that in writing.” 

I’m sorry? 

Dedicated?

What?

All eyes turn to look at me and I feel my face drain of any color, every hair on my body sticking up as I suddenly feel so small in this room full of my very own coworkers and competitors. I can hear Rafe mutter a quiet ‘shit, she’s here?’ away from the mic and to Greg, who just chuckles and points in my direction, the direction that everyone happens to be looking in. I can see the looks in other journalists' and reporters' eyes, they want to talk to me, they want to shove microphones in my face but based on the ‘deer in headlights’ look I’m giving everyone, I think I’ll be safe from their interrogations. Rafe looks at me and his smile only grows, fingers reaching out to wrap around the mic to pull it closer to his lips as I anticipate what’s to come.

“Hi nice lady that I knocked over, are you okay?” His voice is ten times deeper than it was just moments ago and I can feel my brain melting just at the feeling of him looking back at me, matching my gaze as if he’s just as excited to be speaking to me one on one. 

Me. 

“I’m okay, just a bit banged up.” I call out, shakily shoving my pen and paper into my bag beside me to give him my undivided attention which, it’s not like he has to fight for it, I’m practically drooling simply because he’s gazing at me, giving me his complete and utter attention as hands raise around the room. The way he’s staring at me, eagerly hanging onto every word I say and I can see it, it’s not like he’s even trying to not seem completely enthralled with my every breath. 

“Man, you traumatized the poor girl.” Greg mutters into the mic and the room erupts in laughter and I bite back the laugh that wants to escape me but I don’t dare allow the giggles to leave me when Rafe is just staring me down with a soft look and a gentle smile, something completely opposite of his rowdy behavior and profanities on the field. But after a second, a look of realization passes across his expression and he turns to look at Greg with a worried expression before glancing back at me.

“I did not- you’re not traumatized, right?” He asks me and I laugh, waving him off as I reach up to knock at my own head. What a stupid move, Y/l/n, get it together.

“No, god no. It happens.” I chuckle, brushing off his concerns of injury and he visibly relaxes, head bobbing in a gentle nod as he laughs sheepishly, almost embarrassed that he seemed to care so much in front of a room of random people. “It could’ve been worse. Could’ve been the other team, they wouldn’t have helped me up.”

“So you’re saying his charisma and manners is what saved him from being brutalized all over the internet?” Greg interrupts before Rafe can say anything with a wide eyed, shocked, teasing look.

“For sure.” I grin proudly, already thinking about how excited I’ll be to call my dad after this conference and tell him all about how I got to talk to and compliment one of his favorite players in the NFL. He’s going to shit his pants. He’s been gushing about his stats for the two years that Rafe’s been on the team, every Sunday, blabbering about his stats, his goals, his story- hell I probably know more about him than anyone else in this room right now.

“Well, I appreciate that. My step mom will be happy to hear she did something right.” Rafe blushes warmly, the redness creeping down his neck and under the polo that he wears as another rumble of laughter rolls over the room like a wave and I keep it in the back of my mind to make it known in my article that he’s definitely some sort of mama’s boy through and through. No wonder he’s so respectful. 

“Happy to help.” I smile warmly, the room falling awkwardly silent again before the reporters buzz with questions like angry bees, eager to move on from Rafe and I ogling each other oddly from across the room. I can’t fight the butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the conversation we just had; there was no hint of annoyance, only eager questions and concern that I genuinely do appreciate. He didn’t need to follow up with me, he didn’t need to call me out in regards to their win, all that without even knowing I was here. 

But he did.

That matters for something, right?

Right?

“Hey, before we move on, I just wanna get your name- what’s your name? Are you one of our journalists?” Rafe asks, quickly grabbing hold of the mic firmly in his fist before Greg can pull it away from him and I nod firmly and proudly.

“My name’s Y/n Y/l/n and, yeah, I’ve worked for you guys for nearly eight months.” I swallow my nerves, now suddenly aware that he knows who I am and can talk to me and look for me in any crowd and just know who I am. Rafe Cameron knows who I am. 

It takes a second but I’m slowly realizing that he’s truly just a person and not anything to be afraid of. 

Right?

“Oh my god she’s the one who wrote that article about your tweets on twitter like two weeks ago.” Greg gasps and the room turns to me once again, confusion and shock written across all of their faces and, I’ve got to give it to him, I’m shocked that they even read articles about them. I assumed they just filter it out and try not to pay attention to the news headlines with their names in it but, now that I know that they read them, I’ll be more careful when throwing the word ‘handsome’ around in my pieces.

“Guilty as charged.” I breathe a sigh, reaching up to rub at the back of my neck awkwardly and a sort of tension falls over the room as everyone waits for a more in depth answer from me, their eyes (especially Rafe’s) practically begging for why I wrote the article. “I think it’s nice for young viewers, especially young boys, to see someone who’s a better influence than most of the sports players that are in the media.” A nod of agreement falls across the room and Rafe smiles wholesomely, looking at Greg with a happily proud expression written across his face, like he’s made it.

“So I’m a role model, that’s what you are saying?” He asks but there’s no cockiness or arrogance to his voice- no- just pure and utter pride and vulnerability at the thought of doing right by the football world and, in my opinion, he definitely has. 

All of the gala’s he’s attended, the hospitals he’s visited to talk to and to comfort young children, the way his smile lights up the locker room- even if they lose- the beaming smile he shows if they do win, and all of the money he’s donated to so many important organizations- my point, and the point of my article was, is that he’s what the NFL should be fronting, not the garbage-like, questionable, geriatric old men who need to retire.

“Exactly what I’m saying.” I smile firmly, not tearing my gaze away from his as he nods, leaning back in his chair and he finally appears content with our conversation because he finally allows Greg to take the mic back, but his eyes do not leave me as the room fills with questions once more.

“Hey, that was sweet and all, but can we talk about football now?”

[earthlyangelbby]

Submission for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompts: Age 21; Gift | Word Count: 1.1k | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | Relationships: None | CW: None

The day didn’t feel much different than any other. Eddie woke up in his messy room, greeted by the chaos he’d grown so used to. A guitar leaned against the wall, a few empty beer cans on his nightstand, and notebooks scattered across the floor filled with half-baked D&D campaigns and song lyrics. The same old stuff. Yet, something gnawed at him today, a feeling he couldn’t shake.

Twenty-one. Officially an adult in every way that mattered. He should’ve felt excited. Instead, a faint sadness settled in his chest, a heaviness born from the uncertainty of what came next. The future wasn’t something Eddie liked to think about. It wasn’t filled with bright prospects or carefully laid plans, just an uncharted void that loomed ahead.

Still, his friends told him to be at The Hideout tonight. “Don’t flake, Munson,” Gareth had barked over the phone the night before. So, despite his reluctance, Eddie threw on his denim jacket, patched and fraying, and headed out.

The Hideout wasn’t exactly packed, but the familiar dim lighting and the faint smell of spilled beer felt oddly comforting. Eddie expected to see the usual barflies hunched over their drinks, but instead, the moment he stepped inside, he was met with a loud, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant stood by a table near the small stage, grinning like idiots. On the table sat a cake that looked like it had been picked up from the grocery store five minutes before they got here, complete with sloppily applied blue frosting that read, “Happy 21st, Eddie!” Next to it was something far more interesting: a beat-up Garfield lunchbox.

Eddie blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s your birthday, dipshit,” Jeff said, clapping him on the shoulder. “What, did you think we’d forget?”

Grant smirked. “Well, we almost did, but Gareth here has a calendar for a brain.”

“Come on, man,” Gareth said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’d do the same for any of us.”

Eddie chuckled despite himself, a warmth spreading in his chest. “Alright, alright. Thank you guys. This is pretty badass.”

The night unfolded with laughter, bad jokes, and even worse attempts at karaoke. Eddie felt his worries slowly melting away, replaced with the comfort of being around people who got him. Jeff and Gareth played pool while Grant dug through the Garfield lunchbox, pulling out a stack of photos.

“Dude, check this out,” Grant said, waving a picture in Eddie’s face.

Eddie snatched it and squinted. It was a grainy shot of the four of them crammed into Gareth’s parents’ garage, a far-too-young version of Eddie holding a guitar he could barely afford at the time.

“Man, I look like a dweeb,” Eddie muttered, though his lips twitched into a smile.

“Dweeb or not, that’s history right there,” Gareth said, returning to the table with Jeff in tow.

They all started sifting through the photos, some from gigs, some from practice sessions, and others from random nights where they’d just hung out. It was a little embarrassing, but Eddie couldn’t deny how much he appreciated it.

“Wait, there’s more,” Jeff said, pulling a camera out of his bag and slapping it on the table. Next to it, he set down some pens and paper.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with this? We starting a scrapbook or something?”

“Not exactly,” Jeff replied. “We were thinking… since you’re, you know, ancient now—”

“Fuck off.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Jeff laughed. “We could make predictions. Like, what life’s gonna look like for all of us by the time you’re 30. nine years from now. We’ll write them down and keep ‘em in the lunchbox.”

Eddie looked at the three of them, their faces lit with excitement. It was the kind of idea that was so corny it shouldn’t have worked, but it did. It worked because it was them.

“Alright,” Eddie said, grabbing a pen. “Let’s do it.”

The four of them sat around the table, scribbling on their pieces of paper.

Jeff read his aloud first , “By the time Eddie’s 30, we’ll have three platinum albums, a tour bus that doesn’t smell like ass, and Eddie will finally know how to stay in tune for a whole set. Gareth’ll still be yelling at us for not showing up to practice on time. Grant, well he’ll be the one keeping us sane booking the gigs, fixing the gear, and probably getting us out of trouble when Eddie mouths off to the wrong guy.”

“Bite me, Jeff,” Eddie shot back with a big grin.

Grant scribbled something next. “I’m calling it now. Gareth’s gonna get married first. He’ll be the guy who invites us to boring barbecues where we all feel old. Jeff, He’ll probably open a music store and spend all his time judging customers’ taste in guitars. Oh, and Eddie? You’re gonna have like… 10 more tattoos by then. All of them stupid.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll humor you guys.” He chewed the end of his pen for a moment before writing. “Nine years from now? We’ll still be here. Maybe not The Hideout, but playing together, still. Eddie’ll be a rockstar, obviously. Jeff’ll have a girlfriend who is even smarter than he is. Grant’s gonna be the one keeping us together. Dude’s the glue of the band, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

Eddie finally leaned over his paper, trying to think. His hand hovered over the page as a knot tightened in his chest. The future was always so hard to picture, but these guys? They were his anchor. After a moment, he started writing.

“Alright,” he said, lifting the paper. “By the time I’m 30… we’re gonna have a record label fight over us. We’ll tour together, drive each other crazy, and still somehow survive. And if we’re not famous by then, we’ll still be playing for the people who care. Because that’s what matters.”

It was all cheese, but no one laughed. They just smiled, a little softer this time, and stuffed their notes into the lunchbox alongside the photos.

Grant fumbled through his bag he pulled out a camera, “Wait! Lets add a photo of tonight to it.”

A drunk pateron offered to take the photo and the group surrounded Eddie. Eddie held the Garfield lunch box up for the camera. Gareth on the left of Eddie, Grant and Jeff on the right of him. Their arms wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders. It was a very sweet sight. 

By the end of the night, Eddie felt lighter than he had in weeks. As he walked out of The Hideout with the lunchbox tucked under his arm, he glanced back at his bandmates, who were still laughing and arguing over who was supposed to pay the tab.

The future might’ve been uncertain, but with these guys, he knew one thing for sure: wherever they ended up, they’d get there together.

[ilyasorokinn]

thank the donkey , ross macdonald

note, okay, originally, there was going to be a big halloween series, but i couldn't think of anything that really spoke to me and i wasn't inspired, but i was inspired to write for ross. so, this is my contribution to the holiday. this is my new personality trait, get used to it. also, lmk if you like this little family because i do and would like to write more if you'd want to see it :) another note, i tried to find photos of the costumes but couldn't so please just use your imagination :) last note, dedicating this to vee (@abiiors)! i was inspired by your dad!ross, so in my world, ross is also a girl dad and names his daughters after flowers lol love ya <3 pair, ross macdonald x reader summary, poppy macdonald is upset her dad is working on halloween. her dad is even more upset he has to work. so, he does the best he can to make the night special for her. warnings, kids/children word count, 1240 words (a little short, i know. but i promise it's sweet!)

(gif not mine)

Halloween, no matter how old you were, was your favorite holiday. When you were growing up, most of the other kid's favorite holiday was Christmas, not you. Maybe it was that your parents went all out, or maybe it was that they let you eat all the candy you wanted, but it left a lasting mark on you.

So, when you had your first daughter, her second Halloween (the first you really celebrated with her), you went all out. You and Ross dressed up as poppies and Poppy was a gardener. She had no idea what was going on but she found it hilarious that her parents were wearing weird big flower things on their heads.

Now, Poppy was four, and her little sister, Willow, was 10 months old. Poppy had inherited your love for Halloween and by August had her Halloween costume planned. She wanted to match with you and Ross which made you a little sad, knowing that Ross would have to work on Halloween.

When you did tell her he was working, she was sad but her mood brightened a little when you told her she could still dress up for the show.

She was very adamant about being Donkey from Shrek, so you did your best to make that happen. The band loved the idea of Shrek, so they each decided to follow in your daughter's footsteps and dress up as a different character and assigned themself different characters.

Poppy was Donkey, Willow would be Puss in Boots, Gabbriette would be the Fiona to your Shrek, Matty would be Lord Farquaad while George, Adam, and Ross would be the Three Blind Mice. John would be the Dragon, Jamie would be Pinocchio, Polly would be the Big Bad Wolf and Gabrielle would be the Fairy Godmother.

Poppy was completely oblivious to everyone's costumes and was just excited to get to dress up and eat candy all night.

On the day, you walked around Detroit and got her some candy from a couple of stores that were handing it out before you headed over to the arena for soundcheck, one of Poppy's favorite parts of the concerts. She got to go on stage and dance around with her uncle and dad.

Before the show, after Ross helped you dress the girls, and after he'd left to get himself ready, Gabbriette came in and watched the girls briefly while you got ready, and took pictures of you and the girls before Willow started to cry. You soothed her then slipped headphones onto both her and Poppy. Poppy's headphones had a pair of donkey ears glued on and Willow's had a pair of cat ears.

You heard the intro to the opening song and held Poppy's hand as you walked to the side of the stage where you watched the show. Willow sat in the baby Bjorn comfortably and watched from the stage with wide eyes.

"Mommy." Poppy gasped when she saw the band dressed up as the characters from her favorite movie.

"I know." You gasped with the same enthusiasm as you bent down to her level, "Look at Uncle Matty." You giggled with her when she saw what he was wearing.

Ross looked over to the side of the stage and waved at Poppy, who giggled and waved back shyly. Poppy couldn't stop smiling as she looked at the band's costumes.

Somewhere in the middle of the set, Matty finally addressed the crowd and addressed their crazy costumes, "Now, I know we look a little crazy right because we're missing our main characters, but I'll have you know this idea was formed because of my little goddaughter. She loves Shrek, and I mean, who doesn't?" The crowd cheered at that.

"So, the littlest MacDonald is Donkey and her mom is Shrek. Strange, I don't know how we got there, but here we are." He shrugged, keeping everything about your daughter vague because he knew you and Ross didn't want people knowing too much about Poppy or Willow, "So, anyways, everyone thank Donkey for this genius idea." Matty and Ross looked over to the side of the stage where Poppy was beaming at the sound of the cheers.

The rest of the show went on as normal and right before Ross turned off the lights, Poppy ran onto the stage and over to her dad, which sent the crowd into a frenzy because Little MacDonald, Donkey herself, was on stage. The lights were strobing so there wasn't a clear image of her face which was why she was on the stage in the first place.

Ross picked her up and carried her over to the giant light switch that would turn off the lights on the stage. He waited a few seconds before he gave her a nod and she pulled the lever, shutting the lights off on the stage.

He carried her offstage and once she was in the safety wings, she was off and running to greet her uncles and godfather. Ross removed Willow from the Bjorn, surprised that she was still awake because it was way past her bedtime.

Now baby-free, you gladly accepted the drink Gabbriette was handing you, "She's gonna be up a while, isn't she?" Ross asked.

"I'm hoping for a sugar crash," You smiled, watching George pick up Poppy and run around with her like an airplane, "You did amazing tonight, by the way." You nudged him.

"Yeah, I had a donkey and an ogre to impress." He teased.

"I'm gonna save the smack in the head for later because you're holding my baby." You narrowed your eyes at him.

"I love you, too." He wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you followed everyone else into whichever room would be used as the afterparty room.

You rolled your eyes, "I love you, too, even if you're mean to me sometimes." In response, he placed a kiss on your head.

When you made it to the room, Matty was standing outside with Poppy, who was pouting, "Why can't I go in?" She whined.

"It'll ruin the surprise, Pop." He explained, tapping her on the head, "You like surprises, don't you?" She nodded her head enthusiastically, "Then just wait a second." Poppy turned to you and frowned.

"Listen to your uncle, flower," Ross told her. She frowned and crossed her arms, "Just wait a second." He laughed.

A few seconds later, Matty opened the door and nodded over to Poppy, "Cmere." She skipped over to him, gasping when she saw what was in the room.

The best part of Halloween, in any kid's eyes, was trick-or-treating, and everyone knew that Poppy was a little upset she was missing it, so in the biggest room in the arena, everyone spread out with little bags of candy, creating a makeshift version trick-or-treating.

"Here's your bag." Matty handed her a big bag before tapping her on the head once more. She didn't need to be told twice before she was running into the room from person to person, gathering candy.

You looked over at Ross, who was smiling with pride, "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Halloween's her favorite." He shrugged, before producing your favorite candy bar from his pocket, "Like her mother's." He kissed your head again, smiling as Poppy giggled.

"You're amazing, Ross MacDonald, you know that?" You smiled up at him.

"Says you." He nudged you, smiling equally as big and squeezing your shoulder.

-

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add yourself to my taglist!

[andthatisnotfake]

Fic Writers Year-End Wrap-Up

@suzy-queued tagged me on this a few days ago, but I was waiting to do it because I literally posted the ending chapter of a fic on the last day of the year.

1. How many words have you written this year? Hard to say because I posted things I had already been working on, plus I've written things I haven't posted yet, but roughly about 23k.

2. How many works did you publish this year? 62, though some were only chapters of on-going WIPs, and others are still unfinished.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? I'm proud of multiple of them, mostly because I managed to finish some WIPs, wrote a lot of drabbles, and overall wrote more than I thought I would.

4. What work of yours has the most hits? words written down (they are falling now), but I'm not sure if those were all from this year. Second place was Surprise?, also a Young Royals fic.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Probably Surprise?, which was mostly a crack fic. Oh, and Fly Guy! This one was definitely a crack fic written in ten 100-word chapters, but people seemed to enjoy it!

6. Favorite title you used. It's a toss between my Gallavich Masquerade fic, which I of course can't reveal yet, and Pride, Prejudice & Video Games, (one of) my current YR WIP.

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist's songs did you pull from the most? Usually I just use songs for the titles, if anything, but occasionally I use lyrics in the fic. I don't think there were any repeats though, I only did it about 4 or 5 times.

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year? Wilmon, for sure, 17 times. Gallavich and Madirosh came second, with only 2 fics each.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? You know what? Madirosh, actually. I need to write more of them.

10. What work was the quickest to write? All of the drabbles, especially the ones for the YR drabble challenge. I wrote several on the spot.

11. What work took you the longest to write? Come Jingle My Bells. I finally finished it after three years!

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year? 13, including 4 that I've already started posting and that are priority. The others are in various stages of writing.

13. What's your longest work of the year? words written down (they are falling now) (18,873 in total, but most of it had been posted before). Come jingle my bells is the longest one-shot (7,232).

14. What's your shortest work of the year? I literally wrote 48 drabbles lol

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? The four that I had already started posting and that are priority are two YR ones, Pride, Prejudice & Video Games and I think I dreamed you into life, one DRUK2 one that I've been writing for years and I hope to finish it because I actually enjoy writing it (it's very chaotic!), That's what you get (when you let your heart win), and one Galalvich fic I pretty much abandoned because I don't know how to continue it, even though I had planned it, but that I really hope to be able to conclude, even if not very well, this year, The One that Got Away

16. What's your most common "Additional Tags" tag? "Drabble", lol. Second place is "fluff".

17. Your favorite character to write this year? Wille

18. The character who gave you the most trouble writing this year? I struggled with some drabbles because I decided to write for fandoms I had never written for before. I think Charlie, from Heartstopper, is the one I agonized the most about, because I don't think I got his "voice" quite right, even if it was just a drabble.

19. What's one pairing you want to explore next year? Madirosh! They're not in my WIPs, but I'll make some room for them.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most? I never re-read my stuff except to continue it, so probably Come jingle my bells.

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year? AO3 says 1,849, but I don't know if this counts the ones on the fics I started posting before and finished this year.

22. Which work has the most comments? words written down (they are falling now) by a landslide (67 threads)

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year? Sadly, no. It's one of the few things in fanfiction I've never done, actually! If anyone wants to collab in a Madirosh fic, let me know. Actually, Wilmon will also do, because I have a couple of AUs I have mostly just the vibes for, so I'd be totally ok with sharing it!

24. Did you write any gifts this year? Yes, "Come jingle my bells", "I think I dreamed you..." and "words written down" were both late gifts. My Heartstopper drabble was also a bit of a gift to a friend who gave me the idea for it.

25. Did you receive any gifts this year? Yes, a couple of drabbles during the YR drabble challenge.

26. What's your most common category/trope? Fluff? Also, soulmates AU, somehow. And meet-cute, apparently.

27. What do you listen to while writing? Absolutely nothing, I can't. I do sometimes listen to songs that inspire me, then I stoppe listening to them and start writing, not at teh same time.

28. Favorite work you wrote this year? Probably Surprise?, it was fun! I also really liked my Masquerade story, hihi.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? Bold of you to assume I remember what I wrote lol. I'll go with the Ellie/A'Whora talk in "Come jingle" because I thought it was really sweet.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year? That I managed to write this much! And that writing drabbles, as I already suspected, is a lot easier. Oh, and that I can totally write on my phone if it's in short bursts, and it's actually easier because my brain computes it as "not serious", so I can get a few hundred words out that way and use the laptop for longer spurts, for editing and posting.

No pressure tags: @daughterofscotland @bluedalahorse @junosjukebox @piebingo

[saficswrites]

Commissions are OPEN

Do you like Fire Emblem, gay women, supporting artists, or just really enjoy my work?

Because I’m on VGen now, and I need your help to get verified!

Until I’m verified the only method of transaction available to me is paypal, which severely limits what I can write, not the mention I don’t trust that company within a hundred meters of my livelihood.

This is however a necessary step towards me actually making a living doing this hobby that I adore, and I don’t mind writing sfw fics too.

Thus you are all invited to the Safics… something, it’s an event and I have no idea what to name it. 

The way this will work is that I’ll be opening a batch of safe for work commission slots on VGen for a really low price, and if commissioning artists isn’t your thing you can still help out by sharing or reposting this announcement to increase its reach!

These commissions are likely some of the cheapest I’ll ever offer, and for the price-to-word ratio they will probably be far and above the best deal I’ll give outside of other events like this: I am offering 750-1,000 words, fully edited, for $10 USD. The fics could also potentially be longer if they click with me and I get inspired! In that case, there would be no extra cost associated with the commission despite the total word count surpassing 1,000 words.

That’s 75-100 words for every dollar you spend, and that’s not even factoring in the time spent proofreading and editing!

Because of the nature of this being a larger batch of commissions it may take a bit of time to get all off them done, but I promise to keep my prospective clients updated on their fics progress (including letting them know when I’ve started it) so long as VGen offers me the tools to do so, which I’m sure it does.

The current plan is to release four separate batches of three commission slots, but that may fluctuate as the event goes on.

Additionally, how much say you have in the finished product is also completely up to you! 

-Do you want to mostly be surprised after giving me your prompt? I’ll do it without any input.

-Do you want to have a big say in the direction of every aspect of the fic? I can share excerpts or even the entire draft at multiple stages to make sure it’s going a direction you approve of, while also gathering feedback and advice from you to help make it as good as possible.

-Do you want a mix of those two options? Because I can do that too.

I have experience with both extremes of the writing process from my pretty extensive work offering free requests on Tumblr, for anons I didn’t really have much choice in the matter but when possible I would dm the requestor to ask how much involvement they wanted, and in some cases even share the entire fic as I was writing it!

Because it’s only ten bucks and I’m sure there are at least some fees attached, payment IS due up front, but if for whatever reason I find myself unable to complete the prompt adequately you’ll receive a full refund AND get to keep a pdf of the work in progress draft.

Making this experience as good as it possibly can be for the both of us is something I strive for, but that does go both ways. Overworking myself super hard and burning at this stage out would be catastrophic, and it is something I’m wary of, so because of that the amount of hours I work in a given day will be capped to help keep my work life balance reasonable.

To put all the information in one place: you will receive 750-1,000 words that amount to a fully edited realization of your prompt created to the best of my abilities, either as a pdf file or a google doc.

I cannot give any concrete information on how long each fic will take to be ready, both because of the fact these are batch commissions and because I’ve never done something quite like this before, but I do promise to be transparent with you and offer a full refund (so long as I’ve not yet started on your fic) if the wait becomes too much.

Batch comm rules:

Requests must be safe for work, no horny and no over the top violence. Trust me, there’s a reason I will stop accepting Paypal payments the moment I am verified.

I retain the right to reject any request for any reason, even something as asinine as not vibing with it. Forcing myself to create something that doesn’t click with me will result in a final product that neither of us will be happy with and you deserve better from a commission than that.

They gotta be gay. Well not exactly, but Safics is my name for a reason, I’m not super interested in writing mlw or mlm fics, I am completely on board with nblw though. This rule applies much less to platonic fics but I do generally prefer to write stories that are not about men. Also it should go without saying but trans women ARE women and I am completely comfortable writing them, in fact I actually enjoy it!

Because I am underselling myself here tips are appreciated if you really enjoy your fic, but they are in no way necessary much less expected. Positive reviews would be appreciated as well, perhaps even more-so since those are one of the requirements to get verified.

vgen.co/Safics

[rosesnink]

Five Stages of Grief Series: Anger

Author's Notes

Yoohoo, guess who's hereee!!! Anyways, I missed writing for Blades, and I needed some training for certain events going on rn (which I haven't begun but shhh). I hope you guys like my vision of Imtura's rage and grief, and that if you want to be tagged in next parts, lmk!

English isn't my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes

If you want more fics of Blades or even have our MCs interact, hmu!

There will be another part of the other three stages of grief which will include Mal, Tyril and Aerin (and a special one with Valax too hehe), if you want to be tagged in a LI's specific fic, tell me in the comments!

Likes are nice, but reblogs keeps a post alive and the fandom dynamic going!

Summary: Imtura Tal Kaelen doesn't want to learn how to live without her dearest friend.

Word Count: 1.7k

Category: Female rage, angst, death, group fallout

Pairing: Imtura Tal Kaelen & F!Orc!MC (friendship)

Rating: PG-13

TW: Alcohol abuse, violence, grief

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

What the hells.

What the hells.

WHAT.

THE.

HELLS.

Those were Imtura’s very first thoughts upon Brienne, her dear friend, being abducted by a weird purple creature.

As Nia dropped to her knees, Imtura’s horror was instead replaced by anger. She was about to leap after her, but the vortex was already gone.

She let out a blood-curling grunt “Why didn’t any of you move?!”

“Not now, Immy…” Loola tried to calm her down.

As they took Nia to her chambers, her green fists whitened in her palm. Why were they fussing over the priestess?! Brienne needed them!

“That’s not fair, Imtura,” Tyril had pointed out when Imtura hollered that “we need to find her together, and she’s hurting. We all are.”

“Hurting why? Less hurting and more hunting down the bastard who took her and bring Brienne home!” She shouted.

“And where would we start, hm? We’ve no idea where she is, what took her, or where to start. Do you plan to barge into every place, axes blazing, and demand they hand Brienne over?” Mal tried to reason… to no avail.

“Why not?! It’s better than sitting our asses here and play a pity party!”

Tyril finally snapped in his usually fancy boy manner “Then you do it. We will find reasonable places where she’s been abducted and send you a message when we do find her.”

Imtura threw her hands up “Maybe I will!”

She left to her room, where she kicked the bed and screamed again, then started gathering the little she had packed from home. If one could call Flotilla home. As she turned around, Threep and Loola were perched on the desk, looking at her.

“I don’t have any treats for you. Tell the others I’m off to search for Brienne.”

“You really should not.”

“Loola’s right. Your plan can’t and won’t work. You need the others.” Imtura snorted “It’s true. You need Tyril’s knowledge and fighting skills, Mal’s cunning and Nia’s Light magic for you to survive on your own.”

Imtura seethed, but let the nespers say their piece “Threep has a point. Separated, the search will be a disaster, but together, you four can make it work.”

“Maybe. If Brienne were here to keep us together. Because she’s not here. The reason we put up with one another is because Brienne was here because…” she sighed, tears prickling in her eyes “because we all loved her enough to do that. And now she’s not here.”

Loola observed her “So you only loved Brienne? Only Brienne was your friend?”

“I—no! Yes! I don’t know! You’re confusing me!”

“Mal never made you laugh? Allowed you to let loose? Drank ale with you and shared adventuring stories?”

“Yes—,”

“Tyril never gave you sage advice and guided you through all of Morella? Kept you grounded and focused on the mission?”

“I mean, yes, but—,”

“And Nia never tended to your wounds, made you smile when all was dark and listened to you when you needed a willing and non-judging ear?”

Imtura’s shoulders slumped “…Yes. She did. They all did.”

Loola perched on her shoulder “Just because Brienne’s gone doesn’t mean that everything you went through with them didn’t matter or impact you. Yes, maybe you loved Brienne most, but you love all of them, and them you, and you can’t do this without them, just as they can’t do this without you. They need you, and you need them. They are your friends. Not for a long time, but for a very important time.”

Imtura softened and scratched Loola’s chin, who purred in response “Thank you, Loola, I… I think I needed to hear that.”

“And have some sense knocked into you.” Threep added.

“Don’t push it. But yes,” She smiled.

Dropping her bag, she went downstairs, to the library, where she knew they were, planning on rescuing Brienne. She sat down beside Mal and looked with renewed confidence and resolve at Tyril “What’s the plan?”

Tyril smiled briefly and nodded in gratitude to her “Whatever took her doesn’t look Morellan, so it’s safe to say we need to look outside its borders. We’ll begin with…”

Kade whispered in her ear “Brienne would be proud of you.”

She allowed herself a small smile.

She hoped she was.

For three months after Brienne’s disappearance, Imtura felt hopeful. Despite the dead ends and the pointless fighting that were responded with a sincere ‘we do not have or know where your friend is’, Imtura maintained hope. She wanted to. Because Brienne had always been a beacon of hope. Of resilience. Of persistence. She’d never give Imtura up, ever. And neither would she.

As they slept on the tent, Imtura smiled at herself thinking of the few, but precious time that Brienne and her shared a bed. She knew that she wasn’t Brienne’s type –she had noticed how elf boy and the priestess made eyes at her – but was alright with being a good shag and an understanding friend whom she could take the baggage she didn’t want to give anyone else. Besides, nobody was married off to nobody. There’d be plenty of time to figure out what each of them wanted.

“Hmmhh, Brienne…” Tyril mumbled.

Oh great, she thought, now elf boy’s pining for her in his dreams.

There was no jealousy or envy in her tone, but an amused and nostalgic sentiment. Brienne had also whispered Tyril’s name sometimes in her sleep. She sort of giggled when it sounded like they were recreating that one myth between the she-orc and the elf who had such a good shag, the fancy elf needed bed-rest for days. She teased Brienne endlessly for it, and they both had a laugh about it.

Six months. Six bloody months, and still no sign of her. Not a single trace. As if Earth had swallowed her.

Maybe earth did swallow her, an intrusive voice of hers mused.

Shaking her head, she continued talking and trying to be cheered by Mal. They still had a laugh, but with the void of Brienne being so present between them, sometimes it felt hard to do. She missed how she looked back at them and shook her head, laughing to herself.

Walking forward, she reached Mal, who was oddly quiet “Do you think this is it? That, this time, we’ll find her?”

Mal sighed “I hope so. I want it to be.”

Imtura’s face fell “But you don’t believe it is.”

He looked at her with a tired, pained look “I’m trying to, Immy.”

She patted his shoulder “…I am too.”

On the eighth month, she got fed up. The anger she felt back then was back, and this time, there weren’t any wisdom nespers who could convince her. She was dead in a ditch to never be found, and they were all loosing time.

“Alright, elephant in the room, I’ll address it: Bree’s gone, probably dead in a ditch and we’re running, hic, circles.”

Tyril seemed to sigh, but with her blurry vision due to the obscene amount of alcohol she had drank, she couldn’t see much. But the image of Brienne in an unmarked grave was there, alright.

“… would’ve known. Tragic news travels fast. …would’ve found her.”

“She’s not… would’ve found her.”

“And how come nobody in the continent have heard, hmm? Easy, she’s dead and all of this for nothing.”

Mal got up angrily “… don’t get to disregard Brienne’s life…”

She could hardly hear it. There was only one thought in mind. She was dead, and there wasn’t anything else to do.

“Brienne wouldn’t want us to waste our time with her death. So why delay it?” She barked, easily sizing up short Mal.

“… not dead.” Nia said.

She pointed a wobbly finger at her “You don’t know that, because, flash news, the heart and soul thing is bullshit! She’s dead, she’s not coming back and it’s time we own it.”

Elf boy, who had been awfully quiet, also got up and slammed his large hands in the desk “…so keen on burying her alive… carry on… true friends…”

“Fine!” She blurted out.

Then, she got up and left, hot, angry tears in her eyes.

She walked, and walked, and walked, and walked until her feet gave over, and she threw up the alcohol previously ingested in concerning amounts. Gasping for air, she leaned against what it seemed like solid rock, and allowed her large body to collapse.

When she woke up, she realized that her axes were gone, as well as her coin and part of her armor. Grunting, still with her head throbbing, went to the nearest pub. She could hear “Bloody hell, who wants ale at three? These drunks… Oh wow, that one looks like hell.”

“Hey. I, uh, slept outside last night and my weapons and purse are gone.”

“And what do you want us to do about that, hm, orc?”

She realized, she was far away from home, with next to no money or way to contact her mother or friends. Idiot, she thought.

“A… job would be nice?”

“I’ve enough barmaids, and you ain’t lovely enough to fire the others. Seems like ye can’t cook either, those hands ain’t for the kitchen.”

“I… can fight. I used to be in… Clan Nagoni! Fierce fighters, gave Ventral Tal Kaelen a good shake before going down.”

The barkeeper hummed, looking at her up and down. She probably smelled like vomit, cheap ale and had her clothes ragged and dirty.

“Let’s do one thing, she-orc. If ye take care of a certain customer who won’t pay his beers with a scare, you’re in as our source of entertainment.”

“Just tell me who you want dead,”

And thus, for the rest of the year, she worked at that bar, fighting all sorts of creatures, always trouncing one after another. And she liked that routine. She drank. Then, she fought, won and drank even more as people sung her praises. Sometimes, she could see glimpses of Nia and Mal, and even elf boy, but the only clear image was of Brienne, her dearest friend, dead on a ditch, with nobody to visit her grave or take her back to the Elements. As she gulped another horn of ale, she wiped with her arm the foam and lunged at the strange beast, ready to take out some anger and take off such grotesque image of a dead Brienne that chased her at night most.

[sunshinevanfleet]

oh, what a sin [d. wagner | s. kiszka]

i. meeting the family

part two

pairing: danny x reader, sam x reader

a/n: back again with some more smut. this is pretty much porn lol. with a little bit of plot. i was just inspired recently to write a messy, angsty love-triangle fic with our beloved rhythm section, so here we have it. i've been swerving lanes hardcore lately, so why not write for both of them at once? i'm planning on this being a multi-part series (probably three or four parts at most, i think.) ok hope you cuties enjoy <3

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), some fluff

word count: 5.3k

summary: the reader has a very memorable one night stand with a complete stranger. who could guess that he would turn out to be her boyfriend's best friend?

warnings: explicit sex scenes, fingering, unprotected sex, love triangle, swearing, etc.

One of his large hands swept the mess of beer bottles and discarded cigarette butts off of the table behind you. A smile flashed on your lips as he lifted you easily onto the now-clean table, mouth still a centimeter away from yours. The room around you was bathed in a shimmering blue light, the overhead lights flicked off and the two of you illuminated only by the neon sign in the corner. It was dark, in the quiet early morning hours back behind the bar. You didn’t even know how you made it here; he took you by the wrist after his set and led you through a series of doors that brought you to this room.

It was unexpected– being singled out by the jaw-droppingly hot drummer of the underground band you had come to see. It came to your mind to refuse his advances when he approached you; after all, you hadn’t prepared for this one bit. Your body was damp with sweat from dancing, your breath smelling like cheap beer, and your hair and makeup smudged from a night of dancing. But once he got his hands on you, you didn’t care. 

One of his curls tickled your cheek as he met your lips again in a desperate kiss. Giggling against his mouth, you reached up and brushed his hair off of his forehead. You hummed into him as he pressed his center against yours. There was a dull buzz clouding your thoughts–both from the drinks and his very presence. Something about him just screamed irresistible. You had been eyeing him on stage all night, watching his toned arms as he did his job with admirable skill. He clearly knew what he was doing with his hands. The two of you made eye contact several times throughout the show, each of your gazes speaking an invisible challenge as you stared at one another. Who was going to fold first?

“Want these off,” he muttered against your lips, as if the two of you were glued mouth to mouth. His hand snaked between your bodies, flicking the button of your jeans open with practiced expertise. Butterflies turned over in your stomach, your throat suddenly dry. It would be a lie to say you weren’t slightly intimidated. He definitely knew what he was doing– probably had a loyal cast of groupies following him around city-to-city like some kind of god. Girls just waiting at his feet to worship him, girls who likely had a few more tricks up their sleeves than you did.

His hand stopped for a second, his mouth pulling away from yours. He met your eyes with his dark gaze, that slick look of desire mixed with concern making tingles shoot through your lower stomach. “What are you thinking about?” He tangled one hand in your hair at the root, pulling your head back slightly to look up at him. It stung so good. You whimpered slightly.

“Nothing,” you lied, tongue darting out to wet your swollen, chapped lips. 

“Liar,” he whispered, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re easy to read, little bird. I can practically hear the cogs turning.” He smirked at you as he tapped one finger against your temple.

You huffed, hooking an arm around the back of his neck, and pushing your chest against his. The last thing you were going to do was admit to him that you were thinking about all of the other girls he’s fucked. Probably in his very same room, if you were being honest. 

“I don’t wanna talk,” you said truthfully, trailing your lips down the sharp curve of his jaw. You nipped at the tender skin behind his ear, and he let out a strangled groan. Lazily, you rolled your hips against the hand still fiddling with the zipper to your jeans. His knuckles barely grazed your clothed center. You nibbled at his earlobe playfully, your teeth clanging against the metal of his earring. 

The smugness radiated off of him as he moved his hand excruciatingly towards the waistband of your panties. You pictured the look on his face, eyes hooded and dark framing that masterpiece of a nose. Your mind painted a vivid image of him between your legs, nose bumping your clit as he tasted you fervently. You prayed he was as skilled with his mouth as he was with his hands.

“What do you want?” His voice was barely audible over the sound of your heart thundering in your ears. He was so close to where you needed him; his fingertips tickled the skin on your stomach, just above the lacy pink waistband of your panties. He was mere inches from the spot that was going to drive you insane… All you had to do was tell him what you wanted.

You were glad that his eyes weren’t on your face. A hot flush bloomed over your skin as you admitted, “Your mouth. On me, please.”

A low laugh tumbled from his lips, and his hand dipped beneath your panties and found your center. He sucked in a sharp breath as he slipped two fingers through your folds, spreading your juices further. 

“As badly as I want to taste you, sweetheart, it’s gonna take a little more than you asking me so sweetly,” he said. Then, his voice darkened, lowering an octave. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

His free hand pulled away from your hair, and found the delicate skin of your throat. His fingers pressed gently into the skin. Coupled with the slow, calculated swirling of his fingers against your clit, you were a whimpering mess for him.

“Please,” you squeaked desperately, clawing at his shoulders. You were breathless already, your head spinning as you grinded against his fingers in search of more friction. But it wasn’t enough; you needed his lips on you, his tongue swirling against your heat. “God, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Another one of those teasing, unbearable laughs from him. You felt yourself growing more desperate, more aroused for him. Your skin was burning as you continued your aching pursuit for him to stop teasing you. You were practically frenzied.

“I think you can do better than that, baby,” he said.

Fuck. You were practically screaming on the inside, but you couldn’t let him see that. A high-pitched moan tore from your lips as he increased the speed of his moving fingers. “Shit, please just eat me out, I’ll do anything–”

Your words were cut short by the sound of movement in the distance; you’re pulled out of the moment immediately. The closed door behind him was still shut, but… you swore you could hear the sound of someone calling your name. You were confused; you came to the bar alone, intending to meet someone to take home for the night and forget immediately in the morning. A swear left your lips as the man in front of you met your eyes.

“It’s fine,” he said, “Door’s locked.”

“No,” you replied, “no, I know that voice.” You were suddenly feeling extremely guilty. All of this was wrong. So deliciously wrong. You pushed the curly-haired stranger away from you, lowering yourself down from the table.

There was the voice again and–

“Y/N,” Sam called, much closer now. Your heart beat wildly as you were wrenched from your dream. You sat up straight in bed, your eyes wide and blurry with sleep. 

“Fuck me, you scared the lights out of me,” you breathed as you finally caught sight of your boyfriend. He kneeled above you in the bed, his expression amused as you flopped back onto the pillows. His puppy-dog gaze followed you as you brushed your hair out of your face, trying to cool the burning of your cheeks. You were thankful that he likely had no clue what–or who– you had been dreaming of. It was one of your little secrets you had never indulged to him, just another tidbit of your life before you met your angelic Sammy. Some things he just didn’t need to know. Not to mention that you still had vivid dreams of the handsome drummer multiple times a month. He probably wouldn’t find it very amusing that ninety-nine percent of your wet dreams were about someone else.

“What were you dreaming about, hmmm?” He bent over you, ghosting his lips against yours. You shivered, your hands reaching up to touch his arms on either side of you. 

“Nightmare,” you lied easily. There was no need to bring up the past.

“Weird nightmare,” he said, laughing softly. He kissed you gently, then pulled away and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “Could’ve sworn I heard you moaning.”

“Weird, indeed,” you said in response. “I always have nightmares when I eat sugar before bed.”

Sam made an amused noise. “Are you talking about me, or the ice cream?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he got dressed at the foot of his bed. He pulled an old, wrinkled denim shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it halfway. You watched him with admiration. He was so beautiful without ever trying. 

“Both,” you replied. You stretched your limbs, your tight muscles aching deliciously as you yawned dramatically loud. 

“Hope you’re not too tired, sweets,” he said in response to your theatrics. “Got a busy day ahead of us.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion for a second, then remembered. “Oh, fuck, I totally forgot…” you muttered, groaning as you ran your hands over your face. “What time’s the party start again?”

“Later this afternoon,” he responded casually. “The guys and I are gonna try and get a session in this morning, so you’ve got time.”

A frown graced your lips as you finally forced yourself out of bed. Padding over to him, you threw your arms around his middle and pouted up at him.

“Do you ever stop working? You just got home last night…” You wrinkled your nose at him. “I’ve barely even seen you.”

He leaned in and pecked your lips briefly, then grasped your face on either side and rested his forehead against yours. “Poor baby,” he said, halfway serious. “Didn’t get enough of me last night, did you?”

“Never,” you kissed him again, then pulled out of his grasp. “But if you’d rather work than spend the morning with me…” 

You shrugged at him, slowly backing towards the bathroom. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly peeled his t-shirt off of your body; his eyes drank in the sight of your bare chest hungrily, skirting down to the thin pair of panties that were still damp at the center from your dreamland excursion. Without saying a word, you turned away. You swayed your hips gently as you entered the bathroom, leaving the door cracked behind you. Steam filled the little room as you turned the shower on.

In your head, you counted down the seconds until he would be following in. You pictured him in your mind, weighing his options. He was calculating exactly how late he would be if he joined you for a quickie in the shower. You stepped beneath the hot stream of water. As if on cue, the bathroom door opened behind you.

“Glad you decided to join me,” you said, voice chipper as you saw him undressing through the frosted glass.

“Gotta be quick,” Sam muttered, “I’m supposed to be at the studio at eleven.”

“What time is it?” 

The sting of the hot water against your skin was almost heavenly in comparison to the cool air in the bathroom. You barely even noticed as the door slid open and Sam joined you, until his arms snaked around your waist. A throb pulsed through your center as he pulled you back against him; he was hard already, pressed against your backside. 

“Ten-fifteen,” he said, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You sighed, leaning your head back as he began to mark your neck gently, sucking plum-colored splotches into the skin. You arched your back as one of his hands found your chest, pinching one nipple between his fingers. 

“Hmmm, Sammy,” you said softly, your voice almost a beg. “Need you inside me, please.”

He smiled against your skin. “Already, sweets? That needy for me, huh?”

“Don’t tease,” you whined, “you’re in a rush, remember?”

He laughed, the sound making your heart flutter. How was it that him laughing was enough to turn you into a blushing mess? You almost forgot the aching problem between your legs, until you felt his tip prodding at your entrance. A gasp slipped from your lips at the feeling.

“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” He planted an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder. A shiver snaked down your spine, and you nodded. A second later, he was bottoming out inside you. The stretch was delicious, coming off of the two-month dry spell you’d had whilst he was out on tour. You squeezed your eyes shut in pure bliss; one of your hands was intertwined with his, across your chest, and you used the other to reach down and stimulate your clit.

A strangled cry fell from your lips as he snapped his hips against yours particularly fervently. “So good, Sammy, fuck,” you hissed through your teeth. 

He hummed in agreement, his lips still pressed against the delicate skin of your shoulder. His teeth grazed over the unmarked territory for a moment; you were waiting for the exquisite sting of his teeth sinking into your skin. It drove you crazy, seeing the marks he left scattered all over your body. He left them purposely, knowing you would see them in the mirror later and get worked up all over again. It brought out the exhibitionist in him, too– he enjoyed people knowing that he had marked you all over. That you were his.

The very thought sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body.

“I missed this,” he said, panting behind you. “Missed my sweet girl wrapped around me…”

You whined at his words. “I– I missed you so much, Sammy…”

“I know, honey, I know,” he soothed, pressing a sloppy kiss to your neck. Your legs were beginning to tremble, weak from holding yourself up as he thrust into you steadily. He was hitting just the right spot, quickly driving you towards your release. “Wasn’t the same without me here, was it? No, you just can’t do it like your Sammy, can you?”

At this, he replaced your hand on your clit with his own. Almost immediately, you were balancing on the very edge of cumming around him. He circled your sensitive bundle of nerves, touching you in just the right spot. He knew your body like the back of his hand.

“No,” you breathed, “No it’s never this–ahh– never this good when I do it myself.”

“That’s okay, sweets, I’m here to help you now. Here to help this little pussy get off the right way, yeah? Here to make you scream my name…”

And you were close to it, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he set a merciless pace. You grasped his arms, now the only thing holding you on your feet as you clenched tightly around him. All of your limbs became jelly, quivering as he slammed into that sweet spot inside of you. His focus on helping you ride through your orgasm was intense; his pace and fingers didn’t falter for a second, even as he began to call out your name breathily as his own release approached. 

The sound of your near-screaming voice was music to his ears as it echoed through the bathroom around the two of you. He bit down on your shoulder, hard, as he came. You felt him inside of you, his hot release filling you up. You throbbed at the feeling, groaning as he gently kissed the bite mark on your shoulder. It was sore– you knew there would definitely be a bruise waiting there later. A sigh left your lips when he finally pulled away from you, smoothing a finger over your shoulder as he examined his handiwork. 

“Sorry, cupcake,” he said playfully. “Didn’t mean to get ya that hard.” His thumb ghosted over the mark, the little throb making you wince. 

“‘S okay,” you said, another tiny yawn leaving your lips. “Dunno how I’m gonna cover it up later, though.” 

You turned around to face him, and he grinned at you. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.

“I guess I’ll tell your parents we ran into a vampire on the way over,” you said jokingly, brushing your lips against his. 

“You and Rosie got too excited roughhousing,” he suggested, laughing lightly.

“Yeah this looks just like a dog bite.” You rolled your eyes, smacking him lightly on the chest. 

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Maybe later you can give me a few to match.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. The two of you laughed, and you ushered him out of the shower and on his way to work. The sooner he got there, the sooner he would get home to spend more time with you. You were going to drink up the few short weeks he would be home, taking every possible second to see him that you could. 

After he left, alone with your thoughts, it crossed your mind that today was somewhat of a big deal. Obviously, you were nervous enough just to meet his parents for the first time, but you were really nervous about meeting his brothers. He looked up to them so much, practically idolized them; you were scared most of all that they wouldn’t approve of you.

“Almost ready, sweets?”

Sammy peeked into the bathroom, watching as you carefully swept your freshly-done hair over your shoulder. An amused smirk played on his lips as he tried not to laugh. For the past couple of hours, he had been teasing you about how hard you were trying to make a good impression for his family. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” you huffed, annoyed at his impatience. You were still early– the family barbecue wasn’t starting until four, and it was only three. Sweat beaded on your neck and forehead as you followed him outside, Rosie on your heels. She hopped into the car as you opened the door, bounding into the backseat as you placed your bag beside her. She laid her chin on top of it, guarding your belongings. 

“Watchin’ mom’s stuff, Rosie?” Sam reached back, scratching her head. She let out a pleased bark, licking his hand. You smiled, seeing him interact with her. He was the absolute cutest dog dad. He settled into the driver’s seat of the car, turning his attention from Rosie to you. “Okay over there?”

You forced a nod. “I’m just nervous, I think,” you said quietly. You folded your hands into your lap, twisting them as he pulled out of the driveway. The twins were hosting the barbecue at their house across town; the drive was about thirty minutes, just long enough for you to start feeling nauseous from the anticipation.

“You look a little green, baby,” he reached over, one of his hands squeezing your thigh. You placed your hand over his, thankful for his attempt to comfort you. “Don’t worry. They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t as sure as he was, but he knew his family better than you did. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took a couple deep breaths to try and force yourself to calm down. Even if they did hate you, what could you do? Overthinking it wasn’t going to make a difference.

The thundering heartbeat in your chest finally calmed as you approached the house. There were a few cars parked in the driveway already, signaling his family’s presence inside. You were beginning to sweat again, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the humidity outside, from nerves, or both. 

“Don’t freak out,” Sam warned you, grinning.

“I’m not freaking out,” you said.

You were absolutely freaking out. Rosie dashed out of the car behind you. She circled around your legs protectively as you grabbed your bag out of the backseat. You patted her sweetly on the head as she nuzzled against you, then you were both following Sam up to the house.

He didn’t knock, pushing the front door open, and instead shouting, “Hello! I have arrived!”

Your nerves were at an all time high; of course he had to go and make his arrival a big spectacle. Luckily, it seemed like everyone was too busy to come flocking to the front and stare at you. Rosie trotted off into the house as if she belonged there. Sammy strutted into the kitchen, where you could hear two voices bickering back and forth.

“No, Mom said to set up the projector now,” said one voice, sounding annoyed.

“We can’t set it up now. If it gets wet, it’ll be useless.”

“Mom said it’s water resistant.”

“Resistant. Not water-proof. Technology and water don’t mix, Jake. You should know that by now.”

“I do know that, thank you. I’m just telling you what your mother said–”

“She’s your mother, too–”

The twins’ bickering was cut off as you and Sam entered the kitchen. Between them, the box for said projector was halfway open. A few cords were splayed out on the counter, tangled as if they had been fighting over them shortly before you walked into the room.

“When did you two get a projector?” Sam asked curiously, plopping himself on a stool sitting by the bar. He grabbed a grape out of a bowl on the counter, popping it into his mouth. There were various other bowls of sliced fruit and other snacks waiting on the counter, likely prepared by their mother. You flushed; it felt like you were intruding on their family event. 

“I didn’t know you were bringing Y/N,” said the twin you recognized as Josh. You had seen tons of old family photos, oohing and ahhing as Sam pointed out all of his siblings and showed you embarrassing pictures of them.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up. We would’ve pulled out all of the stops.” Jake sent a cheeky wink your way, and you grinned. 

“This is without the stops?” You quirked an eyebrow. The house was magnificent, compared to your own little apartment. There was so much space, especially for just the twins. You had no idea that their band was this successful, although Sam pretty much avoided talking about work while he was home. He always said he didn’t want to drag you into the more chaotic part of his world–the touring, interviews, performing, and such. 

“Oh, absolutely,” said Josh flippantly. “This is just a casual get-together. Which is why Mom cut up fruit instead of making her famous–”

“Hors d'oeuvres,” Ronnie finished for Josh as she joined the four of you in the kitchen. Behind her, Rosie padded along, nosing her bare calves affectionately. “Look who found her favorite auntie.” She rubbed Rosie’s back, grinning.

“No, I’m her favorite,” said Jake, crouching down to greet the dog enthusiastically. She all but attacked him, barking as she pawed at him whilst he petted her.

“You can’t be her favorite auntie, dumbass,” said Ronnie, rolling her eyes. She turned her attention to you, “They’re not bothering you too much, are they?”

“Not at all,” you laughed, still slightly nervous. 

“Good. They can’t be too much worse than our Sammy, anyway,” she grinned. “I’ve been teasing him all week since Mom told me you were coming over. Our baby Sammy, bringing his girl home.” She reached over and pinched his cheek, and he groaned, swatting her hand away.

“Awww,” Jake said, his voice taunting.

Another laugh tumbled from your lips. You were beginning to loosen up a bit, finally.

“No wonder Mom was freaking out over it,” Josh added, carefully replacing the projector in its box for later. “She came over and forced us to scrub the place top-to-bottom.”

“Yeah, she cleaned out my closet,” said Jake, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know the whole family would be getting a front row seat to Jake’s closet.”

“I thought you knew Y/N and I were gonna be sleeping in there,” said Sammy, sending a wink your way. You grinned.

“Yeah, she said she put us some bunk beds in there,” you added. 

The siblings laughed, and you felt better about the whole thing. You were still nervous as you took a seat on the stool next to Sam’s, but you felt a bit better. You listened intently as the boys told you and Ronnie about the new song they were recording. The five of you chatted on, until you were joined in the kitchen by their mother.

She entered through the sliding back door, her face lighting up as she caught sight of you and Sammy.

“Look who’s here,” she said cheerfully, smiling as she stopped to greet Sam, before turning to you. “It is so good to finally meet our Y/N.” She reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You smiled shyly. You almost wanted to cry at the warm look on her face.

“You, too, Mrs. Kiszka,” you said.

She made a face, “Oh, please… Mrs. Kiszka… Call me Mama K,” she patted you on the shoulder, then leaned in for a hug. “Mrs. Kiszka is my mother-in-law,” she whispered, winking at you.

Sam laughed beside you, and Karen reached over to pinch his cheek, just like Ronnie. You made an amused face as he frowned, again swatting his mother’s hand away. You could clearly tell he was the baby, seeing the way his family interacted with him. It was endearing. 

“You’ll have to meet my husband outside,” Karen continued, “he’s out there watching the grill like a hawk.”

“You’ll love Dad,” Sam told you earnestly as the rest of the family began to disperse. Karen was shooing you all out of the kitchen, preparing to take her snacks outside so you all could enjoy the nice weather and the pool. 

“Yeah, Dad’s really chill,” said Jake. He seemed to notice that you were becoming a little overwhelmed. You were practically glued to Sam at the hip. “I bet you twenty bucks he’ll just look at you and go, ‘Oh. You must be Y/N.’”

“No, he’s gonna say, ‘Shit, I think I forgot the welcome-wagon at home,’ and then he’ll laugh like he’s the funniest man on the planet.” Ronnie said, voice amused. 

“I’m with Ronnie,” said Josh. 

In true dad fashion, their father did just that, to a chorus of accomplished laughter from his daughter. You were thankful that all of the first introductions were over, and you could relax. Jake and Sam immediately stripped down to their bathing suits and raced to the pool. You watched them affectionately, the two of them having a childish competition to see who could swim the fastest from one end to the other. You joined Ronnie in the grass, where Rosie lounged between the two of you, swatting at a butterfly with her paw.

“Are they always like this?” you asked, glancing between the boys roughhousing in the pool and her peaceful expression. 

Ronnie nodded, “Always. Worse when Danny’s here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s like babysitting four overgrown children.”

“Speaking of,” Josh joined you, now wearing his own bathing suit and carrying a large towel which he splayed out in the grass. “Where is Daniel?”

“No clue,” said Ronnie. “He didn’t give you his itinerary this morning?”

Josh shrugged. “Oh, something about errands, and laundry, taking a nap, and possibly being late?” He made a face that said, ‘why should I know,’ then sighed contentedly as he sprawled out on his back, eyes closed. 

The late-afternoon sun warmed your skin as you lounged there; Sam invited you into the water a time or two, but you didn’t want to remove your t-shirt. Imagining the looks on his family’s face if they saw the map of bruises over your chest and shoulders was enough to make your cheeks burn. You were perfectly happy dipping your toes in the water, and keeping your clothes on. There was a constant stream of activity; Karen running back and forth, doting on her children, while Jake played tug-of-war and fetch with Rosie. You, Josh, and Ronnie pulled out the Monopoly board while Sam helped Kelly finish the food. 

“Dangerous game for first impressions,” said Sam, watching over your shoulder as you played. 

“Ronnie just bought Boardwalk,” said Josh, his voice exasperated. “We’re all fucked.”

Ronnie did her best evil cackle, “I’m putting so many hotels here. Cough all your money up, bitches.”

You grinned, watching as Josh took his turn and barely dodged paying his sister rent on one of her properties. Sadly, you were the first to go bankrupt and you had to sit and watch the siblings battle it out over the board. They were in a heated argument over paying property tax when you excused yourself to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The food was almost ready, and you had resisted gorging yourself on fruit and pretzels all night waiting for the burgers to be done.

You slipped into the house, grateful to be alone for just a moment; you were having a good time, but needed a minute just to catch your breath. Being around so many new people was mentally and emotionally exhausting for you, even if you got along with them well. You sipped contentedly on your water, watching the chaos in the backyard through the half-open glass door. Humming to yourself, you checked the time on your cell-phone. You had been at the twins’ place for a little over an hour. The only person you had yet to meet was Sammy’s best friend, Danny, who evidently was running late to the family function. 

Behind you, the sound of the front door opening disturbed you from your thoughts. Speak of the devil, you thought, turning towards the sound. You were first greeted by the sight of a sweet-looking brunette girl; as soon as she saw you, she smiled kindly.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Josie.”

“Y/N,” you responded. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Danny’s sister. And the reason he’s so late,” she laughed. “My flight was late coming in.”

“I know how that goes,” you said, nodding. Again, your nerves were starting to get the best of you. It was one thing meeting Sam’s loved ones when he was around, but it was a whole different ball-game being blindsided in the kitchen by yourself. Josie slipped out into the backyard, and you were left on edge, waiting for the arrival of Danny.

There was another second’s pause, then you could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You wanted to dart out of the kitchen, to the comfort of your boyfriend’s familiarity, but you were too slow. Danny entered the kitchen, looking rather perturbed. 

However, that was the last thing on your mind. Your jaw nearly hit the floor as the two of you made eye contact; there was absolutely–

“No fucking way,” came the words from Danny’s mouth, as if he were reading your mind.

The two of you stood there, both speechless just staring at one another. In your mind’s eye, you saw him all those years ago, hovering over you again in that shitty dive bar. Saw him touching you, his mouth on you, those long, nimble fingers–

You were wrenched out of your flashback by the sound of the back door sliding the rest of the way open. 

Sam joined you in the kitchen, throwing an arm over your shoulder. Danny immediately pulled his gaze away from you, greeting his friend as if nothing had happened at all. 

“Food’s ready,” Sam told you, planting a kiss on your temple.

“Nice, I’m starving,” Danny said coolly, walking past the pair of you without another glance your way. You could have melted into the floor. What the fuck was going on?

[embodyingchaos]

Hello again!!!can I do an ask for the episode when sebastion throws the slushie in blaines face and the reader just attacks him? (Sebastion deserved a beating for that ong) or could you write about when coach bieste first showed up and when everyone was avoiding her the reader does their best to talk to her(bieste also deserved better, shue and sue were jerks)??? THANK YOU

❥ hiii! so glad to see you on my asks again! i shall write the first option! i apologise that this is late and short and the ending is so abrupt 〒▽〒

definitely deserved pairing: glee x gn!reader genre: platonic, angst warnings: light violence, light assault, sebastian being an ASSHOLE, not rlly a character x reader word count: 1.5k

walking through the library on a monday morning was the usual routine for y/n, rummaging through books for research and song ideas. just as they took a book off a shelf, they were jump-scared by the face of a beaming rachel berry.

“holy shit, rachel. you can’t just do that to a person.” y/n scolded, placing a hand above their chest, trying to calm down their rapidly beating heart. “sorry, was wondering what you were up to. needed something to get my mind off… something.” rachel said suspiciously, looking like there was something heavy on her mind as she walked around the bookcase towards them. y/n noticed the tension but decided not to pry. “i’m just looking through some things.” the two of them made their way to the seating area, joining quinn and tina who were having a conversation.

“hey, guys.” y/n greeted, taking a seat beside the blonde. the two only smiled and waved.

y/n went through their books as the other three had their conversation before blaine came strutting into the library, singing a michael jackson classic, ‘wanna be startin’ somethin’’ alongside kurt, mercedes, santana and brittany. the four joined immediately, used to this at this point.

they all regrouped at the choir room soon enough and discussed about the first michael jackson number they’d do for the weak, planning out costumes based on some of mj’s iconic outfits.

after the rehearsal, a small part of the glee club met up after school the next day. “okay, favourite michael jackson memory. go!” blaine tells them and they all smiled. “when i was one, my mom showed me a vhs tape of his motown special, and when he did the moonwalk across the stage for the first time in history, i uttered my first words - ‘hot damn.’.” y/n grinned at the thought of a baby artie saying those words, finding it totally believable.

“i owe the king of pop a deep debt of gratitude. he’s the first one to pull off the sequined military jacket long before one kurt hummel made it iconic.” kurt boasted, “i have to be honest. i never really got him.” rachel’s words immediately caused everyone’s faces to morph into disbelief. “no way.” “and we are no longer on speaking terms.” y/n and artie share a look.

rachel quickly defends herself, saying she believed he is an amazing performer but she never really got what he was about. though these reasons did not calm them down, y/n could understand where she was coming from.

“okay, but just since you guys are so jazzed about him, i think it’s a good idea for regionals-” “that might not be the best idea.” a new voice entered the discussion and it was a voice they all dreaded. “hey, blaine. hello, everyone else.” sebastian smythe, a member of the dalton academy warblers and basically kurt’s arch nemesis. “does he live here or something? seriously, you are always here.” kurt asked incredulously, flabbergasted at the fact he showed up out of nowhere. y/n snorted before taking a sip of their drink.

artie ignored the two of them, “why don’t you think that’s a good idea?” “because we’re doing mj for regionals.” at sebastian’s words, y/n sighed into their cup before sinking further into the leather armchair they were on. “you see, warblers drew first position, so as soon as i heard what your plan was, i changed our set list accordingly.” he explained with a smug expression on his face, y/n really wanted to punch him.

“i’m sorry, how did you hear?” rachel asked, fully upset. “blaine told me this morning.” y/n’s head turned to look at blaine who only rolled his eyes at the boy, “i just called for a tip on how to get red wine out of my blazer piping, and he would not stop going on about it.” at this point, the whole group was staring at him with an accusing look.

blaine avoids their gazes, “i may have mentioned it.” “how often do you talk?” kurt’s question makes sebastian fake chuckle. “oh my god! hey, kurt! i didn’t recognise you. you are wearing boy clothes for once!” santana had enough after that. “alright, twink, i think it’s time that i show you a little lima heights hospitality.” this made y/n throw their head back against the chair in exasperation, “unless you want to join your relatives in prison, that’s probably not the best idea.” sebastian’s comeback only makes them feel worst. y/n tuned him out as he talked even more, wanting nothing more but for him to leave and go away.

when he did, they sighed. “thank god. i thought he’d never shut up and leave. he’s like those never-ending interactive voice responses you get on automated telephone systems. he never shuts up.” y/n groaned, sitting up straight again. “we need to do something about michael.” kurt announced and they all nodded, agreeing to discuss what to do the next day.

the next day came faster than it could. everyone piled into the choir room and were complaining about the whole incident when puck suddenly spoke up about his suspicions over how blaine was still somehow a warbler. “come on, blaine’s with us. he’d never intentionally hurt our chances at winning regionals.” y/n defended, walking into the room with their sling bag, taking a seat beside blaine. 

blaine gives them a grateful smile, “either way, he’s on notice as far as i’m concerned.” “we should all be on notice.” finn interrupted his best friend, trying to reason with them. “i mean, next to vocal adrenaline, the warblers are the best glee club in the state and for a lot of us, this is our last shot at a championship, so we should stop complaining about the warblers and figure out how to beat them.” finn told everyone, being the voice of reason as usual.

“i couldn’t have said it better myself, finn.” mr. schue commented, walking into the room. “i’m less worried about our set list right now, and more interested in getting us in the right mind-set to crush those guys. which is why our lesson for the week is…” with a marker, he wrote down on the whiteboard ‘wwmjd’. “what would michael jackson do?” “he’d fight back. he’d say regionals is ours. mj is ours, and if they want it, they can pry it from our sequin-gloved hand.” y/n grinned at finn and nodded along, “mhm. straight up. in 1983, mtv said they wouldn’t air his ‘billie jean’ video, what’d he do? he fought back, they aired it and the thriller album sold an additional ten million copies.” artie added and y/n only stared at him, “you’re like a michael jackson encyclopaedia.” they commented quietly, the boy held a hand to his chest. “why, thank you.” he gratefully said.

blaine smirked, “i know what michael would do. i think he would take it to the streets.” at his words, the whole room filled with excited mutters. y/n kept quiet, though. they couldn’t help but feel like something was going to go wrong with this, terribly wrong.

after the glee club dispersed, they tried to chase blaine down before he got too far away. “blaine, are you sure this is a good idea?” they asked as the two of them walked to the entrance of the school. “i’m sure it’ll be all good. we’ll show them that they’re gonna regret taking michael from us, and then we’re going to get him back.” the former warbler said excitedly before heading out the door. “god, i hope so.” y/n whispered to themselves, clutching their bag tightly.

the day of the showdown arrives quicker than they expected. they’d all agreed to wear matching leather jackets, after kurt’s persistent determination, to have some unity. it was the new directions against the warblers after all.

at the sound of santana’s snap, the rest of the group came out and they started their jackson-off. truth be told, having a dance and sing-off in an empty parking lot was a very 60s thing to do but y/n had no complaints. their only complaint was that the more the song progressed and the closer they got to the ending, they’d seen one of the warblers grab a paper bag.

y/n’s eyes widened when they realise that sebastian was going to slushee kurt. “kurt!” they yelled but blaine had thrown himself in front of the boy, getting the liquid assault instead.

blaine yelled out in agony at the impact, falling to the ground as he pressed his palms against his eyes. everyone froze but y/n couldn’t handle it anymore. “you fucking asshole!” they clenched their fist tightly and laid a hard punch against sebastian’s face, making him stumble back towards his group members. “y/n.” finn warned them, placing a hand on their shoulder to calm them down so they don’t rip their rival into shreds.

the warblers soon fled the scene with guilty looks on their faces as they helped sebastian stabilise himself and walked off. the new directions could see that his lip was bruised and his cheek was swollen when he passed by. it was easy for any of them to say, he’s definitely deserved that punch in a while.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #23

23. POLAND Luna - "The Tower" 29th place

Decade Ranking: 85/153 [Above Luke Black, below Tvorchi]

POLITICS CLAIMS ITS FIRST VICTIM!!! ORACLE NATALIA WAS RIGHT!!

JK, I wish that were canon, but I cannot reverse-engineer our reality into a fiction where Serbia qualifies over Poland by a hair because they blanked them after Xi's visit hijacked the live broadcast.

Anyway, this section of the ranking is always chaotic and inconsistent. Bad songs with acts that made me lol, alongside kind of charming hopeless filler, alongside great songs with painfully bad lives.

Enter "The Tower". People been saying it's a bland, generic song and as is often the case in a democracy, the people are fucking WRONG!!!! Quirky indie wenches with brittle voices singing metaphorical build-me-up synthpop is MY safe zone and you won't make me leave it!

This came with the addition of Luna having the best warbled pronunciation since Maggie Burger ("BREAUXKEN BAWDEEZ SCAATERT FRUE MAHISTERRY" OB*SESSED*.) and being relatably bad at chess (same, girl.) I refused to believe Luna was birthed into this world. She emerged fully formed from a pod, (designed by the same crazy medical students that have now captured Slimane to use his live voice as ethical (for the patient) cancer therapy), created with the sole purpose of fitting the template of a Bubblecore Fave. Luna represents EXACTLY the sort of act I would love to overrate at my leisure.

Sadly... nope. It all kinda went the way of Roxen in Malmö. It was badly performed and badly mixed. I feel like a lot of Poles (I'd say "people" but do "Poles" count as such? Isn't selling your entire soul for the first bad banger a mandatory initiation for Eurofan Poles?) would just scapegoat Luna because THAT WITCH BEAT JUSTYNA, but I disagree. I sympathize with her and I think her team did her dirty. This Polish NQ was a group effort and Luna was only one cog in that machine. 🙂 Besides, Justyna deserved a break from the spotlight so she can enjoy her four remaining Christmases.

The capital mistake was to not recognize the level of performance maturity Luna had. She's fairly inexperienced and not the most powerful vocalist. She's also NOT a dancer. At the time of the contest she was at a level of "can hold a tune when standing still, on a good day."

So if she struggles to perform the act you've planned, somebody's got to step in and make it so she can perform it every time.

Simplify and practice it until she's able to do it.

and do not, for the love of Sennek, make her MOVE WHILE SINGING?!!

LET HER CONCENTRATE ON HER VOCALS, YOU SHITS.

WE ALL SAW HOW ROXEN MURDERIZED FOUR SONGS INTO AN EARLY GRAVE FOUR YEARS AGO AND THEN DIED THE FOLLOWING YEAR WITH AMNESIA UNDER AN ELABORATE CHOREO.

HOW HAVE SOME DELEGATIONS STILL NOT LEARNED THIS EASY, ESSENTIAL STAGING LESSON?!

IF YOUR PEFORMER CANNOT SING + MOVE, PICK ONE ("sing" unless she's Kaleen) AND STICK TO IT. FIND SOME OTHER WAY TO ADD IN MOMENTUM.

(lol sorry for the rant but i'm writing these late at night on whatever energy reserves I have left so I can to keep up with 1 update per day. Anger's all I have left. 😔)

It's not like the MV didn't offer an easy way into good Eurovision-friendly staging. Dear TVP, what exactly was wrong with this?

Just stick her in the middle of the cross on a podium, and drape finery around her until she resembles the titular tower. The song was about self-discovery and growth, and that would send the message across with minimal confusion.

But Poland went with what they went with and sigh. It was the opposite of Slovenia, really - it looked AMAZING but didn't really compensate from the fact that it sounded VERY BAD.

But if the staging looked that good, then why was it bad? Well, Poland had a concept, an idea and it could have worked, but it didn't.

Conceptually, this is good staging. The backdrops and floordrops were rad and the chess-themed styling worked gave it a beautiful and unique feel like we'd never seen before.

However, it came across as Poland making an attempt at directing the part of Europe that weren't on Xi Jinping's visit schedule away from their song, and this an erroneous display of disrespect. Visualize according to what the song needs in order to shine as a song. Don't obfuscate it with flourishes that don't synergize with it.

There were too many elements. You don't need three chess piece dancers, AND LED sorcery AND an elaborate choreography AND two giant rook props AND two fucking dress changes (one of which happened in wideshot because ofc it did).

The beauty of Art is knowing what elements you can keep and which you can (and should) take away. (does not apply to "minimalist art" which lands somewhere between "decoration" and "scam".) Simplify, rather than complicate. Don't thrown in all the ideas you have as a Hail Mary (notice that this route is often taken by desperate countries that are notoriously shit at Eurovision - Poland, Denmark, Malta, etc). Test out which elements work, and choose those that suit the artist the best.

Poland's failure is choosing excessive staging that pushed too hard for (1) a performer who was not ready to execute all the pieces (2) a really simple, fun basic synthpop song. It overwhelmed both Luna and "The Tower".

It was not Luna's fault. Not entirely. The Polish creative team had a series of lapses in judgement, and it ended up in a shock NQ that I didn't see coming until it actually happened. Even though I like the overal package (the song's really that good!) I didn't feel it was an undeserved elimination.

What killed Poland wasn't just inexperience, politics or overambition.

It was foremost a lack of confidence in their own product.

THE RANKING

[greenelectricsky]

So, OK, what I made in 2023. Well... I'm really surprised how that year ended. In January I completely didn't think I'll be back to writing and I'll start publishing my works. Moreover, I was preparing a totally different costume! So, hell, what a year. Here we go!

First thing: costume of Cysiek and TuśTuś!

I still think, it came really good as a last minute thing!!! Especially the wig, because I didn't just glued hair but I made it in a totally different way, because I wanted it to last and last for the next few years!

Second thing - Cats scenes! It was a moment, an inspiration and I started writing them... It was supposed to be just an experiment, a little thing, and I thought it will end as fast as it started. But no. They keep coming, one easier than the other, one funnier than the other and... Well, now it's a part of my life! And I like them, even if some people would be extremely happy if I would never write anything again!

Third thing - fanfictions! Oh boy, that's a story!

I wrote, published, translated and published those:

Those are from the Star Wars universe, most of them I wrote loooooooooooong time ago at a paper and I have no intention to translate them, for now at least.

So yes writing them down on paper was work from other times, but writing, rewriting and polishing them on the computer and publishing them is 2023 work!

That last series (Scenki rodzajowe) is "work in progress" because more of them are on my computer, but need a lot of work before publishing... So still, 2023...

And six next wait for digitalisation! Those I don't count as 2023's achievements.

Some next are brewing in that head of mine, but are waiting to write them down! So 2024 will be really interesting... I don't know if my hands can deal with that!

But, more about Cats and 2023!

Those four I wrote and published, two of them waiting for a translation:

And I have those four beauties!

You see how fat some of them are (I'm writing on both sides of every sheet, so one of them is more than 120 pages)???? And all that was written in 2023, waiting for digitalisation! I have zero idea how to translate them... Just... I'm afraid it's too much but I really, really, really want them in English, so there is no other way than to do that at some point... Well, it's the future!

And of course I have more plans. Two as a Labyrinth/Cats crossovers (one Tuggoffelees and one Skimblestrap), big work with the complete story of my OCs, Mac's redemption ark; one more serious work about Tugger adopting a little Misto after loosing his brother Mac and coping with that - those are solid ideas, with notes and of course more less concrete things, more a ideas without any context.

And, what do you think? It's a lot? Not at all? For me it's an incredibly big thing and I'm proud of myself!

Also, from other things - I'm planning to change my job. I still love working with animals, really, but well... I was burned out by working with clients :( It's just... It's really nice helping others, giving them ways to be a good pet leader but in that moment I'm more resigned than hopeful. Also, I have enough of my bosses and environment in which I work. I want to start working with costumes and/or stage props, because it's more to my liking. I have no idea how to realise those plans, but I'm hopeful.

[ginnsbaker]

I have re-read the entire chapter *playing cruel summer on loop in the background and switching to pc to write this ask* because I need to gather my thoughts nyahahaha fr got shocked with the opening part as I wasn't expecting it XD. This will be a long one kasi I included my favorite parts.. :P At first I thought this was a parallel to chapter 12 iirc, the conversation they had after y/n came back and she thought that everything is just going too well, the whole conversation going too well and the end part *wink wink* while the date is not going according to y/n plan. "You’ve told her that three—maybe four—times now. Not that you’re counting, but each time it gets a little easier to say. And you hope, for her, it gets a little easier to hear" - word's of affirmation love language ni Y/N and I like that Leigh just let's it or at least allow her to say these words to her. "and for Leigh, speaking things into existence feels like an indelible commitment—a promise carved into stone. But maybe some things are beloved even before they ever take shape" -- this is incredibly poetic like you wouldn't know what hits you kind of thing.

"Instinctively, you snatch her hand, holding fast for dear life." -- takot mawala te? "More than anything, though, you're struck by Leigh's bold declaration to a near stranger—that she was going to kiss you by the end of this date." - Go Leigh, ipagpatuloy mo mag stake ng claim kay reader at titiklop talaga yan.

"She hopes you don't set expectations too high just yet, not when you're both still in the early stages of getting to know each other. Beyond the undeniable physical chemistry between you, she's looking forward to discovering how you both handle the less-than-perfect moments just as much as the perfect ones." -- Ik that previous interaction with Leigh's are not really that complete and it was mostly the mean(?) parts that drew y/n to her and I understand her apprehension about that kasi for how long would she see that part of her as loveable diba (eme)

Perhaps it’s a good lesson to learn that not everything has to be perfect to be right.  At least, not with Leigh Shaw. --- THIS?! (NO WORDS WALA AKONG MASABI IT'S PERFECT!) “I didn't actually have a boyfriend until I was twenty-two,” ( waw the asian + filo in me could never, it will probably me at thirty or never *cries lol* ) and many more part (tama na baka ma sobra sa limit lol) and speaking of Cruel Summer song, the angst part now match these lines "We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times We're not trying." and oh boi did y/n just falling fast ready to give it all for Leigh then there's Leigh "I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone" na it will be Matt all over again... idk but this is how I perceive the whole chapter and relating it to the song nyahahahaha and finalllyyyyy the reciprocated 3 words with reassurance (sinong di ngingiti jan diba lol)!! I just know that y/n's love language is words of affirmation and gift giving pero she's still afraid and very careful around Leigh that she's conceiving this certain idea about her without knowing that y/n's coming on too strong na pala and needs to yellow light muna... They need to talk without those intense emotions (forgetting about Sara and mag hunos dili muna silang dalawa sa action) so that's my rambles and incoherent thoughts sa chapter. Thank you so much for the update ate! So waiting for the PDF version :>. Happy coding and enjoy the day!

Ohhhh a long asks! Thanks for sending this :) I'll reply to some!

I love your observation about Y/N's love languages! I'd say hers include words of affirmation, gifts, and touch, while Leigh's would be quality time, acts of service, and obviously touch too.

Re: the "speaking things into existence" part - I'm kind of proud of that as well, so thanks for highlighting it!

Re: the idea that not everything has to be perfect to be right - that was a tough pill for me to swallow in relationships. :)

Re: R not having a boyfriend until she was 22 - lol, I didn’t have a girlfriend until I was 26, though I started dating men around 16-17ish.

I just can’t stop smiling at the part where you relate 'Cruel Summer' to this update. It makes me so happy when my readers catch the easter eggs. :>

It's clear that Leigh and R feel deeply for each other; now it's just about being on the same page and understanding their priorities. :)

Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts :)